April 28
 
 

 
 
 

On Saturday, I took Angelo and Eleanor to Lord & Taylor to shop for an outfit to wear to my cousin Susan's wedding in July.  We poured through racks of long skirts and beaded blouses and dresses.  We talked heat and humidity, color and texture, fabric and shoes.  Angelo was as helpful as he could possibly be and found out, right off the bat, the location of the nearest men's room.  As Eleanor tried things on, I found a chair for him to land, so he didn't linger at the door to the dressing room, talking endlessly at the women who were trying to get in.  After a minute or two, he decides he needs to go to the bathroom and sets off.  My Grandmother, who is examining herself in the mirror and I exchange worried looks.  "How lost can he possibly get" I ask, "It's only over there!"  "Right.  I'll follow him."

I walk about 10 feet behind him, and can see that he's kind of confused as to where he needs to wind up.  He stops often and looks around.  I catch up, and take his arm.  I walk him to the door.  He dissapears in, calling "I'll be right out, I've just gotta take a leak!" over his shoulder.  I decide that I, too, need to go take a leak, knowing that there won't be any possible way he'll be done before me.  I find him in the door to the men's room, talking to a well dressed upper middle aged man about their mutual diving experiences.  I am used to this--I smile at the man and wait a few moments for them to wrap it up.  I start walking off, thinking that they'd follow.  I look over my shoulder,  Angelo is pumping the man's hand emphatically, and not letting go.  I return.  "Come on, Grampa, we need to go back to Gramma..."  "Right, right!" he says to the man.  "One of my girls is getting married! In Indiana!"  He continues to cling to the man's  hand, as I continue to try and and peel him away.  Finally, they bid eachother farewell and I seat him in the chair.

Eleanor is still standing in the dressing room.  We have a brief fashion consult, and I am sent off to look for a few new tops to go with the skirt she's chosen.  Within the rack of things I'd never pick for myself, i.e., the beaded, the sparkly, the frilly, I find a shirt.  It is white and two piece, a tank with a jacket.  It has vertical glittery black lines.  I bring it to her and she tries it on.  It's lovely.  She examines herself sort of critically.  "What do you think?!"  I ask.  "I really like it!"  She continues to stare at herself, and says "Yeah, it's nice".  "Show Grampa!  See what he thinks!"

She steps out from the dressing room and stands in front of him.  I see him catch his breath.  His eyes widen and fill with tears.  He is silent for a few seconds. Then: "My god, look at you--you're 17."
 
 
 
 
 
 

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