The Academie by Amy Joy

this
evening,” mom said.
    Andy looked struck. “No! Presents
now!”
    Grandma smiled. “It really isn’t
Christmas without presents; is it Andy?”
    Andy grinned at her and then looked to
mom and dad with his puppy dog eyes. “Pleeease?”
    Moments later, we were huddled around
the tree, ready to open gifts.
    “ Andy, this is for you,”
grandma said, handing him a gift from one of her bags.
    Grandma’s gifts were always a mystery
because she lived so far away and never had the opportunity to
really know what we wanted or needed. Andy ended the mystery
moments later when, throwing the paper aside, he revealed a small,
metal tractor and wagon. He gave it a sideways look and then looked
up at grandma.
    “ This is the kind of thing
that boys used to play with when your mother was small,” she
explained. “I thought it might still hold some appeal
today.”
    Andy smiled politely, but I could tell
he was having trouble figuring it out because he picked it up and
began to search for buttons to push.
    “ There’s no buttons,
sweetheart. You push it around and can load things up in it. You
can put dirt in the back and haul it around.”
    Andy began to push it around and
seemed to enjoy the road-like lines it left in the carpet because
he continued making them and then followed truck and wagon back
across the same path again.
    Grandma smiled. “I also got you this,
honey,” she said, pulling out another package.
    Andy stopped the truck mid-cycle and
reached up for the second package. The mystery was ended with one
tug at the paper. “Z.T.!” he exclaimed “I’ve been wanting this so
bad!” he said, waving the hand-held gamer around
gleefully.
    Mom looked at grandma.
    “ Hey, I’m not completely
out of touch with kids these days!” Laughter exploded around the
room.
    With Andy now absorbed in his game,
grandma looked to me. “Do you want your gift, Allie?”
    I nodded. Grandma’s gifts were hit and
miss. Lately, admittedly, they’d been a bit more of a miss because
she kept trying to buy me clothes and wasn’t quite getting it
right. But I always appreciated the gesture, and I always kept
them, even if I never wore them. After all, it’s the thought that
counts.
    The package she handed me was small
and clumsily wrapped.
    “ Sorry about the
wrapping,” she said. “My hands, they just don’t do what I tell them
to anymore.”
    “ It’s fine,
grandma.”
    I gently pulled the tape apart and
slid out the contents. It was a small, black book, held closed by
an elastic band. I pulled back the elastic and opened the pretty
leather cover to flip through the pages. Blank.
    “ It’s a journal,
honey.”
    “ Oh,” I answered, still a
bit unsure what to do with it. “Thank you.”
    “ I thought you might need
it soon.” I noticed a serious tone in her voice.
    There was a moment of silence, leaving
me to wonder what grandma could be getting at, before my mother
chimed in with, “We have something for you too, mom.”
    “ Oh you shouldn’t have!”
Grandma answered happily, and I could see that she was
thrilled.
     
     
    Later that evening, long after all the
presents were opened and the holiday meal was settling in our
stomachs, I snuck to the kitchen for one last pumpkin
bar.
    “ I thought I heard you,”
grandma said, emerging from the living room where mom had her set
up on the pullout couch.
    “ You caught me,” I said,
hand still in the pumpkin bar container.
    “ I wanted to tell you
about my gift,” she said, sitting down at the table.
    “ Okay. Do you want a cup
of tea?” I never knew my grandma to sit at a table without a cup of
tea, so it felt natural to ask.
    “ Oh no, dear. Not at this
hour. Thank you.” She paused and then looked at me intently. “Are
you happy to be going to The Academie, Allie?”
    Her question caught me by surprise,
and I choked a bit on my pumpkin bar. “You want the
truth?”
    She nodded.
    “ No. Not at
all.”
    “ Good,” she said, smiling.
“That’s my