As if I'm not bombarded by the elderly all the time as it is, I was required to "adopt a grandmother" from a local nursing home in 5th grade. What would've happened if I'd loved that woman more than my actual grandmothers? And invited her over for holidays? And let her drive me to dentist appointments? I get the feeling it wouldn't be all too cheery.

There was no danger of the above scenario occuring, though...for I was assigned Thyra.

My friend Leah's mom was employed at Rosewood, Thyra's residence, which is how this whole backstab-your-own-relatives thing went into motion. While trekking around this piss-infested asylum once or twice before, I'd come across my soon-to-be-grandmother. Her insistence that I empty out the contents of my Dorito bag (purchased only moments before) into her liver-spotted palm left a lingering, yet not all-together pleasant impression. Our class visit to Rosewood only perpetuated my gloomy outlook. Thyra's born-again grandkids (us) presented the old woman with thoughtfully purchased bath oils, lotions, and a Tootsie roll or two. Thyra ate the candy (wrapper included) and then refused to talk to us or accept her other gifts. Nearby, kindly Mrs. Rogers was hugging each of her group in turn, while Mrs. Stevens wiped a tear from her sleepy sapphire eyes.

"More candy," snarled Thyra, squint-glaring at her brats.

"Look at this, ma'am!" one kid said hopefully, dangling a loofah in front of her wizened face. "It's pink and, uh, cushy?"

"MORE CANDY."

One of the mothers took me aside. "Why don't you take her for a walk?" she whispered, sensing only too rightly that Hallmark wouldn't be ripping off this moment any time soon.

Eager to stand out as the helpful, kindly child (for I'd been told more than once I embodied all that was opposite), I took hold of Thyra's wheelchair and steered her past my classmates through the doors of the sitting room. The vending machine was just down the hall, and I planned to purchase a bag of Doritos, from which Thyra could empty the contents into my hand. She could have the bag itself.

Our progress was halted just yards from the refreshments. "STOP!" cried a nurse, three or four following her wake. "WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"

"I...uh..." I stammered, looking around with wide eyes.

"Wha--?"

"SHE CANNOT LEAVE THE BUILDING."

"Let's...let's just all go back inside," said another, taking hold of my arm "gently." She steered me back into the sitting room, as Thyra's chair was wielded by safe, competent hands, its occupant muttering and drooling all the while.