Red Riding Hood

I wore red. Every day was a ‘red’ day. It was my thing, see.

The old lady had called earlier and requested my presence. Maybe she was close to knocking the bucket over, footsie-style. So I acquiesced. “I’ll see you some time in the post-noon, grandma.” I assured her. What I meant was, I’d see her in the late evening.

But the old gal’s a tough piece of meat. She drank Blue Bols for breakfast, White Russians for dinner and red-diesel for supper. She looked like a pickle.

So I headed into the woods. That forest gets dark quick, but the old bird wanted company and I wanted some of that legacy she kept under the floorboards beneath the king-size she lived on twenty-four-seven.

I saw movement outta the corner of my eye. My eyes were sharp, see, like one of those Ginsu knives from the land of the rising sun. Then the action shifted port side. Then back to starboard from aft. This thing was circling me. Looking for a way in. Maybe it wanted to board me. Good luck, I thought. This is one shiksa who knows some moves: stamp, grab and claw. Stamp, grab and claw. Then one karate chop to the medulla oblongata and it’s sayonara for a dirt nap. Down for the full ten count and a hundred more.

And then that rancid meat flavour was in my face and stinging my eyes. I wanted to retch… but I gotta strong stomach. I kept the carrot chowder was staying put.

“Hey baby,” he growled, “looking kinda feisty.”

I didn’t want to tell him about my see-you-later chop so I played along: “You wanta rumble, you came to the right place, bub?”

“Hoo-hoo, I like that.”

This cat was just warming up to play second fiddle before he could move on to the full percussion.

“Why don’t you and me have a little quiet time, what you think?”

“Too noisy for you?” I was silent so I could allow him to absorb the quiet of the place. The birds were playing hush-hush. The mice were as quiet as themselves. The owls couldn’t give a hoot. They were asleep.

He was persistent, “No, I think we should find a place all to our-“

“Listen, buddy,” I said and I could see the smile on his face. He wanted his vindaloo spicy, “I don’t wanna be rude, but I’m off to the old lady’s for a cup of best Indian and dried up cookie… ehh, I don’t want what you’re selling… okay?”

He was pensive. Till the count of three I thought he’d got the hint. “Old lady? You mean, Hubbard?”

“Hubbard? That floozy? Nah, Grandma Hood, outta Poughkeepsie, NY. She’s in the log cabin for the summer.”

He made a noise that sounded like ‘uh-huh, log cabin’ and a second noise that sounded like ‘yum’ before shooting off at tremendous velocity. For a moment, I thought he might be Jamaican with that kinda foot-speed, but I shook it off and quickened to a skip myself.

Wasn’t long before I was outta breath and so slowed to a plodding perambulation. You gotta lay off the smokes for a day or two, Red, I told myself. Those lungs have a best before date, you know?

Eventually, I reached the cottage. “Ah, the old lady decided to make me welcome… the front door’s open. Maybe she’s got the kettle on. I’m in need of refreshment.”

But there was no welcome whistle wetter. If I wanted to wet my whistle, I’d have to get the kettle to whistle before my whistle would be wet. “I’m here, grandma.” I called towards her bedchamber.

Her voice was hoarse, “Come on in, honey.”

The silly old horse doesn’t drink enough, I thought. I’ll make her a cup of tea to wet her-

Five minutes later, and after some uncharacteristic impatience on her behalf I might add, I had a steaming hot kettle and a mess of cookies I’d brought-with from Aleeb’s on the corner. (Grandma’s cookies were older than Methus).

“Took your time, didn’t you, toots?”

Toots? Grandma never called me that before. Maybe dementia was finally settling in.

There was something strange, now that I was sat down next to old granny. She looked strange. “Hey, er, grandma, what big ears you got.”

“Big ears?! What the f- what’s wrong with my ears, you little- erm, oh yeah, you know, when you grow older your ears grow, you know. They’re hairy too and pointy.”

“Right.” That was a strange answer. I just thought she might try to be cute and deflect it like and say, ‘all the better to hear you with, my dear’. I’d say she got outta the wrong side of the bed, but the broad is in there twenty-four- well, I already told you about that earlier in the story.

So I looks at those eyes. Granny has green eyes. Today, for whatever reason, they were brown. And big as a motherfucka. “What big eyes you have, grandma? What’s up with the colour change – you wearing contacts? Getting narcissistic in your old age…” I laughed.

“Watch your mouth there, toots… I ain’t that old. These eyes, well… it’s a new form of cataracts. How d’you like that? Feeling a bit guilty with that smart mouth of yours?”

Yeah, she was touchy today. Thought I might back off a little. “Your nose is looking wet.”

“Hey, you just watch that fucking mouth there or someone might- er, yeah, my nose, I, er got a little bit of the sniffs. Get me a tissue from the ladies, honey.”

So I got her a tissue. Brought her a full roll. And if you want to know, the toilet was a mess. Hadn’t been cleaned since I was last over here the year before.

“Hey, Grandma, what’s with all the hostility? It’s me… you’re little cherub. Red.”

“Yeah, you know, it’s these goddamn piles I got. They’ll make anyone cranky. If it ain’t the relentless throbbin’ it’s the itch, you know. I don’t mean nothing by it, babes.”

“So what’s with the mouth, Grandma, you look like Julia Roberts.”

“Motherfucka! I’m gonna rip your goddamn head off and shit down the hole in your neck!”

The bitch went for me. She leapt forward. And I’m thinking, Disability Living Allowance? This kitty can really move.

So I took a side step and granny’s there on all fours holding her stomach making a groaning sound.

“Jesus, grandma. What you been eating? You look like you’re ready to ‘splode.”

She just continued to make groaning sounds and then she rolled onto her side and gargled for a bit.

“Get me some Alka-Seltzer, honey. Fast. I feel like I’m gonna shit a live moose.”

I was gonna say she looked like she’d eaten a live moose.

It was at that moment that there was a momentary rip, followed by a tremendous popping sound and that was the last I knew.

I woke up a few hours later, still on the floor. Nearby was grandma. She was grey. Well, she would be if she wasn’t covered in blood and mucus and if she wasn’t looking a little bit chewed up. Yeah, she was dead. That poor dead, nutty lady. Underneath her was her favourite wolf-skin rug that was ruined. I don’t know what had happened – don’t ask – but it was covered in the same goopy shit that the old lady was marinated in.

So, I said a little prayer about how glad I was I hadn’t been around for the death and that I wished she’d waited till I was gone before shuffling off the lavender coil, before cranking open the floor boards.

A hundred and fifty-seven gees. I was going to Rio. First Class, baby. And the old lady’s log cabin? Gotta be at least another two hundred ‘k’, in this climate. But that’s not the kind of Benjamins you can swim in for the rest of your natural… I’d still have to do some hustling on the side. But that’s the great thing about being me. I’m Little Red Riding Hood. I’m the star of my very own fairy story, and as such, implicit within every fairy tale trope, is the imperative that the leading lady is… what… what is she? Three guesses?

Nope? You give up?

Well, I’ll tell you. If your protagonist is a girl, she is the most beautiful girl you ever did see and because of that… this girl is gonna get everything she could ever wish for.

So long, mutherfuckas!!!