By Lily Jensen
My grandfather lay dying at a care center, twenty feet away from the cemetery and five hundred feet from his Century Farm. Time was running out, but for some reason my aunt decided to turn on the TV and invite Guy Fieri into the room.
We’re takin’ you on a road rockin’ trip down to Flavor Town!
When my dad first got the phone call, he drove ninety down the highway, speeding past land suffocating from megadrought. We pulled into the parking lot of the old folks home and saw all of my cousins spilling out of my grandpa’s shared room.
It might just be a mound of oil-logged Pillsbury crescent dough, but it’s bomb-dot-com tasty, amigo!
My aunts and uncles do not talk to each other, even though they all live in the same town of three thousand people. The air felt heavy.
What a hot frisbee of fun!
After it became clear that we might be here for a while, we all sat, watching and waiting. My aunt asked me how school was going, and when I said I had a lot of reading, she replied, “Well, we always need people who know how to spell.”
Winner winner chicken dinner!
My cousin Tyler called from jail, and they held a cell phone up to my grandpa’s ear. I could hear Tyler crying, though I don’t know if my grandpa could.
I wanna be the ambassador to Chimichanga Flavor Town!
If I had it my way, God’s hands would have come out of the sky and His voice would have shouted some final word.
Shama lama ding dong!
But instead of God’s hands, all we had was my dad leaning over Grandpa’s body to see if he was still breathing. And instead of God’s voice, I just heard my aunt say she needed my grandpa’s 1997 Mercury Grand Marquis.
Lily Jensen is from Provo, Utah. She is a student at BYU studying English. When she isn’t reading, she’s hiking the mountains near her home.
