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BlinAI
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Testo

Dataset card Data Studio Files
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"Arthur?" says a voice that is old and hurt and melancholy. His Gran's voice. His Gran, who can override his ringer, switch on his comm at a distance because Art is a good grandson who was raised almost entirely by his saintly and frail (and depressive and melodramatic and obsessive) grandmother, and of course his comm...
"Gran, hi! Sorry, I was just in the middle of something, sorry." He checks his comm, which tells him that it's only six in the morning in Toronto, noon in London, and that the date is April 8, and that today is the day that he should have known his grandmother would call.
"You forgot," she says, no accusation, just a weary and disappointed sadness. He has indeed forgotten.
"No, Gran, I didn't forget."
But he did. It is the eighth of April, 2022, which means that it is twenty-one years to the day since his mother died. And he has forgotten.
"It's all right. You're busy, I understand. Tell me, Art, how are you? When will you visit Toronto?"
"I'm fine, Gran. I'm sorry I haven't called, I've been sick." Shit. Wrong lie.
"You're sick? What's wrong?"
"It's nothing. I -- I put my back out. Working too hard. Stress. It's nothing, Gran."
He chances to look up at Linda, who is standing where he left her when he dived reflexively for his comm, staring disbelievingly at him. Her robe is open to her navel, and he sees the three curls of pubic hair above the knot in its belt that curl towards her groin, sees the hourglass made by the edges of her breasts th...
"Stress! Always stress. You should take some vacation time. Are you seeing someone? A chiropractor?"
He's entangled in the lie. "Yes. I have an appointment tomorrow."
"How will you get there? Don't take the subway. Take a taxi. And give me the doctor's name, I'll look him up."
"I'll take a cab, it'll be fine, he's the only one my travel insurance covers."
"The only one? Art! What kind of insurance do you have? I'll call them, I'll find you a chiropractor. Betty Melville, she has family in London, they'll know someone."
God. "It's fine, Gran. How are you?"
A sigh. "How am I? On this day, how am I?"
"How is your health? Are you keeping busy?"
"My health is fine. I keep busy. Father Ferlenghetti came to dinner last night at the house. I made a nice roast, and I'll have sandwiches today."
"That's good."
"I'm thinking of your mother, you know."
"I know."
"Do you think of her, Art? You were so young when she went, but you remember her, don't you?"
"I do, Gran." He remembers her, albeit dimly. He was barely nine when she died.
"Of course -- of course you remember your mother. It's a terrible thing for a mother to live longer than her daughter."
His Gran says this every year. Art still hasn't figured out how to respond to it. Time for another stab at it. "I'm glad you're still here, Gran."
Wrong thing. Gran is sobbing now. Art drops his eyes from Linda's and looks at the crazy weft and woof of the faded old Oriental rug. "Oh, Gran," he says. "I'm sorry."
In truth, Art has mourned and buried his mother. He was raised just fine by his Gran, and when he remembers his mother, he is more sad about not being sad than sad about her.
"I'm an old lady, you know that. You'll remember me when I go, won't you Art?"
This, too, is a ritual question that Art can't answer well enough no matter how he practices. "Of course, Gran. But you'll be around for a good while yet!"
"When are you coming back to Toronto?" He'd ducked the question before, but Gran's a master of circling back and upping the ante. *Now that we've established my imminent demise...*
"Soon as I can, Gran. Maybe when I finish this contract. September, maybe."
"You'll stay here? I can take the sofa. When do you think you'll arrive? My friends all want to see you again. You remember Mrs. Tomkins? You used to play with her daughter Alice. Alice is single, you know. She has a good job, too -- working at an insurance company. Maybe she can get you a better health plan."
"I don't know, Gran. I'll *try* to come back after I finish my contract, but I can't tell what'll be happening then. I'll let you know, OK?"
"Oh, Art. Please come back soon -- I miss you. I'm going to visit your mother's grave today and put some flowers on it. They keep it very nice at Mount Pleasant, and the trees are just blooming now."
"I'll come back as soon as I can, Gran. I love you."
"I love you too, Arthur."
"Bye, Gran."
"I'll call you once I speak to Betty about the chiropractor, all right?"
"All right, Gran." He is going to have to go to the chiropractor now, even though his back feels as good as it has in years. His Gran will be checking up on it.
"Bye, Arthur. I love you."
"Bye, Gran."
"Bye."
He shakes his head and holsters the comm back in his pants, then rocks back and lies down on the rug, facing the ceiling, eyes closed. A moment later, the hem of Linda's robe brushes his arm and she lies down next to him, takes his hand.
"Everything OK?"
"It's just my Gran." And he tells her about this date's significance.
"How did she die?"
"It was stupid. She slipped in the tub and cracked her skull on the tap. I was off at a friend's place for the weekend and no one found her for two days. She lived for a week on life support, and they pulled the plug. No brain activity. They wouldn't let me into the hospital room after the first day. My Gran practicall...
"What about your dad?"
"You know, there used to be a big mystery about that. Gran and Mom, they were always tragic and secretive when I asked them about him. I had lots of stories to explain his absence: ran off with another woman, thrown in jail for running guns, murdered in a bar fight. I used to be a bit of a celeb at school -- lots of ki...