"Ian says this Ian says that. Sounds to me like Ian's a drag. Except," she said, pausing in lighting her cigarette, "if what you told me he did to that minder is true, he sure is weird enough to make me want to know more about him."
She lit her cigarette and squinted as the smoke reached her eyes. She waved the air in front of her face, then coughed.
"Your body's telling you not to do it," I said, recalling a time Ian pointed out exactly that. We'd been watching some kids smoking in the mall, and when some of them had coughed, he'd said. "See?"
"That so? What's your body tell you not to do?" she snapped back at me. I could see she didn't like being told anything. "Your body tell you to put on that silly dress and pretend you're living on some beautiful Southern plantation instead of this dumpy house?"
"No. I told you I did it because Great-aunt Frances wanted us to have fun."
"Yeah, right, have fun. You know lots of times. I seen her walking about talking aloud as if she was walking with someone. This ain't the first time I seen her wearing funny clothes either. Why. once..." She puffed on her cigarette and blew the smoke behind her. "Once, she laid out a blanket and had herself a good old picnic, blabbering away as if there were a dozen people with her. And there were nights when she lit candles all aver the house acting like electricity hadn't been invented yet or something. She made my granddaddy buy her some oil that burns in them oldtime lamps she has. too. I see her through the window, playing her old music and dancing as if some man was holding her in his arms.
"My mother says she should be in a mental institution. She says one of these days she'll
burn down the house or something. Just wait and see. That's why I think it's weird your grandmother sent you here to live with her. You better keep your eyes and nose open all the time," she said, waving her lit cigarette at me. "One night you'll wake up and find yourself dead."
She paused to puff again.
"How can you wake up and be dead at the same time?" I asked her.
"It's just something my granddaddy says. You know what I mean. It'll be too late. Ain't you got any other relatives to live with?"
"I have an uncle, but he lives far away and he has his own children. I haven't seen him for a long time. I forgot what he looks like," I added. "Besides. I don't want to go very far away. My mother will be getting better and come home soon to get me and take me home."
She shrugged. "Maybe." She opened the bottle of whiskey, took a sip and offered it to me. I shook my head.
"Ian says this is bad too. huh?"
"I tasted wine once. I didn't like it."
"Yeah, well this tastes better and makes you feel good and happy." To illustrate, she took another drink and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. Then she took another puff of her cigarette. She started to dance again. "You like this music?"
"It's all right," I said. I didn't really like it.
"I need a new CD player. The one I have is Chad's and he's going to want it back when I give him his walking papers." She puffed her cigarette and continued to dance.
"Won't Great-aunt Frances smell the smoke?" I asked. I imagined she would think the house had caught on fire and when she found us down here, she would be very angry.
Grandmother Emma not only forbade anyone to smoke in her house: she didn't let them smoke on her grounds. She said once the smoke gets into the furniture and walls, you might as well move out. It was why she hated to go to the cabin at the lake. My grandfather and his friends used to smoke cigars there.
"You kidding? With all the stink upstairs, she wouldn't know the difference if she did smell it. Anyway, I seen her smoke once."
"Really?"'
Grandmother Emma would never, ever smoke. How could they be so different?
"She had one of these long cigarette holders and she was wearing a silly hat with a feather and walking and talking down by the pond."
Alanis thought a moment, then put out the cigarette by squashing it on a plate. Then she sat and leaned back with her arms spread over the top of the sofa, "Okay, so tell me what your brother said about that puberty thing?"
"Precocious puberty."
"What's precocious?"
"Ian told me precocious means developing sooner than you're supposed to. He said he was precocious, but in a different way."
"How's that?"
"He was smarter and more mature than boys his age were supposed to be."