My grandmother invariably adorns herself in shades of rose red. Today, when she honked twice outside and I ran out to her car, it was turquoise stripes and glasses and careful lines of cherry lipstick. I buckled myself in the passenger seat as I appreciated the tinkling of her charm bracelets when she shifted to drive.
These Tuesdays are our days. It’s a tradition that started around this time last year. I was a year younger with shorter nails, jealous of Granny’s immaculate manicure. She began taking me for weekly nail appointments. Eventually my own stubs grew, and I had the long fingers I’ve always reasoned a writer should. After all, my hands complete my most favorite work. They should look the part.
Tuesday night nail appointments began preceding Tuesday night dinner dates. We chose delis for a while, interchanging sandwich shops for burger joints and then ultimately steak houses. The food wasn’t the desideratum, though some places we tried were equal bits fun and tasteful. My most dear experience was what came during the food, between bites of salads and sips of ice water.
It usually begins with the blood-red gloss stain on Granny’s glass, condensation slipping down as the waitress pours more ice into the sweating cup. I’ll be halfway into a burger, and think of how red is bright like my math folder and ramble about school. We talk about college and the way things have changed. Often I admit things to her about my relationships with my friends that I wouldn’t dare confront anyone about upfront. She understands my business is with whom I seek advice, and offers solace with solid guidance.
Other times, we talk about my ambitions and future. She consistently calms my fears about adulthood. I aim to grow up as classy and fearless as she.
Every little girl should have a red grandmother, one who encourages their dreams of Disney dresses or pirate ships. I believe the miracle of grandmas lies within the gingerbread you bake together late at night when you’re a child and afraid of the dark. I believe the love of a grandma inspires passion within the talents of a grandchild. Grandmothers have the potential to be extraordinary because they’ve already done this mothering thing once before. If they’re lucky, they have the chance to do again, and to make another mark in another child.
Granny gave me a charm bracelet of my own that clinks and dazzles like her own the other day. When I paint my nails crimson and wear my jewelry, I feel as strong as her. I believe in wearing red proudly.