Hudson

“Catch ya later, Hoods.” My friend Will daps me as we part ways. I dribble the basketball down my driveway, digging my keys out my pocket. Immediately, stepping through the front door, I am bathed in the salivating aromas of dinner: robust tomatoes with hints of herb and garlic.

I hear my mom shout, “Hudson, is that you?”

“Who else would it be, Ma?” I asked, kicking off my sneakers and throwing my backpack on the couch. Following the sound of her voice, I find her in the kitchen, cooking my favorite. “Mmmm, spaghetti.”

“Why do you always have to be such a smart-ass?” My mom scoffs, swatting at me with her spatula before yanking me into a brief hug. After a long day of school and practice, it felt good to relax in her embrace. Then she plants a kiss on my cheek and playfully slaps it. “You’re so much like your damn daddy. May God rest his soul.”

“Mom!” I almost laugh, “Dad’s still alive.”

“Hmm,” her face scrunches up as if in thoughtful pretense. Then she shakes her head and shrugs. “Good for him.”

I laugh as she heads for the refrigerator. I inch my way to the pot of meatballs simmering in red sauce on the stove. As usual, it smells so irresistible. I remove the lid and dip the wooden spatula for a taste. A single lick sends a jolt of sweet, savory happiness through my body. This is exactly what I need in my life: a homecooked meal. I miss Ma’s cooking; she doesn’t do it as often as she used to.

“Anyway, I need a favor, hon.” My mom sets two shopping bags on the counter. “I need you to take these groceries over to your grandmother.”

Wiping my mouth, I complain, “But Ma, I’m tired.”

“And your grandmother is hungry. Priorities, Huds. Pri-or-rit-teeees.”

“Can’t you just Instacart it? Maybe Uber Eats?” I whine, knowing that I would inevitably become the delivery boy for the evening. There is no use in resisting my mom, but I always find tiny pleasures in these moments with her. The constant bickering and playful banter remind her of the good old days with my dad. Though she’ll never admit it, she enjoys it too.

My mom continues filling the bags with more goods: sugar, honey from the farmer’s market, and Gammy’s favorite chocolate turtles. “No.”

“Ugh,” I groan, giving in. “But why me?”

My mom stops what she’s doing and holds me by the shoulders. “Because you’re her favorite grandson.”

“I’m her only grandson,” I rebut.

“And that is even more reason for you to go. As you know, Gammy has not been feeling well lately and as her favorite strong, smart, and sweet grandson, it would mean the world to her. And to me.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. Where are the keys?”

“You can’t take the car.” My mom explains, grabbing more items from the pantry. Oatmeal, olive oil, and an unopened package of paper plates. “I work third shift at the hospital. Sorry, not sorry.”

“Well, how am I supposed to get there?” I ask.

“Why don’t you take your bike?” My mom winks at me. “It hasn’t been ridden in months, but I’m sure it’s still in good condition.”

Without further argument, I grunt, snatching the grocery bags off the counter to make my way to the garage. There already waiting for me is my unmounted, fully perched, and recently dusted-off bicycle with a newly installed rear basket. Just as my mom arranged it.

“Ride safely, Hudson!” Mom yells from inside the house. “And wear your hoodie! It’s supposed to be chilly tonight!”

After loading the groceries into the basket, I slip on the red hoodie my mom left for me on the handlebars. She must’ve washed it because it no longer smells like ball court sweat with mystery stains. I smile, think about how much I really do love that woman.

“Love you too.” My mother responds to my thoughts while she stands in the garage’s entrance, watching me smile at the mere appreciation for her. She hurries over to me with spaghetti. “Your company is going to lift Gammy’s spirits. Watch and see. Especially being all alone out there at that old cabin. So be patient with her, okay?”

“I will.” I smile.

“Don’t stay over too late!” she tells me.

“I won’t.” I’m already counting down the minutes when I come back home and hop on 2K.

She loads the pasta into the basket and kisses me on the forehead. “Thanks for your help. I really appreciate you, Hudson.”

“It’s no big deal.” I nod like the dutiful son I am. Despite the fuss, I really don’t mind helping out. My grandma is real cool, and funny as heck, and I love her. But right now, after Coach had us busting our asses at practice today, I would love more to climb in my laundry-littered bed and sleep.

“And do not talk to strangers.”

“Ma, I’m sixteen, not six.”

She rolls her eyes, pointing to my hoodie. “Tell that to someone who doesn’t do your laundry.”

I burst into laughter, plugging in my AirPods. “Bye, Ma.”

She shoos me off as I pedal down the driveway. Kendrick Lamar crescendoing in my ears, I race through my neighborhood, casually greeting neighbors as I pass them by.

“Good afternoon, Hudsie!” waves Miss Lumber, watering her garden across the street. Her garden is a single rosebush in a massive bed of mulch. There is not much to water. Bless her heart.

“Tell Ethel I said hello,” says Mr. Jack as he checks his mailbox on the corner. He has had a crush on my grandmother for as long as I can remember. Despite Gammy’s countless rejections to “catch up”, he still takes the time to check on her. A very persistent old man.

I speed past Will, still walking home. Only now he’s with the gorgeous Savannah Jones, carrying her books while she’s giggling away at one of his many horrible jokes. Will isn’t a funny person, but that never deters him from entertaining a pretty girl.

“Yo, Hoods!” he shouts after me. “Where you going?”

“Not now, Willard!” I shout over my shoulder, laughing.

Savannah cracks up, hysterically. Embarrassed, Will shoots me the middle finger. I shrug it off. Who the hell names their kid Willard? I think. William, yes. Maybe even Liam or Bill. But Willard? I always tease my friend about his name and he hates it every time.

Now I’m laughing as I zoom out the neighborhood. Gammy lives nine miles outside of town where the more scenic route saves me a lot of time. I turn on the off-the-beaten path that merges into the nature preserve. I imagine Gammy’s excitement when I arrive, big eyes and wide smile. Her open arms waiting to squeeze into one of those signature rocking embraces.

I used wonder, why does Gammy have to live in the middle of nowhere like some retired lumberjack, but now I get it. After Grandpa passed away, it was tough on us all. I can’t imagine how hard it was for Gammy, after forty-two years of marriage, to wake up every single day in an empty home that constantly reminded you of someone you lost. And PopPop was such a great man. Sometimes Gammy tells me that his resilience and good looks are reflected in me.

He was also Mom’s best friend, so her world was shaken up too. And the divorce didn’t make things any better. I still hear her quietly sob in Grandpa’s study on her loneliest nights. I think that’s why she takes extra shifts at the hospital, to keep her mind off things. I hate her seeing unhappy, but it gets better.

I sigh, wiping away a lone tear from my eyes. I then remember why I hate the scenic route: the welcoming trees, the soothing wind in my face, and the picturesque horizon when the sun sets. It’s peaceful, too quiet, too alone with my own thoughts.

The serenity of the wilderness invites my mind to speak its mind. The flourishing trees swaying in the breeze like a beckon for me to voice my burdens. Talk to us, its calming leaves say. The same breeze whispering in my ears, It’s going to be okay. You can tell us all about it. The beauty of my surroundings masks the inner turmoil, a silent struggle that only the wilderness seems to understand. It’s the thought of my grandma that snaps me out of it and her big, warm hug that brings a smile to my face.

I slow down as I approach the familiar hill. The intimidating steepness alone makes me want to turn around and head back home. But Gammy’s cabin is just over its peak. The setting sun dips below the horizon, casting the shadows of trees in its wake. It’ll be dark soon. As I hop off my bike to push it up the slope, I hear a rustle behind me, followed by a growl. I whip around to find a massive, gray wolf emerging from the shadows of an underbrush.

“Oh hell no,” I curse under my breath, sweat suddenly dripping down my face. On all fours, this wolf stands a couple feet tall. With its bushy tail erect and head lowered, its blue eyes study me attentively. I try to reach for the basket, when it barks at me, gnashing its long, slobbery teeth. I freeze, although the wolf continues to slowly stride toward me.

“Whoa, big fella.” I throw up my hands and it obeys, still readying to pounce at any moment. It watches me take my mom’s spaghetti out of the basket. I pop open the lid of the Tupperware and the wolf snarls. I flinch, scared enough to shit myself, clinching my cheeks, just in case.

“It’s okay,” my voice trembles. “It is…okay.”

Carefully grabbing a meatball, I lunge it at the wolf. It snatches it mid-air and devours in a single bite. And just as quickly, its attention is back on me. I calmly set the container on the ground and back away. As soon as the wolf begins eating, I take off, hauling my bike in tow. Once at the top of the hill, I look down and the wolf is still occupying himself with my dinner. I pant in relief, too exhausted to sigh. That was close.

After catching my breath, I ride all the way to my grandma’s cabin. The bike skids to a stop and I jump off. I grab her groceries and run up the stairs of the porch.

“Gammy! You’re not going to believe what just hap…” As I near the front door, I notice that it’s slightly open.

“Gammy?” I call out again; no response. As I reach for the doorknob, I hear a hoot. Over my shoulder, a barn owl, perched on the mailbox, hoots again as if warning me of something not quite right. I ignore it and push the front door of my grandma’s cabin completely open.

Nothing could prepare me for this murder scene. Snagglepuss, Gammy’s fat cat, is being ripped apart by two wolves, while a third one feasts on the cat’s spilled intestines. The entire living room is in disarray, spattered with blood like a clip out of SVU. No grandmother in sight.

Gammy! I am mortified at the thought of anything happening to her. What if she’s…? No!

The sounds of the grocery bags falling to the floor knock me out of my daze. The wolves are now focused on me, snarling rabidly. Without a second thought, I dart for the kitchen, leaping clear over the couch. They follow, gnashing at my heels. Just as I clear the entrance of the kitchen, I hurry over to the refrigerator and with every ounce of strength left in me, I push it to the floor. The entire refrigerator comes crashing down, barricading two of the wolves in the living room as the third leaps into the kitchen mere moments before the collision.

I slowly back away as the wolf close in on me, foaming at its mouth, dripping with blood. Looking for anything to get my hands on, I grab a nearby broom and swing it at the wolf. The wooden broomstick cracks against its skull. The wolf recoils in pain, whimpering, but it doesn’t take long for it to recover. I take advantage of those few seconds of stupor and run for the pantry, locking myself inside.

“Ahhhhh!” My grandma screams, whacking me on the head with her cane.

“Ow, Gammy! It’s me! Hudson!” I yell, ducking and catching the second swing of her stick.

She flicks on the light inside the walk-in pantry. Relief on her face, Gammy grabs me into the tightest hug and doesn’t let go.

I pull away. “Gammy, are you okay? I was scared. I thought you…you…”

My grandmother pats my shoulders. “I’m okay, baby. So grateful you’re here now.”

“What happened?” I ask her, still shaken from the chase.

“I left the front door open for Snaggles to handle her business and those mutts must’ve chased her inside.” I never understood why Snagglepuss didn’t use a litterbox like a normal cat, but I know how much my grandma did treat her like family.

“Did you see her out there?” she asks, her eyes swell with tears. I hate to hurt her, but I could never lie to my grandmother. The image of those wolves playing tug-of-war with the cat’s limp body is still fresh in my brain. Poor cat. Poor Grandma.

“Snagglepuss is dead, Gammy,” I say gently. She gasps, clutching her chest as the tears spill over. I catch her and pull her into a hug.

Gammy pulls away, steadying herself. “Your grandfather gave me that cat on my fiftieth birthday,” she says through tears. “Said she’d keep me company when he couldn’t anymore.”

“I’m so sorry,” I nod solemnly. “And I know you’re hurting, but we have to get out of here.”

She wipes her eyes and straightens up. “You’re right, Hudson.”

I pull out my phone and groan. “No service,” I mutter. “Shit.”

SMACK!

“Watch your mouth, boy!” Gammy scolds, giving me a fresh welt with her hand this time.

“Grandma!” I shout, “We are locked in a closet with killer wolves ready to eat us and you’re worried about me cursing?”

“Yes!” she snaps, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Unbelievable,” I roll my eyes. “Is there anything we can use in here as weapons?”

“Just this.” Gammy holds up her cane like a sword. The sight of it makes me instinctively rub the bruise it had left on my forehead.

“Okay, but is there…”

“Shhh,” she hushes me with a finger to my lips. I quiet. “Do you hear that?”

I almost stop breathing, pressing my ear to the door for a better listen. “No,” I say after a moment. “Nothing.”

She halfway smiles, “Exactly.”

“Do you think they’re gone?”

“Only one way to find out.” She hands me her cane.

“Let’s do this.” I take it and give her a quick nod.

With a deep breath, I slowly crack open the pantry door wide enough for me to peer out. The kitchen is empty. I look back at Gammy and she whispers, “Be careful.”

Opening the door a little wider, I step out into the kitchen and the wolves are nowhere to be seen. I tiptoe over to the toppled refrigerator and there are no wolves in the living room either, just the bloody remnants of Snagglepuss. I beckon over my grandma, peeking from the safety of the pantry. She hesitantly joins me to survey the scene. The sight of her beloved cat sends fresh tears streaming down her face. I squeeze her hand in comfort as she sniffles away her sobs.

I grab her face into my hands and looks Gammy directly in the eyes. “We are going to get out of this. Alive,” I whisper. “Let’s head for your truck and get the hell — I mean, the heck outta here.”

“Okay,” she manages to say through snotty tears.

Together, and as quiet as possible, we shove the fallen refrigerator aside, giving us just enough space for us to squeeze into the living room. Gammy swipes her keys off the undisturbed coffee table and we both run to the front door. We freeze in our tracks once outside on the porch. Waiting in the front yard are four, vicious wolves, growling ravenously at the mere sight of us.

I recognize the largest wolf as the spaghetti-eater from the down the hill. It licks its lips through a toothy snarl. There are no more meatballs, big dog, I mentally apologize. It barks at me as if reading my mind, clearly still hungry. I thought he and I had a “moment” earlier, but I guess that’s nothing compared to an empty stomach.

The smallest wolf lets out a howl so bloodcurdling that my heart nearly stops. In response, one…two…eight more wolves step out of the depths of the forest and into the clearing, joining the pack. Like a giant I-told-you-so, the owl, on the mailbox, hoots before taking flight, leaving me and Gammy to our own demise.

In unison, the dozen wolves line up in the yard, growling, gnashing their teeth, and impatiently pacing in anticipation of their next meal: us. My grandma looks at me and I look at her and then we both look back at the hungry wolves. Before I can even find my voice, Gammy takes the words right out of my mouth.

“Ah, shit!”