(originally appeared on 16 To Midnight)

        Elbow Beach was quiet the night my Grandmother killed the captain of the soccer team with her houseboat. Even now, in the still of the night, I can hear the rumble of her engines as she plowed the huge, sea-worthy condo up onto the beach, crushing Don Baradonis beneath it.

I still stand on the tawny sand, looking out at the ocean as it stretches on blue and think of Grandma. I can still see her swilling ouzo and kicking little kids when they taunted her about her eye patch. The way shed fuss and fret all day at her tattoo parlor, only to go home and smack her budgie around with the remote control for the TV. I remember how she beat up the school bully and then whacked me in the cajones, just to keep me a good boy.

        How lively she looked the night it happened. How she cackled with delight as she drove "Edna Raisin Hell" aground. She smiled, delighted, as she flew through the windshield and smeared 78 years of experience on the rock face.

        Her last words are still a mystery to us; "melons on sale."