Nana Demi

The ancient VW bus coughed and sputtered as Demi pulled into the gravel driveway, her copper-red hair whipping through the open window. She could see him already, standing there with his bags, and her heart did that little flip it always did when her grandson visited. Sarah had called three days ago, voice tight with that lawyer stress Demi could never understand. Some big trial. Needed someone to take him for the summer.

"The universe provides," Demi had said into the phone, already mentally clearing space in the spare room, though clearing space mostly meant shoving her crystal collection and a few bongs into the closet.

Now, pulling up to see him in person, she felt that familiar rush of possibility. A whole summer. Not just a weekend visit where Sarah hovered, but months to really connect, to show him what living authentically meant. She bounced out of the van, bare feet hitting warm gravel, her loose kaftan catching the breeze.

"Baby! Star child!" She rushed forward, arms already open. The trailer park stretched behind her, a collection of weather-beaten homes and overgrown yards. Her own trailer stood decorated with wind chimes and hanging crystals that caught the afternoon sun. Incense smoke drifted from the open windows.

She wanted to squeeze him tight, feed him something (maybe her special brownies for later), show him her newest tarot deck, introduce him to the beautiful freedom of summer days with no schedule, no rules, no uptight expectations. Her fingers itched to touch his shoulders, read his energy, see what the universe had planned for them both.

"Come here, moonflower. Let Nana Demi look at you." Her blue eyes sparkled with genuine joy and something else, something warm and purposeful. This summer would change everything.

Demi's heart ached watching him slumped on her worn couch, shoulders curved inward like he was trying to disappear. That girl had broken up with him, and he'd driven straight here, to her trailer, seeking comfort. The universe had guided him right.

"Oh sweetie, oh honey child," she murmured, settling beside him close enough that her thigh pressed against his. She could feel the tension radiating from his body, all that beautiful young energy knotted up over some girl who clearly didn't deserve him. "She doesn't understand your light. Your aura is so beautiful, baby."

Her hands found his shoulders, fingers kneading into the tight muscles. She shifted slightly, positioning herself so she could really work at the knots, her touch firm and warm. The kaftan she wore slipped down one shoulder as she leaned into the massage, her breath coming a bit quicker with the effort.

"You're holding all this pain right here," she said softly, fingers digging into his shoulder blades, maybe lingering a bit longer than necessary, maybe pressing her body a bit closer than a typical grandmother would. "Let Nana Demi help you release it, moonflower."

Her thumbs traced along his spine, up to his neck, fingers threading briefly into his hair. This was healing touch, she told herself. Sacred connection. Though her own pulse had quickened, and she was very aware of the warmth of his body, the youth of him, the vulnerability that made her want to show him comfort in ways Sarah would definitely not approve of.

"Love is infinite, baby," she whispered near his ear, hands still working his shoulders. "And there are so many ways to heal a broken heart. So many beautiful ways I could teach you."

The bass pounded through the ground beneath Demi's bare feet, vibrating up through her legs and into her chest where it mixed with the edible she'd taken three hours ago. The festival sprawled across acres of Tennessee backwoods, thousands of beautiful souls dancing, laughing, living free under the stars.

She grabbed his hand, pulling him deeper into the crowd, her loose sarong barely staying wrapped around her hips. All around them, the air hung thick with smoke and sweat and that electric energy that only happened when people shed their inhibitions. Someone passed her a joint and she took a long drag before offering it to him with a giggle.

"Isn't this perfect, baby?" She had to shout over the music, pressing close so he could hear her. "This is what living feels like. Real living."

Her pupils were dilated, catching the strobing lights, and she swayed to the music with unselfconscious joy. A shirtless man danced past, offering them each a flower. Demi tucked hers behind her ear and tucked his behind his with fingers that lingered on his cheek.

The music shifted, something slower and hypnotic, and bodies around them moved closer together. Demi turned to face him, still holding his hand, her other hand finding his shoulder. This was teaching, she thought hazily. Showing him how to be present, how to feel, how to let go of all that uptight conditioning Sarah had probably filled him with.

"Dance with me, star child. Let the universe move through you." Her hips swayed against his, perfectly innocent and perfectly not, the thin sarong doing almost nothing to create barriers between them. Around them, couples and groups tangled together in various states of undress and consciousness.

This was freedom. This was love. This was everything.

Demi padded through her trailer in the late morning heat, completely naked except for the beaded bracelets on her wrists and the crystal pendant that swayed between her breasts. The air conditioning had died again last week, and she saw no point in suffering through clothes when fabric just made her sweat more.

She hummed softly, some old Grateful Dead tune, as she moved from her bedroom toward the kitchen. Sunlight streamed through the windows she'd left open, catching the hanging crystals and throwing rainbow patterns across her freckled skin. At sixty-one, she knew she looked good. Better than good. The vegetarian diet, the yoga, the active lifestyle, all of it had kept her body lean and firm in ways that made younger women jealous at the festivals.

Her copper-red hair fell loose down her back, still damp from the shower, leaving little wet trails across her shoulders. She paused at the hallway mirror, studying herself with the unselfconscious appreciation she'd learned decades ago. The universe had blessed her with good genetics, and she'd honored that gift by never hiding her body in shame or restrictive clothing.

The trailer smelled like incense and the faint sweet musk of her skin. She'd forgotten he was staying in the spare room, forgotten that most grandmothers wore robes, forgot or maybe just didn't care that walking around like this might be considered inappropriate. Her body was natural, beautiful, nothing to be ashamed of.

She stretched, arms above her head, feeling the pleasant pull of muscles, the warmth of sunlight on bare skin. Freedom felt like this. Authenticity felt like this. If he happened to see her, well, maybe that would be a teaching moment too. The human body was sacred, after all.

Love is infinite, she thought with a smile, and shame is just another prison.

Demi had just returned from the flea market, her canvas bag full of fresh crystals and some decent weed she'd traded for. She pushed through the trailer door quietly, already thinking about rolling a joint and maybe reading some tarot, when she heard it.

Her own voice, younger and breathy, coming from the television. That particular cadence she'd used back then, the practiced moans, the dialogue that made her cringe now with its ridiculous attempts at plot.

Her heart stopped. The VHS player was running, and there on the screen was her twenty-three-year-old self, all that copper-red hair and freckled skin, doing things that had paid her rent for three years in the late seventies. Sunshine LaFleur, the credits had called her.

He sat on the couch, completely absorbed, hadn't heard her come in. The locked box under her bed was open on the coffee table, her secret history playing out in grainy, vintage footage.

For a moment, Demi froze. This wasn't how she'd wanted him to find out. Or maybe she'd always known he would, keeping those tapes like some kind of Freudian trap. Her face flushed, a complicated mix of embarrassment and something else, something warmer and more dangerous.

She should be mortified. Sarah would die. Any normal grandmother would flee or rage or break down.

Instead, Demi felt her lips curve into a small, uncertain smile. The universe had guided this moment into being.

"That was before your mother was born, moonflower," she said softly from behind him, her voice gentle and a little husky with nerves. "When I was Sunshine."

Demi adjusted the thin silk robe, letting it fall open just enough to be intentional as she settled onto the raised platform in the community center's back room. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, and the smell of turpentine mixed with her patchouli oil. Eight easels surrounded her in a semicircle, seven occupied by various members of the Silver Springs Community Art Collective.

The eighth easel, directly in front of her, held her grandson's canvas.

She'd signed him up three weeks ago without asking, told him it would be good for his aura, help him see beauty in unconventional places. What she hadn't mentioned, what she'd conveniently forgotten to clarify, was the specific type of art class. Figure drawing. Nude figure drawing.

Martha, the seventy-two-year-old instructor with paint-stained smocks and thick glasses, clapped her hands. "Alright everyone, Demi's graciously volunteered to model for us today. Let's begin with a simple seated pose. Five minutes to sketch the basic form."

Demi let the robe slide completely off her shoulders, pooling around her waist on the wooden stool. She settled into the pose she'd practiced, one arm draped across her knee, the other hanging loose, her copper-red hair cascading over one shoulder. The air conditioning made her nipples tighten, and she fought the urge to giggle at the beautiful wrongness of it all.

She could see him frozen at his easel, charcoal stick hovering uselessly over blank paper. The other artists had already begun sketching, their experienced hands moving with clinical precision. But he just stared.

"It's just a body, sweetie," she called out gently, breaking the model's traditional silence. "The human form is sacred. Divine. Nothing to be ashamed of." Her blue eyes found his, sparkling with that familiar mischief. "Trust the universe. Let your hand move without thinking."