Gram’s Crow

By Arlan Gerig

I stepped into Gram’s room in Sandy Valley Home and nearly dropped my fresh-cut flowers. Gram sat next to the open window, her arm half-buried in a bucket of dried insects and grubs. She tossed some onto the pavement where a crow pecked hungrily.

Hazel, Gram’s aide, smiled at me. “You’re just in time, Jared. We’re feeding Nevermore.”

My face grew hot. “What’s going on here? I don’t approve of my grandmother handling disgusting bugs. And to feed a frightening crow! I’m sure you’ve seen that old movie, The Birds, where crows swarm to attack innocent kids on a playground. What’s wrong with hanging a bird feeder for sparrows or chickadees?”

“Those birds are too small.” Hazel spoke calmly as though I came in with a cheerful hello. She tipped the bucket for Gram to grab another handful of bugs.

Feeling squeamish, I changed the subject. “Besides, if you named the bird after Poe’s poem, it was a raven. Not an ugly crow.”

Gram turned, her usually pleasant eyes flashing fire. “Who are you calling ugly?”

The crow cawed, sending goosebumps up my arms. That nasty bird, however, was nothing compared to what I saw on the table: a motorcycle helmet with a black visor.

“Guess I’ve missed a lot in two weeks. Have you all gone mad?”

Gram smiled, the kind she reserved for clueless dunderheads. “I assume you’re talking about my new virtual reality helmet. It’s specially designed.”

I relaxed some, relieved that my ninety-five-year-old grandmother wasn’t riding a motorcycle, but VR didn’t seem much safer. “Nobody asked my permission.”

“Do I have to ask you about everything, Jared? Am I allowed to watch baseball on TV this afternoon?”

Her sarcasm only strengthened my resolve. Gram was all I had left since my parents died two years ago. It was my job to keep the last of my family safe. I snatched the helmet and backed away from Gram.

“Handling dead bugs is repulsive and probably against regulations, but using VR at your age is liable to give you a stroke or a broken hip. I’m taking this and calling Dr. MacDonald. I will also recommend a better aide.”

Gram glared. “Balderdash! VR causes nothing like that. Are you trying to make me miserable? Leave it here, Jared. This is my life, since my friends are too busy to visit, too old, or dead. You don’t even come very often. What right do you have?”

“Actually, I’ve got all the rights.” My breath caught in my throat. “I’m only thinking of your safety. I’m sorry, Gram, but I have to protect you, even if it’s from something you enjoy.”

I rushed from the room with the helmet before I changed my mind or Hazel tackled me. When I arrived home, I inspected the helmet. I imagined Gram playing some fast-paced game, falling from her chair and breaking a leg. What an awful thing to give an old lady!

Placing it on my head, the inside was dark and stifling. I saw nothing except a message that said Signal Lost. I grumbled, removed the helmet, and tossed it onto the counter.

Two days later, I stepped into Gram’s room holding the helmet.  The guilt had been eating at me, and I had come to apologize. Nothing was worth losing her.

The curtains were drawn, and the room was dark. I stumbled over a chair as I approached her bed.

Gram sneezed and blew her nose. “You’ve taken all the joy from my life. And now, I’ve caught a cold that will probably kill me.”

Hazel sat in a chair next to her, arms crossed.

I forced a smile and showed Gram the helmet. “I never wanted to hurt you. Dr. MacDonald said you became ill after I visited, and he strongly suggested you get this back.”

Gram nodded, thunderclouds still in her eyes. “He’s a smart man. Unlike some people.”

I held it a moment, not wanting to give in. Maybe she would have gotten sick anyway. How badly did I need to win this battle? Gram coughed, and I reluctantly handed her the helmet.

She only gave me a quick glance. “I told Hazel not to let you in, but she said you have that right. Thank you for returning it.”

“I don’t even know why you use VR,” I said, my voice higher than I liked. “The helmet didn’t work when I tried it at home.”

Hazel chuckled. “You need the controls, of course, but you also weren’t in range.”

“In range of what?”

Hazel rose and pulled back the curtains. Sunshine flooded the room. The murderous crow was gone, so I breathed a little relief. Gram handed the helmet back to me.

“Try it on,” she insisted.

When I strapped the helmet on my head, I almost fell over. I was flying over the neighborhood with ebony wings, seeing cars the size of little toys driving on tiny streets. I soared over trees and houses as the breeze tickled my face. The smell of fresh-cut grass came from a man mowing his luscious green lawn, and kids on bikes called to each other. I turned and flew closer to the ground along a building I recognized as Gram’s nursing home and onto a window.

I saw myself with a ridiculous helmet covering most of my head, mouth agape. I watched myself turn to Gram.

I pulled off the helmet and Gram snickered.

“It’s an experimental thing,” she said. “This lets me explore the world since I can’t get out to see it for myself. Nevermore has been quite helpful since they connected my VR to tiny cameras on his head. He knows I like the park.”

Breathless, I handed her the helmet and plopped into a chair. I decided Gram had the right to do what she wanted.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Arlan Gerig has a love for fantasy and sci-fi that is often reflected in his writing. Arlan has several stories published with Havok and has a YA sci-fi novel currently under construction. He has also recently fulfilled a goal: a long overdue missions trip to the Bahamas to help Haitian refugees. Arlan lives with his wife, three kids, two dogs, and a cat.

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