Name in the Dust

I snitched an oval slice of kiwi from the bowel. I was lacking in my fruit intake since I started cooking for myself, this cousin dinner was the perfect opportunity to balance out my diet. Scurvy averted, I spun around on the island, swivel chair waiting for the rest of dinner to be ready. My sister, the newlywed, smiled at me and that was the starter for our conversation about school and classes. The cousin’s joined in one by one, each of us rating the other’s professor and declaring the value of the class.

                This was interrupted for me, when Aunt Karen handed me the phone that had rung several minutes previous.

                “Grandma wants to talk to you.” I took the phone with a nerves glance at Ryan, my new brother and walked into the other room. He and I had discussed my shaky relationship with Grandma. She and I weren’t on the best terms. Or at least, that’s how I perceived it. I felt this feeling confirmed after our conversation.

                “High Grandma,” I said, using my cheery, happy-go-lucky voice. No need to start off on ice.

                “Mary, I was cleaning the piano the other day and I found something.”She was not using her cheery voice.

                “What did you find?” I was determined to keep the conversation light. What could she have found though?  Was it a piece of sheet music I had left behind? I scanned my memory, was I missing any music? I loved her baby grand and practiced on it whenever I visited her country house.

                “ I was dusting the piano and I pulled down the cover and I found your name written in the dust.”

                I laughed. By myself.

                “That’s funny, I’m sorry Grandma.”

                “Did you do that? I saw it and thought if it were that dusty why didn’t she dust the piano? Did you do that this Summer?”

                “Honestly don’t know.” I bit my lip, I wasn’t denying the action, just the time. I specifically remember writing my name in the dust, but I think it was older than our summer visit, maybe Thanksgiving?

                “I’m sorry Grandma,” what else could I say, or do for that matter.

                “Just thought I’d share that with you.”

                “Okay thanks Grandma.”

                “Bye.”

                I hung the phone on it’s hook and walked face fallen, back into the presence of others. Camille and Ryan looked up at my entrance.

                “What did she want?

                “I got scolded for writing my name in the dust. Ryan started laughing. Camille just looked at me, brows bent, forehead concerned.

                “She called just for that?”