Photo by simpleinsomnia
Grandma Jo had a different perspective on life than most folks. She didn't subscribe to the common edicts of modesty and manners most women of her day tended to follow. Used to say she liked the feel of the breeze between her thighs.
That, and a giant reptile.
In fact, that's how she met Grandpa.
Owen used to love to tell the kids in our neighborhood the story of Grandma's gator wrestling days. "World Champion, four years running," he'd brag. "She could hold their snappers shut with her bare legs!"
The photo clinched the deal every time. You'd hear the kids suck in their breath, their eyes big as marbles--and not just the ordinary kind neither--big as shooters.
Grandpa must have been in his teens the first time he caught sight of her down the bayou. Said he'd never seen nothing quite like it. Little wisp of a beauty that could take down a vicious beast with no more effort than if she were knitting a tea cozy. He liked to claim she knocked them out with her good looks, just like she'd done to him.
Stunned stiff, he'd say, then look off in the distance like he was conjuring her spirit just long enough for one more glance. Like he could almost see her.
No one really knows what happened. Seems she just up and disappeared one day, leaving Grandpa to tend to Ma and her brother when they was still just wee ones.
Some folks claim they saw a gator get the best of her, but we knew better than that.
We knew she was out there looking back at us from somewhere.
Upside down and backwards. Right through the breeze between her knees.