The Adventures of Oma, Chapter 1

I call her my “newer” oma because I have another grandma from my father’s side, who’s “older” and also lives in Vienna. Oma is much younger, but she’s also old I’m told. How old, well, I don’t really know.

What I do know is she’s always acting silly when I see her on Skype. “Joshua, find me!” When I check my ipad screen, I’d see a heap of a throw covering up someone on the couch. Her brown fingers clutching the ends of the wooly blanket on top of her head still showing, her nails trimmed but always unpainted (unlike my godmother-aunt Eli’s nails that always look like tiny canvases of abstract art), how can I not guess it’s her? Oh, she’d even go to the length of hiding behind the recliner or lie supine on the floor. “Where is oma??? ” She’d sing that to the tune of my mom’s playsong for me when I was a terrible two who loved hiding inside my chest of toys. Maybe oma took after me when she’s being silly.

My mom often tells me, “Stop being silly, Kyle.” She calls me by my second name when she’s kind of running short of patience. I wonder if she hasn’t been watching her own mom?? But oma never calls me Kyle. That’s why I always look forward to our virtual playtime together via Skype.


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