The Best Dying Scene I’ve Ever Seen. . .


He is so dramatic, his performances compelling and intriguing. My second grandson, I swear he’ll be an actor! He has his facial expressions polished to perfection, whether displaying humor, or sadness; they are displayed for your amusement.

And it is so hard not to laugh!

“Where are you going?” I ask as I see him heading out the door, obviously trying to sneak out unnoticed. Hmmm, I think. His shoulders are protectively hunched forward as he stops and looks over his shoulder at me. “What do you have there?”

Smooth turn here as he coordinates the move by twisting his arm around to his back while talking animatedly to me.

“Have, grandma?” he says with a truly angelic look on his face. “I don’t have nothing, see. . .” he offers, holding out his hand. An obviously empty hand is being proffered out towards me for inspection. “I’m just going out to play with my brothers, I really miss playing with them” he says, his beautiful blue eyes open wide and innocent, slowly blinking their long dark lashes at me.

“What’s in your other hand there bubbie?” I ask, trying so hard to NOT laugh, especially since I didn’t have a clue what was clutched in his other grubby little hand!

“Other hand?” he states, as he smoothly slides the right hand around his back and brings the left out to show me that it is empty. There is more movement going on behind his back, his small body twisting and gyrating as the movement behind his back continues.

Ahh! He feels he has accomplished what ever he was trying to do, his face now reflects achievement and his smile is a mile wide. Hmmm, I think again!

“Why don’t you come over and give grandma a hug before you go out to play with your brothers?” I ask him.

Panic. His expressive little face reflects a half dozen or so scenarios that are going through his brain. His face grows pale, and then reddens dramatically as he takes a couple of hesitant steps towards me.

We can hear the sounds of laughter from the front yard as two of his brothers are chasing one another around. His parents are outside talking to a neighbor in the cool shade of the evening. His brand new baby brother is sleeping peacefully in the living room. He darts longing eyes towards the laughter outside and then decides to just get it over with. He rushes up to me and throws his arms around my neck quickly and then just as quickly pulls away. He starts to turn around and stops dead in his tracks, looking at me with those huge eyes again.

“What’s the matter bubbie?” I ask him, trying so hard not to laugh at his predicament.

“No-nothing grandma” he stammers. But by this point he knows he’s caught. He can’t very well back up all the way to the door, and he can’t turn around. It’s amazing watching him mentally debate what he needs to do.

He sighs, a big, huge loud and lengthy sigh and reaches behind his back and pulls out a water gun, ready to aim and shoot at his brothers.

“Ahh,” I say, trying to sound stern, but failing completely. “Were you going to go out there and shoot your brothers?” I ask him, laughing out loud now, no longer able to keep it under control. I hold out my hand for the gun. The house rules are that if one has a gun, the others do too. Sort of equal opportunity shooting here, that’s our motto!

He hands me the gun, not at all sure what I’ll do. I notice that it’s only half full. “What happened to the rest of the water?” I question.

He sheepishly turns around at the point and shows me his back side. The gun had leaked down his pants, leaving a wet trail down his jeans.

At that point I totally loose it. I’m laughing so hard that tears are running down my face and my sides are hurting. He starts to laugh too at that point realizing that by this time, I’m not going to punish him.

I point the gun at him and pull the trigger and a small stream of water spurts out of the gun and hits him square in the chest, soaking his tee shirt. “I just think your front side should match your back side” I tell him, laughing all the more at his look of astonishment. Grandma shot him with his water gun! Then the performance began, obviously meant to be memorable.

He slapped his hand over the wet spot and groaned loudly. Then the other hand flew up to cover the first one as the groans turned into moans. He took a couple of staggering steps backwards, clutched his chest tighter, then stumbled forward. Down onto one knee he went, looking up at me with pitiful, mischievous eyes.

“Ohhh,” he moaned, “I’m dying grandma!” as he fell forward onto the floor. But he wasn’t done yet. His body turned slowly over onto his back, with exaggerated pain and agony. His legs and arms started jerking and his body twitching and convulsing hysterically until finally all was still. . . . Almost! One final contortion and he lay there, dead! Except for the giggles. . .