The Easter season began and Grandmama was selling off our belongings. Our sleepy Iowa town sold corn and gossip by the bushel but didn’t have a lot of room for old jazz musicians like Grandmama was. It was the 1950’s.
We were the talk of the town, and not in a good way since our parents died in a violent, submerging car crash. Grandmama moved in to “help.” She was my mama’s mama and she was an emotionally cruel woman who resented being anything but stylish, talented and pampered. “I used to play to full crowds.” She would say and she could see them there in front of her…her adoring fans. When she came back to reality, all she would see was us. The dishtowel over her shoulder seemed to remind her that she was a domestic caretaker now and she’d crack it in the air…
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