Beanie Weenies – Jeremy Scott

December 22, 2021

Grandpa’s lower half, from the belly button down, was all that could be saved after the accident. We wheel him around with his posterior facing out, as his anus is now his mouth and if we don’t face it out then we can’t hear him when he speaks. Besides, no one wants to look all day at the other side of him. Specially fitted clothing had to be made to accommodate. However, he insists on wearing his old hats.
Feeding time is something I never look forward to. He refuses to eat anything but Mom’s special recipe for homemade beanie weenies. It involves lots of ketchup and mustard, a shake of cayenne, as well as a sprinkling of laxatives since Grandpa can get backed up and refuse to speak for several days.
I hate feeding time. I’m the one who is forced to do it, every day, six times a day. Who would have thought that someone would become more ravenous after losing half of his body? The whole ordeal is quite messy. I have to wear a poncho to avoid splatter.
Grandpa has begun to show an interest in public speaking. He attends local meetings of the Rotary Club and they have suggested that he would be an inspiration to many in similar situations such as his. Too bad that Grandpa drinks too much and can’t drive himself to the meetings. Thankfully, he has figured out how to drink by himself, but when he spills, as he inevitably does, I am there to resolve the mess.
At the meetings, I have to sit and listen to all the old men wax philosophic about better days, when men were men and women, women, and how great of a hero Grandpa is to them all. It makes me ill.
Grandpa’s first speech was for a graduating class of seniors at a high school in rural Kentucky. There we were, him with his newsboy cap on from the Depression, anus to the microphone, half drunk on local moonshine, and I trying to hide myself in case he said anything that was embarrassing. Thankfully, he made it through alright; better than alright, since he received a standing ovation.
“He’s so brave,” the principal told me.
“Yeah, he’s something,” I said.