Michelle pushes open the front door and walks into the living room. Theresa has her eyes closed, but isn’t asleep.
“Hi Michelle, and how is my favourite grandchild today?” Theresa says, without looking.
Michelle replies, as she has a hundred times before, “I am fine and I am your only grandchild.” They both laugh, which is their tradition. Michelle bends down and gives her grandma a quick kiss on the cheek, which is more noise than action.
“Cup of tea?”
Michelle knows what the answer will be and heads towards the kitchen, to put the kettle on.
Theresa pushes herself forward, runs her hands across her face and starts to make a space on the small wooden table, ready for the cup.
“Gran,” Michelle shouts from the kitchen, “can I ask you something?”
Theresa leans back into her chair. The tone of her granddaughter’s voice triggers a warning siren. This may be a simple question, but Theresa guesses that the answer will be anything but straightforward.
Michelle enters the room carrying two cups of tea, gently kicks the door closed, passes one of the cups to Theresa and then sits down opposite her.
“Gran, for my 18th birthday, will you buy me a voucher?”
“Of course,” replies Theresa, slightly surprised by how easy it was to answer. “If I buy you something, it will most likely be the wrong size or the wrong style. Which shop were you thinking of?” Theresa presumed it would be a clothes shop or one of those online companies.
“A new place has opened next to the fish shop and they’re giving discount if you buy a voucher this month.”
“Well that sounds like a good idea,” says Theresa. “What kind of shop is it?”
“Actually, it’s a tattoo artist,” says Michelle, with a slightly hesitant voice.
***
There have been many occasions when Michelle has asked her grandma for help or advice. As Michelle has grown older, the questions have become more complex and far trickier to answer.
A few years back, Michelle was spending the day with her grandma while her parents were at work. Straight away Theresa had picked up that something wasn’t quite right. Over lunch it all came out: Michelle’s mum and dad had told her that “under no circumstances she was going to get a dog.” Despite desperate pleading and promises, Michelle feared that it would never happen.
“Maybe you can help them change their minds, Grandma,” she had suggested hopefully.
“Well, I am not sure I can. Let me have a think about it while I wash up.”
“Please, please help me get a dog. I’ll love you forever for it,” Michelle had croaked.
Theresa knew her daughter and son-in-law well enough to be sure that they would never change their minds. A dog wouldn’t fit into their busy lives. Nor would it fit into their upstairs apartment.
When Theresa was finished in the kitchen, she announced that she had a plan.
After a couple of phone calls and a visit to the pet store, everything soon fell in place. That weekend, her granddaughter had her very own pet rabbit. It was housed in a wooden hutch in Theresa’s back garden. As she only lived a few hundred meters away, Michelle could visit her rabbit every day. It was a win-win situation: Theresa saw more of her granddaughter and Michelle had a pet. She christened it ‘Rover’.
Theresa was aware that her decision, to help Michelle, became the foundation of a deep friendship that continuously developed. Whenever Michelle had a problem, it was always her grandma she would turn to.
There was that time when Michelle made her grandma promise not to tell her parents she was being bullied at school. Two of her classmates, Jayne and Jade, were ‘picking on her’ and ‘saying nasty things behind her back’. She didn’t want her mum and dad to know, because she knew Dad would barge into school and make a massive scene in the playground. Michelle would ‘die of embarrassment and get bullied even more’.
“Don’t upset yourself Michelle. If you like, I’ll give the head teacher a call. I’ll be discrete, don’t you fret. I’ll simply ask her to look into it.”
“Thanks Gran. But please don’t mention the girls’ names,” insisted Michelle.
“Don’t worry, I won’t. I’ve forgotten them already. My memory isn’t as good as it used to be.” They both laughed.
The next morning, Theresa did make that call to the school. The head teacher was lovely and told her she would have a chat with the class teacher and then would get back to her. Good to her word, a couple of hours later the head teacher informed Theresa that “…everything has been sorted – but do not hesitate to call me again if there are any concerns in the future.”
Of course Theresa had told Michelle’s mum and dad, but sensibly they kept it to themselves.
Several months later, just before Michelle turned fifteen, she had arrived at her grandma’s in floods of tears; her boyfriend had finished with her. This was a bit of a shock to Theresa, as she didn’t know Michelle had a boyfriend. She was aware of a boy who was often mentioned and she’d even met him. Once, he and Michelle had walked up to her house to feed Rover. However, seeing her granddaughter heartbroken was something which could not be ignored.
She sat Michelle down, poured her a glass of orange juice and asked if she wanted to share the whole story.
It transpired that this boy, Ali, had been her boyfriend for over six weeks. They’d been out to the park a couple of times, had a drink at the supermarket café and were planning to go to the movies next weekend. Theresa agreed; it sounded very serious.
“You don’t go to a supermarket café, unless it’s for real,” Theresa said, hiding a smile.
Michelle wiped her eyes and gave her grandma one of those looks only teenagers can give.
“If he’s meant for you, it will all work out just fine.”
Theresa then shared the stories of her own youth, how she had a boyfriend at school that her mother and father did not approve of. She had to meet him secretly. When she explained how unhappy she was when the boy and his family moved away, there was a slight catch in her voice.
“But, then I met your granddad and we had forty-five wonderful years together.”
Theresa hoped that knowing her grandma had been through a similar experience would help Michelle realise that the loss of her boyfriend wasn’t the end of the world.
Ali’s name was never mentioned again. In fact, no boys’ names were ever mentioned.
On another occasion, the two of them were standing in the kitchen: Theresa drying the pots and Michelle making them both a cup of tea.
“Gran. I’m going to say something you might find a little weird.”
“Oh you are, are you? Do I need to sit down to hear it?” asked Theresa.
“No, but maybe you should hold on to the sides of the sink.” They both laughed.
“Okay, spill the beans.”
“Gran, I’m not sure, but I’m wondering if I should have been a boy.”
“I think we’d better go and sit down after all.”
Theresa posed thoughtful questions, as Michelle went through the reasons why she thought there might be a gender query. When Theresa pointed out that liking football, preferring jeans to skirts and not having a boyfriend weren’t that unusual, Michelle relaxed a little and went on to explain some of her deeper emotions. It was the first time she had ever shared these thoughts with anyone. Theresa was a great listener, only interjecting when she needed clarification.
Over the next hour, Michelle had opened her heart both to her grandma and, much more importantly, to herself. It had really helped having someone listening to her.
“I’m so glad you’re able to share this with me,” said Theresa, “it can’t have been easy. But if you want my opinion, I don’t think there is anything different, or ‘weird’ as you put it, in enjoying things that were once seen as the domain for men only. Things have changed, the world has moved on. And, of course, there is so much on the news about this gender identity confusion many young people are going through, so maybe that’s got you wondering. But, all I’ll say is, just be yourself and if you want to talk to someone who knows more about this than I do, we’ll try to arrange it.”
Michelle stood up, leaned towards her grandma and gave her a very tight hug.
“You’ve no idea how much speaking out loud has helped. Thanks for listening, Gran.”
Such a loving relationship doesn’t come easy.
Theresa now has to deal with the latest challenge: The tattoo voucher.
“So, you’re planning to have a tattoo, are you?” Theresa says.
“Yes, and before you ask, I have given it a lot of thought. And turning eighteen, I don’t need Mum and Dad’s permission.”
“Have you told them yet?” Theresa asks.
Michelle gives a weak smile and replies, “well, I mentioned it in passing, but they pretended not to hear me.”
“Okay, let’s have a think, before I buy any voucher that results in you being etched for life.”
Theresa starts with a few questions.
“Why do you want a tattoo?”
“I just do. It’s really trendy, everyone is getting one. And Grandad had one!”
“That’s true,” Theresa responds, “but it was different in those days, when he was in the merchant navy. Tattoos were a badge, a sign that you belonged.” Theresa is aware this isn’t a great answer, so continues with the questioning.
“What will you have drawn on yourself? Where on your body will it be?”
Then she adds, more in desperation than in hope, “you know it will really hurt.”
“I know it will hurt, but that’s okay. It’s going to be dead small, as it’s going to be on my ankle. My left one.”
Theresa is happy to hear about the size and location, but not fully comfortable with the whole idea.
“Michelle, it would be so easy to have something done now which you might regret in a few years time: A flower you have no interest in, an animal you’ve never seen, a dragon you don’t believe in or a cartoon you will soon think is immature.”
“Trust me Gran, I will choose something sensible.”
“You know what, Michelle? At eighteen, I have to trust you, but I will have a chat with your mum and dad first.”
Michelle isn’t smiling when she hears her grandma say this.
Three weeks after Michelle had her 18th birthday party, she sits in the armchair opposite her grandma. She has slipped off her left boot, pulls up her jeans and is ready to remove her ankle sock.
Michelle counts down.
“Three, two, one. Reveal!”
Slowly, yet dramatically, she rolls down her sock and stops as a red heart appears on her white skin.
Theresa is so relieved to see that the tattoo is small and could easily be hidden away.
“That’s far lovelier than I feared,” she admits.
“I’ve not finished yet. There’s more,” says Michelle excitedly.
She whips off her sock to uncover five, very small symbols in black ink, お婆ちゃん, just below the red heart. Even with her glasses on, Theresa cannot make out what they are.
“What are those things?” she asks.
“They’re Japanese characters. From one of the countries I am planning to visit in my gap year.”
“Does it have a meaning?”
Michelle stands up, lifts her foot for Theresa to see more clearly.
“It’s Japanese for Grandma.”
Theresa still can’t make out the black characters or the little red heart, which are blurred; her eyes are filled with warm tears.
Michelle leans into her grandma and they hug each other tightly.
“Cup of tea, Grandma?”
Published: People’s Friend
