This story was a class exercise. Given the same criteria, Larry wrote the beautiful 'Practice Time'. I came up with this. Larry suggested therapy.
Don’t Disturb Grandma
Mom had gone out to the grocery store, leaving sixteen year old Cathy in charge. Cathy was supposed to ‘keep an eye’ on Bobby, who was ten, and Great-Grandma, who was 80 and taking her time about dying in her bedroom down the hall.
Bobby was bored. Cathy had ordered him to his room with a pile of comic books and strict orders to "Stay put, you little snot." Then she had headed out of the house, slamming the front door behind her.
Bobby knew that Cathy was in the garage practicing her guitar. Since Great-Grandma had come to live with them - or more properly, since Great-Grandma had come to their house to get on with the business of dying - Mom wouldn’t let Cathy play in the house. Daddy had built Cathy a room in the garage where she could play without disturbing Grandma. Bobby, whose taste in music ran towards day camp songs, was probably happier about Cathy being relegated to the garage than Great-Grandma was. Great-Grandma was usually so gorked on pills she wouldn’t have known if Cathy played her headbanger crap right next to her bed.
Bobby flipped through his comic books, sighing. The last couple of months had been an endless chorus of, "Bobby, no running!" and "Bobby, be quiet!" Always followed by, "Great-Grandma is very sick and mustn’t be disturbed!"
For Bobby’s birthday this summer they were supposed to go to Disney World. The Disney trip had been promised before Great-Grandma had come here to die, and Bobby had been wild with anticipation for months.
Last week Daddy had sat Bobby down for a solemn "man-to-man" talk. Daddy had explained that there would be no Disney World this summer. Great-Grandma was very sick and they had to stay home and take care of her. Bobby had nodded and told Daddy he understood. Daddy had ruffled Bobby’s hair and said that he was proud of Bobby for being such a grown-up.
Bobby cranked his head towards the garage, listening. The sound of tuneless guitar music, accompanied by incomprehensible lyrics screamed out in his sister’s high and tone-deaf voice, filled the day. Cathy would be down there caterwauling for hours. Bobby slipped a hand beneath his mattress and pulled out the newspaper he had crooked from the barber shop the week before. Bobby loved the barber shop papers, with their amateurish printing and blurry pictures of Loch Ness Monsters and Bigfoot. They were even gorier than his monster comic books.
"Mayhem as the Strangler Strikes!" shouted the bold headline. The drawing below the headline was a hooded man, his features in shadow. Bobby flipped through the story, puzzling out the few words he wasn’t sure of. The next page featured a story called "Monster Mommy Dearest". The accompanying photograph showed a woman holding a pillow down over a sleeping child’s face. Bobby read this one all the way through. He was getting a whopper of an idea.
He walked to the window and peered out at the garage. The big door was still open and Cathy’s indescribable music was still polluting the warm spring day.
Bobby opened his door and slipped quietly down the hall and into Great-Grandma’s room. She was sound asleep. Of course she was sound asleep. With all the dope they pumped into her, she’d sleep through a thermonuclear war. Bobby could never figure out why he had to be so quiet.
Bobby crossed slowly to Great-Grandma’s bed. Bending down, he picked up a pillow that had fallen to the floor and shoved it tightly down over Great-Grandma’s face. Bobby smiled to himself as Great-Grandma twitched feebly under his weight, then subsided and lay still. His days of being quiet were over.
"Yippee!" he whispered. "I’m going to Disney World!"