Grandma Tatooie was a bitter lady.
She hated her biscuits soggy and her socks wet, ugly scarves and adamant adults. She was gifted all four that day, by no other than her granddaughter.
“Jeanie,” she sighed, rubbing her wrinkled fingers against her forehead. “I told you, no mushy cookies!” Her Rafkan accent jutted out on her irritable mood, clashing with the Temoran language.
Jeanie wrinkled her nose as her arms flew up into the air. “Mushy cookies, mushy cookies, there’s nothing else Gra!”
Grandma Tatooie glared at Jeanie. She wanted her cookies.
“Child. I asked for cookies, dry ones. Is it hard? You walk to the store, you get the cookies. Simple.”
Turning away, Jeanie made efforts to clean up the fabric littered on the floor to hide her annoyance.
“Your Rafkan is showing, Gra.”
“Oh hush,” Grandma Tatooie said. “So what if it shows? I’m tired of all these Temoran men huffing and puffing about with their little bayonets, barking orders at me.” She straightened her brown skirt over her knees before folding her arms neatly onto her chest. The sun loomed into the room, casting its golden glare over astray books and makeshift furniture. Grandma Tatooie hated it.
Clicking her tongue, she hobbled over to Jeanie and began picking up the scraps alongside her.
“Stupid Temorans,” she huffed, her knees a little wobbly. “I make scarves, not uniforms. Ugly, ugly, ugly colors. Why this green?” She said, lifting a piece with two fingers. “Disgusting. Just like them.” She slid her eyes over to Jeanie. Usually the child would interject but she was oddly quiet today. And like everything, Grandma Tatooie hated it.
“What’s wrong with you child? You too quiet today. I don’t like it.”
“Gra,” Jeanie swiveled. “You don’t like anything.”
“Nonsensical. I love my scarves and not wet cookies.”
Jeanie slumped against the wall, a sigh escaping her lips. Grandma Tatooie studied her granddaughter through squinted eyes. Her hair was matted and dirty, and there were patches of dirt tattooed onto Jeanie’s face. Were her eyes always that tired?
“Do you like me, Gra?” Grandma Tatooie stopped squinting. “Do you love me?” Jeanie repeated.
Grandma Tatooie felt her bony fingers curl around the nasty green, and her mouth grow dry. What a ridiculous question. Of course she loved Jeanie, even with the wet cookies she brought and her scolds when Grandma Tatooie spit on a Temoran guard. She was still her granddaughter, a child.
Grandma Tatooie huffed. “Maybe if you brought me some nice, dry cookies.”
Jeanie released a soft chuckle, head now resting on the splintering walls.
“I love you too, Gra.”
Grandma Tatooie only nodded, her eyes still lingering on Jeanie. Did the child really question her care? If Grandma Tatooie didn’t love Jeanie, she would have left her out ten years ago when she arrived on her doorstep.
“What’s wrong with you child?” she prodded, bending back down to pick up the rest of the scraps. But the only answer she received were the quiet snores of her granddaughter.
***
Night had arrived, and it had brought the cold air with it. Grandma Tatooie wrapped her beloved scarf over her shoulders as she hunched closer to the table and her sewing needles. It returned no warmth. Her fingers felt like little puppet fingers, numb and cold. She watched her hands move under invisible strings that stitched endlessly. She didn’t even need to look at the stupid instructions the Temorans had distributed to every seamstress to find where the holes and loops were now. She refused to read it anyway. She hated everything about the Temoran people and even her own Rafkans.
They sold our country, a voice inside her whispered. They sold away your livelihood in exchange for these monstrosities. They sold Tamara and Joel. They sold your dry cookies, and they almost sold Jeanie. The voice was ringing, screaming now. It simmered and sparked, it swelled up inside her until her eyes began to protest with water. She wanted to silence it, the thunder, the storm brewing. She wanted it quiet. She let herself get hypnotized by the fluid movements that were her fingertips. Despite the waves lessening, her throat felt burnt and tight. She didn’t like it. She blinked, pushing the storm down. The Temorans had come and she had only herself to protect Jeanie and whatever was left of her childhood. She shook her head, grey curls bouncing. If it were these loops and holes that brought her food and water, and these hats and vests that allowed her granddaughter to go out, so be it. She sat enchanted for a little longer.
Her spell was broken by a loud bang coming from the study, which was really just a cramped bedroom held together by a creaky bed and leaky ceilings. She arose from her metal chair, its screech against the concrete floor beckoning her to stay imprisoned.
Ignoring its howling commands, she trudged over to the bedroom, grumbling about Jeanie’s clumsiness. This child was nearly eighteen yet she still managed to fall off the bed.
But instead of a sound Jeanie on the floor, she was welcomed with another cold draft, ruffled blankets and an empty bed.
***
The wind whipped around her, pulling Grandma Tatooie in all sorts of directions. Yet none of them seemed to point to where Jeanie could be.
“Jeanie!” She yelled. “Jeanie!” Her voice was carried out by wind, diminishing whatever sound had left her lips seconds before. She knew she should have been thankful for the roaring winds that hid her from lurking Temoran guards, but it silenced all her calls for Jeanie. She didn’t like that at all.
Fumbling around the dark, she gripped the brick walls as her sole guidance as her feet were met with mud, sticks, and the asphalt floors. Her grey curls flew around her face, blurring her vision with silver wisps and her other arm clutched her shawl, hand resting on her heart.
“Jeanie!” Her voice was getting hoarse, her knees groaning against the movement. Her ankle slipped, forcing her hands to smack the wet, sticky ground as water joined her hair. Grandma Tatooie would have gotten up–her spirit would have refused to–had she not felt a rough hand clamp over her mouth.
The wind held its roar and her boney fingers felt warm for the first time that night. It was an opportunity for her to ask for Jeanie. Then the stars spiraled.
***
Quiet, she thought, eyes still shut. Jeanie already making a fuss, no doubt. Probably about the scraps she left across the floor.
The shouts grew sharper. Peeking through her left eye, she was met with a young man with remnants of a handsome beard and scruffy eyebrows. At least he’s not wearing that wretched green, the voice said as she eyed the deep purple sash around his neck.
“You kidnapped a grandmother, what part of you thought that was a phenomenal idea?” Another man in purple said pointedly.
“Are you alright, ma’am? You fell,” he said.
Grandma Tatooie blinked. Then smacked the boy.
Now it was the boy’s turn to blink. Holding her head high, Grandma Tatooie forced herself to leave the cot. Stupid, she thought. I know I fell. Grandma Tatooie straightened her skirt. She stood fully tall in a concrete room and a flimsy light, staring directly into the other man who doubled over in laughter.
“Very, very, well done!” he cried, clutching his side.
She would have laughed, had she not remembered she was being held in an unknown cell with unfamiliar men. She narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw.
“Where am I?”
The other man was still howling with laughter. It irritated her.
“We can’t tell you that, ma’am,” the boy said, rubbing his cheek.
The laughter was still echoing off the walls. “Fine, little Temoran devil. I’m leaving.”
“We’re no Temorans. I just-” he said before a door slamming open interrupted him.
“Gra?” Jeanie was huffing, eyes wild and searching. Then enlarged twice its size as she saw a hooting Stylan, a hurt Te and her own teary, running Grandma Tatooie.
***
Grandma Tatooie straightened her skirt.
“You made me get my socks wet,” she said, pointing at her brown stained wool socks now fresh with tears and rips.
“Sorry Gra.”
“For what child? For jumping out the window without telling me, for leaving, for being with these Temorans-”
“They’re not Temorans.”
“You shouldn’t be here, Jeanie. This, this is dangerous. We live in a world where monsters pretend to be neighbors, child. How many times have I told you to keep quiet-” Grandma Tatooie hissed.
“Gra, you literally hit a Temoran last week,” Jeanie said, eyebrow raised.
She paused before waving her hand dismissively. This was different.
“Jeanie,” her voice softened. “I know you’re trying to make allies with people who you think share your motives, your ideals, your vision.” She turned and held Jeanie’s hands in hers. They were rough and chapped, and it wanted to make Grandma Tatooie cry. “But you cannot, Jeanie. There’s none left to trust in this world, in this era. There were none in mine, and the world is cold. They will not hesitate to hurt you.”
“Gra-”
“I was one, child,” she said, rubbing her thumb over her granddaughters’ hands. “I joined for the sake of my fabrics and scarves, my liberty; our Rafkan culture, our blood and culture. This rebellion has been around since my waking youth and I see it hasn’t stopped its lies yet.” She eyed the purple wearily.
“Gra, listen to me.”
“No,” she whispered. Her eyes burned. “I saw the Temorans walk in and strut their power, laugh as we ran, cackle as they stole love and hope. I saw my own friends expose our plans for power, commanders become cowards. Liberty was only an illusion.” She was tired now. “I survived our last rebellion, Jeanie. I was angry, and I wanted to be with my comrades. But Jeanie, I survived to meet you. To tell you to keep your hope in refuge, to prevent you from being me. Rebellions don’t work, people don’t work. We’re all the same. Allyship is achieved just as easily as adversary.”
Grandma Tatooie was a bitter woman. And that was the only thing she liked. Emotions were dangerous, passion was dangerous. She might have dared then, but it was selfish and stupid. And she gave that up the moment she set eyes on Jeanie.
“Gra,” Jeanie said carefully. Her eyes were focused on the dusty ceiling, hands wrapped tightly in Grandma Tatooie’s skinny fingers. “You work.” She turned to meet her grandmother.
“What do you mean child,” she replied, the irritation already seeping in.
Jeanie smiled. A cracked one, one with some dirt on the side and mud, with fear when she saw the Temoran strike Grandma Tatooie, the resentment when she saw her toiling over the ugly scarves, the disappointment every time she reminded Grandma Tatooie that Rafkan no longer existed. But it also harbored the pride when she saw her yell back at Temoran guards, the laughter she stifled as she watched the woman elevate her age to her advantage, the anger over soggy cookies.
“You work, Gra. You’re stubborn and you don’t like a lot of things,” she let out a laugh. “But you don’t bow to the rules, you ignore them. You’ve always ignored them because you know what you deserve. You know we deserve more than dirt. You know we have the right to eat dry cookies, not steal and hope for mushy ones.” Jeanie was fully looking at Grandma Tatooie now.
“Gra,” eyes earnest and bright.“Don’t you see? They’re still here. The revolution, it’s still here. Rebels might have ceased in unity, but we never disappeared. It’s true there might be traitors but have you forgotten the allegiants? What about them, you? We deserve to be here, not just in history. I, I want my place, my existence here. I know I’m worthy of that. You taught me we all are. I can’t just ignore the rules anymore, Gra. I won’t. Rebellions–we fight for the hope of liberty, the future. And the Temorans are not victors, we are. Because we’re still here.” Jeanie turned back to the ceiling. “I don’t want wet cookies anymore. Don’t you?”
Grandma Tatooie clicked her tongue. She hated that she agreed. She hated that she was inspired. And she absolutely despised soggy biscuits.
She sighed. “I want to know every time you leave and I better see you back by midnight.” Love was dangerous.
“And-” she said before swallowed in a warm embrace. Her vision was blurred again, but this time by Jeanie. Maybe love was stupid as well. “And, ask if your commander would be interested in design change. The scarves are ugly.”
– Janet