THE BATTLE OF GETTIN'-THERE'S BURG

A Short Story

Once, a battle had been fought here, in this little town whose name no one could seem to remember, let alone pronounce. A battle between Union and Confederate that resounded with war cries and death shrieks; a battle fought with bayonets, cannons, and machine guns; with lightsabers, smartphones, and road atlases.

Granddad’s road atlas was a tattered, sun-drenched offering with the words “Rand McNally” streaked across the top, a photo on the cover of a waterfall, and with fine print lined across the bottom denoting something about Arkansas’s Highway 65. Granddad’s whitened knuckles clutched the volume as would hawk’s claws one of the chipmunks that frolicked the backyard of their suburban Harrisburg home. “Them lil’ rascals”—as Granddad liked to refer to all small creatures, sometimes even weaseled their way in to this very garage that housed their ride.

“But, we’re not in Arkansas.” Julia kicked in frustration at one of the car tires. “This is Pennsylvania. The Key-stone State,” she said, reading the words off of the license plate screwed into the front end of Grandad’s Chevy Blazer. Granddad and granddaughter leaned against the hood and the passenger-side door. Their truck sat parked on a plain of cement founded into a garage that was attached to a house some “thirty miles yonder,” Grandad estimated, to their intended destination.

“It’s a United States atlas,” he clarified. “The cover’s just for show, darlin’. They’ve got all the states in this here—with insets of all the national parks, includin’ Gettysburg National Military Park. We’s a goin’, and we’s gonna have fun; we’s gonna be happy as pigs in a poke or my name ain’t—OK, OK, here it is…”

Granddad fastened his sights upon the page which showed the map of Pennsylvania, but not before siding a glance at his granddaughter. “Oh, and for cryin’ out loud, would you please put that damned mobile phone away. Granddad’s got hisself a handle on this here situation.”

“I will be crying out loud if you don’t stop being so mean,” Julia moaned, kicking at the tire some more. Julia punched frenetically at the keypad of her smartphone. Looking up in spite of herself, she said, “It’s not just any mobile phone, Granddad. It’s an Android with the new Alexa app on it. Here, I’ll show you…” Julia cleared her throat. “Alexa,” she said. “Directions from here to Gettysburg National Park…”

“Directions to Gettysburg National Park. Okay,” a female voice answered.

Granddad flinched as if struck.

Moments later, Julia stepped over to show to her granddad the display screen of her phone. “Look, see—the park’s thirty-nine miles south on Route 15. First, we drive down Walnut Street for 1.2 miles which then turns into Route 15, and then, when we get nearer to Gettysburg, we turn onto Route 30, then we’re there.” Julia smiled, broadly. “It took only a second for Alexa to figure it out. Oh, and you shouldn’t say that word damned, Granddad.”

“Granddad says what he means, and knows what he’s doin’, you better believe it!” His eye stayed fixed on his atlas. With his feet planted by the front bumper, Granddad added, “Just ‘cause I ain’t from ‘round these parts, young’en, don’t mean I don’t knows my ways around these parts. Now, lookee here …oh, for Pete’s sake, you ain’t even lookin’.” Granddad, with the atlas spread out before him on the hood of the car, and with his hands on his hips, called over to the retreating small figure, “Hey, don’t you be ignorin’ me. Just ‘cause yer Granddad talks like he’s got the land of Dixie shoved up his arse—” he raised his voice “—don’t mean he don’t knows what he’s a talkin’ about.” He looked at the atlas. Wincing, he said, “OK, so, we goes … a quarter inch or so down this street heres—” he pointed to a spot on the atlas “—then … hop onto Route 15, travel ‘bout four inches down ‘til we get to Route 30, then we gotta swerve around this hill or sumptin heres...” Grandad’s eyes squinted. “Not sure what this here symbol is, could be a coal mine or-or a nuclear waste site even, son-of-a …” Granddad paused. “Nope, it’s a hill alright. Then … we’s at the park.”

“That’s what I said,” Julia protested. “I mean, it’s what Alexa and the smartphone said.”

Granddad narrowed his eyes. “Nothin’ like turnin’ pages produced from honest-to-goodness trees. You keep your gadgets with their radioactive screens and creepy robo-voices to yourself for the time bein’, hows ‘bout?”

Sighing, Julia got in a final good kick at the tire before resigning herself to the passenger’s seat of the SUV.

Readying to roll with the release of the parking brake meant seat-belts fastened and windows powered all the way down because Granddad enjoyed the feel of a cool breeze on his forearm.

“Nothin’ beats it, ‘cept maybe yer grams in nylon leggin’s,” he sniggered. He gunned the ignition. Wheels spinning, they were on the state highway.

Craning his neck to extend his field of vision through the windshield in the direction of the skies above, at length Granddad said, “Gettin’ kinda gloomy out. Thought yesterday evenin’s news had said…” He scratched at the few white hairs left on the crown of his head. “Ah, never mind, c’mon.” He patted Julia’s jeaned leg. “Battlefield’s not supposed to be a sunny place anyway. All this gray’ll get right in the mood.”

Smartphone in her hand, Julia spoke at it, “Weather report for here…”

“Put that doggone thing away, you hear. It don’t matter. We’s gettin’ there. That robo-lady with the voice weirds me out, besides.”

Under her breath, Julia said, “Day of death.”

Granddad looked over, a surprised look on his face.

“I mean that just generally,” Julia clarified.

Impressed by the acumen of his pre-teen granddaughter, but offended by the implication of the statement made, Granddad tried in vain to wipe the smear of disgruntlement off of his face. He drove on. Five-plus miles of riveting, uncomfortable silence.

“This wind is too loud and blowy, Granddad. It’s messing up my hair,” Julia groaned as they passed a sign that read “Gettysburg – 23 miles,” her hands splayed across her face in protest against the rush of winds.

Granddad smirked at the melodramatic display. “Help build ya some character.” He stretched a smile. “That’s what my own daddy used to say right afore he’d make me eat every last bite of your great-grandma’s secret-recipe collard greens and ham. See, what I used to do was, pluck all them ham bits outta that green mush pile then leave the…” Granddad framed the appropriate disgusted-looking expression. “Winds blowin’ on you like this here might give you a sense of how all of them Civil War soldiers musta felt with all of them cannonballs and bullets flyin’ right by their kepi caps and noses.”

Inching her hand forward, Julia seized upon the air-conditioning dial.

Gently, Granddad pried her hand off of the dial. “Not in this house you don’t. Nice try, though, partner.” Granddad took a deep breath. This, he thought to himself, leaning back into the driver’s seat, has all the makin’s of a good time, of a fun day with the granddaughter.

With his hairy forearm rested on the windowsill, the Blazer pushed sixty. It made Granddad feel as if he were a regular Dale Earnhardt, or a Steve McQueen racing around the streets of San Fran-flippin’-cisco. It make him feel like the Lone Ranger, spurring his horse on with calls of “Hi-ho, Silver, away!” Granddad couldn’t but smile.

“Besides,” he said, “some good old-fashioned O-Two to the brain might do ya some good. Getcha to quit actin’ like you’s a burger short of a combo meal.”

“You’re not my real dad,” Julia said. She fiddled with her Smartphone. “I wish my real dad were here. Then I could do actual fun things and not have to go to dumb places like Civil War monuments and cemeteries and stuff.”

“Fancy that,” Granddad said. He leveled his brow. “Well, as I be recallin’, your real dad’s still over at that detox center place. And didn’t your ma tell you she’s too tired and strung out from that Twitter conference she’d attended way the hells over in—”

“San Fran-flippin’-cisco, I know, Granddad.”

“—and so, that’s why she couldn’t make it?”

Julia grew wistful. “Mommy works hard,” she said, quietly.

“Too hard, damn it. Woman’s supposed to be stayin’ at home with the kids, not flyin’ around in no doggone ae-ro-plane.” Granddad tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He said, under his breath, “That damned husband of hers ever got his act together…”

Julia ran her fingers through her longish brown hair, attempting to impose some kind of order to the tangle and frill which the winds had wrought. “What’s detox center mean?”

Granddad squelched a smile. Julia knew better than to break taboo and ask this particular question. Just fixin’ to cause a ruckus in light a the circumstance of not gettin’ her way, Granddad thought.

He answered, slowly, “Well, it’s this place where they sometimes, er, have to put people who’s gots wrong notions in they’s heads.” He turned to his granddaughter, hoping she would be satisfied with this answer. Her eyes stayed on him. “Well…” He cleared his throat. “Wrong notions about things like, well, drinkin’ and druggin’.” He slanted his eyes down at Julia’s smartphone. “Or, like lettin’ the youngsters play with they’s mother-stinkin’ phones all the dang time.”

“You’re not my real dad,” Julia repeated in her matter-of-fact manner. “My real dad would let me stay at home and play on my phone as long as I wanted.”

“Wanted? You think I wanted to eat all of that mushy green stuff that Ma kept settin’ on my plate?”

But Julia wasn’t listening. She continued to gaze down at the display screen on the electronic device held in her lap.

His wrinkles bunching all up on one another, in another, darker voice, Granddad came back with, “Your real dad, ya say? Your real dad, don’tcha know it, is the cruelest form of bas-tard child who wouldn’t know salvation in the form of woman and child if it came up and bit ‘im. He’s a no-good, beer-guzzlin’ son-of-a-clown who…” His speech faltering, his sensibilities returning, Granddad looked guiltily at his granddaughter. “Catch my drift?” he said. “There. I said it.”

Score one for me… Julia grinned to herself. For finally getting under his skin. She bit her lip. “What’s bastard child mean?” she asked, with a grin stretching from ear to ear, sensing her chance with the befuddlement and emotional unraveling of granddad to reach for the switch on the passenger-side door. The window rolled up.

But Granddad was right on it. The window fell back down. “Vetoed,” he said. “Overruled. Window stays down.”

Julia’s shoulders slumped “I don’t like it here. I wanna go home. I don’t wanna be here!” Wiping moisture from the corner of her eye and looking up from her phone, in a soft but earnest voice, Julia inquired, “Why is it so foggy all of a sudden?”

Granddad scoffed at his granddaughters wet reddened eyes: “Geez Louise, it sounds almost like the girl’s been kidnapped. Not fixin’ to pitch a hissy fit, is you? Don’t wanna be here? Didn’t I hear you tell your ma that absolutely you’d be up for goin’ with your granddad to take in some local culture and historical scenery?”

“Oh-em-gee, I said that an entire whole week ago!” Julia directed her gaze out of the window. “I don’t know why I said it,” she said, sniffling, the pall of dismay deadening her expression. She looked over. “Oh yeah, I said it to make Mom happy, and because I knew it’s what would make you happy. I really didn’t mean it at all.”

Granddad cursed under his breath—something along the lines of a “robo-lady voice” who was “plum crazy” and who was the one who “maybe had tol’ her” to say it.

Julia went on sniffling. “Probably gonna rain. Maybe we should roll the windows up so we don’t get all wet.”

Granddad looked over. “Fog don’t mean rain, girl. It means … well, I don’t know what it means, ‘cept I can’t see so good. Hardly a lick!” Granddad leaned forward to get a better look at the yellow-striped wall of gray that was his front windshield; his thoughts wandered until they lost themselves entirely in that grayness. “Ah,” he mused, “bet them soldiers back in the day at the Battle of Gettysburg had to deal with things like fog. Couldn’t even see what they was shootin’ at.” Granddad started. “You keep that window rolled down, you hear!” He quieted. “Granddad likes it that way. What’s the matter? Why you lookin’ all out of sorts?”

Julia crossed her arms. “Damn it,” she muttered under her breath.

Granddad stirred. “What was that you just said? Now, you see here. Ain’t no granddaughter a mine’s gonna be a swearin’ like a goddamned sailor!”

Julia remained silent. She breathed in and out, nostrils flaring. At length, she reared back and wailed, “Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT!”

Granddad blinked. “Hows, uh …‘bout some tunes,” he said then switched the car radio on.

Her Smartphone in hand, Julia inserted her earbuds.

“Now, now. This is a family outin’. We drive together; we take in the sights together; we listen to music together.” Granddad reared back and hollered, “THAT MEANS NO ROBOT VOICES AN’ NO EARPLUG THINGS! Ah…” he said, removing his hand from off the dial “...an oldie but a goodie.”

But Julie wasn’t listening: she was too busy bobbing her head.

“Now, see here!” Granddad reached over to physically remove the earbuds out of Julia’s ears.

“Hey, I was listening to that!”

Granddad eased up the volume on the car radio. “You can listen to your M&M’s later.”

“It’s Eminem. His latest album. My friend Olivia’s big sister says it’s all the rage."

“You’ll see rage, all right, ya keep on like ya do. Right now you be listenin’ with yer gramps to some soul-soothin’ Hank Williams. Some feel-good music from yesteryear to put us in the mood for some fun.” Granddad darted a glance over. “Don’t you be puttin’ those buds back in, or I’ll be pluckin’ ‘em out all over again!”

With her arms folded, and staring defiantly ahead, Julia sat struggling with the decision of whether or not she was going to cry. With anger lines creasing her brow, she declared, “This is war!”

With a sarcastic grin, Granddad shook his head. “I’m a stubborn old man, don’t ya know? Don’t care if you is my granddaughter, neither, I ain’t a fixin’ to change. Your granddad pulls no punches, see?”

Julia sat seething. Finally, she was able to work up the nerve to comeback with, “Mom, like, warned me about you.”

Granddad raised an eyebrow. “Well, and is that right? What did Miss Fancy Pants have to say about me this time?”

Julia said all at once, “She said you’re a stubborn old man and that I have to be nice to you or else you’ll get mad and start smoking cigarettes all over again then you’ll get lung cancer.”

Granddad held his peace. The woman was probably right. However, the ensuing moratorium on conversation was no less aggravating than it was worrisome, and so, deigning to raise his voice over the twangy vocals of his favorite Nashville legend, Granddad said, “You be nice to me, then, girl. You be nice to yer granddad. Ah…” Granddad eased his grip on the steering wheel. “Nothin’ like some sweet-soundin’ There’s a Tear in my Beer to help settle the nerves.”

With the song concluded, and the chorus fading, Granddad snapped off the radio. The tumble of the engine and the rush of wind through the open window were the only sounds that filled the cab. It was Granddad who broke the silence: “Feelin’ like you’s at war, eh?” His elbow shared with his granddaughter’s shoulder a soft nudge. “Well, now, that’s good! Means you and I are headed in the right direction. The site of an historic battle, one unlike any other. Oh, and it musta been quite the sight to behold. You can just sees it now…” Granddad took his hand off of the wheel, gesturing with it in melodramatic fashion. “There you can sees ‘em: the Union, on one side—see ‘em over there?--headed by General Meade. The Confederates on the other under General Lee. An’ then—then those boys be all a hootin’ and a hollerin’ and a firin’ them guns, hee-haw!”

Granddad went on and on about rifles, bayonets, cannons, scorched earth, and General Lee, then on and on some more about General Lee; about “attacks” and “counterattacks” with mentions of blue this and gray that, and something about Abraham Lincoln, all his while his Chevy Blazer spun its wheels along some country road until it landed granddad and granddaughter straight into—

The middle of nowhere.

Granddad stopped the car.

“We’re lost, aren’t we?” Julia said, seeing all around them nothing but fog and the murky outline of trees alongside the road.

“This ain’t no Route 15, that’s for dang sure. Road’s too skinny, too gravelly.” Granddad’s expression soured. “Ah, shit the bed!” He slapped his thigh. “Fog prolly made me miss the signs and take a wrong turn somewheres.” He stretched his arm for the back seat. “However, we’s gonna be OK…” With wild, wide eyes he looked at his granddaughter. “’Cause ol’ Rand McNally’s here to save the day.”

Chuckling, Julia showcased her mobile phone. “Alexa’s got this, Granddad. She’ll tell us where we are and what we need to do.” Julia looked down at her phone. “Alexa…” A long pause. “Alexa…?” Thunderstruck, Julia looked at her granddad.

“Your phone ain’t workin’, is that it?”

“It happens.” Julia tapped on the screen. She shook the phone. She said, in a shaky voice, “Though, not very often.”

“Once in a blue moon, eh?” Granddad leveled his sights out of the windshield. “Ain’t no moon out. Nones I can see. No sun, neither.”

“It’s all this gray stuff in the air that’s blocking the sun, moon, and signal. Also, we’re kinda far away from the bigger cities.” Wondering and worrying, Julia brightened as she was met with a sudden thought. “Anything, absolutely anything could be happening right now inside of this fog.” Julia turned. “Granddad?”

“What?” he snarled, fumbling his hand around the back seat in search of the atlas.

“Do you think the battle might have stretched out into this area, too?”

“What, the Battle of Gettysburg? Oh, I don’t think so. We’re still quite a ways from—”

“I think it did.” Julia folded her hands. “I think the cannons were over here…” She pointed to the wall of fog on their right. “And the boys using their rifles and bows an’ arrows and machine guns and whatever else were over there…” She pointed to the wall of fog on their left. “Granddad, look out!”

Granddad bolted upright.

“Oh, sorry, my fault. It’s just that I thought … this guy over here charging at us with a bayonet was that General Lee person you were talking about earlier.” Julia exhaled. “But, no, looks like it’s just one of those gray-dressed boys with blood on his leg coming at us with, um, a lightsaber looks like. Better roll up the windows, I think he wants to come in. There,” she said, looking at her granddad. “We’ve seen the battle. Visited the very spot. Can we go home now?”

Granddad grinned. “Not a chance, blue eyes.”

“Let’s make pretend this was where the battle happened, then.” Julia sighed. “You know, so that all of this can just be over with.”

Granddad seized upon then shook the road atlas at his granddaughter. “Batteries not included,” he exclaimed. “Pages, there be here,” he said, thumbing through the atlas, “with states in alphabetical order an’ common sense written down on ‘em. Most importantly, NO CRAZY LADY VOICES!” He traced his finger along the page marked “Pennsylvania”. “We’s a gettin’ to Gettysburg, ya hear? Nothing’s gonna stop us now. Not wrong turns, not foggy soldiers shootin’ at us with they laser-beams, nothin’. We’s gettin’ there…” His eyes scanned the page. “Even if it gives me a heart attack for tryin’. Lung cancer, even.”

Groaning, Julia lolled her head against the headrest.

Granddad frowned. “Or … maybe not.”

Julia sat up.

“This here atlas’s too general info, too large scale, for our present predicament. Hmm. Might, then, have to browse the special records section. This won’t work,” Granddad said, tossing the atlas over his shoulder into the back seat. He reached into the pocket at the base of the driver’s-side door. He read the map covers as he pulled each one out of the door-pocket and piled them onto his lap. “Map of Harrisburg, no … map of Philadelphia, no … map of Georgia, no … map of Mobile, Alabamee, no … Louisville, Kentucky, no … Map of Maryland…”

“Holy shmoly, Granddad, are all of those yours?”

“Been a runnin’ all over hell’s half-acre, haven’t I? My emergency roadside stash. Never leave home without ‘em.” Granddad fanned the maps as if they were a hand of cards. “Quite the collection, ain’t it?”

“All that paper,” Julia said, looking away. “Just think how many trees they had to chop down in order to—”

“Now, now, you just go back to your fog, dear. Ain’t nothin’ for a modern girl the likes a you to see here.”

Which … Julia took to mean … that because she was a girl she couldn’t read a map, or shouldn’t be allowed to read one. All of a sudden, Julia wondered if she might like to learn how to read a map. Pondering as Granddad browsed his “special records section,” Julia reminded herself about how she had reached all the way to the fourth level in Blasters of the Universe, completed all of the side missions in Gravity Rush 2, defeated the dragon in Final Fantasy V, and could, in Mahjong, beat the computer even on “hard” level. Could reading a map be any more challenging than all of that?

“Found it. The map of South-Central Pennsylvania. Good God, these things…” Granddad said, the paper flapping and rustling as he unfolded it.

“That’s a big map, Granddad!”

“PA’s a big state, would’d’ya expect?”

Julia heard these words but saw only the map, not Granddad.

“Okay, lessee now…”

With her phone out of commission, Julia was presented with the option of either, one, staring out at the fog as suggested; or, two, watching like a moron as her granddad figured his way along the map.

Julia cleared her throat. “How does it work?” she asked, deciding upon a suddenly realized third option.

With the map ripping itself back, Granddad’s head poked from out the side. “What? You mean this?” the head asked, the map spasming to signify itself.

“I don’t get it.” She met her granddad’s puzzled, pleased expression. “Show me.”

With the map in his hand, in his lap, on the dashboard, in his face, and no sooner in Julia’s face, Granddad wasted no time to shuffle over. “Okay,” he started the lesson off with. “So, see that mile marker way over theres in the fog? No, not this fog, that fog way over theres. See it?”

“Oh. Ye-ah.”

“That tells us where we is at. An’ see, it matches up with the designation on the map. Means, then, we’s gonna need to swoop around an’ pass through this little town here—” Granddad pointed out their position on the map “—then back onto Route 15. Then, finally, on to the park.” Over the course of the next five minutes, Granddad instructed his granddaughter on the fundamentals of map reading. Just like that, Julia Fredriksson could read a map.

“Oh, I get it now. It’s easy!”

“Yes indeedy.” Granddad started the engine. “We’s a gettin’ there, partner, even if we’s gotta give ourselves heart attacks for tryin’.” Granddad belted out a laugh.

“Or lung cancer,” Julia exclaimed. Her sudden excitement and newfound interest in maps aside, Julia was quick to remind herself that still left unanswered was the more pertinent question of whether or not she wished to further cooperate with this voyage to a destination that interested her about as much as watching her kid brother play some baby game like Legos World on her Xbox One. Julia’s expression soured. Grief-stricken, she emitted a little groan.

“Y’all right there, blue eyes?” Granddad said.

Julia stretched her arms into the air. “Oh, just yawning.”

Granddad grinned. “Peterin’ out already, are ya? Warring’s tough, I get it.” Granddad squinted his eyes into the murky grayness up ahead. “Well, there’s this lil’ town we’re comin’ up on. Maybe a change of scenery might do you some good.”

He made the turnoff onto a wider, less gravelly road. “Gotta pass through the town anyway to get to the park, then … back on Route 15. See those lights up theres, through the fog? Little town of…” Granddad checked in with the map “…Heed…Hide…Hiedlersburg, I think is how theys say it. Then it’s straight sailin’ after that. So, what we do is just double back then—”

“We’re going home?!”

“No.” Granddad laid his foot on the accelerator. “We ain’t goin’ home.”

“A town,” Julia said, nonplussed.

“Gotta stop anyway to fill ‘er up. Gas out here in the stick’s prolly whole lot cheaper than in Gettysburg.”

Julia wondered why her granddad kept calling it a “truck stop” even though the sign out front read very clearly “Travel Center.” Maybe, she considered, it was because of all of the eighteen-wheelers that kept thundering by while Granddad filled up his tank with cheap gas and while she, in the passenger’s seat, allowed her head to fill up with cheap thoughts.

Then there it was. Bold. Beautiful. Colorful. The crookedy letters. The purplish-pink background. The sign she would have all along been looking for had she not been so distracted by the never-ending annoyances of this road trip.

Julia’s heart began to pound, her palms to sweat, her mouth to water.

Her excitement surged.

As Granddad clambered back into the Blazer, Julia decided it was going to be a good day after all.

“Mint chocolate chip...” Julia declared, with such ease and confidence it was as if fate itself had her back “...with hot fudge, whipped cream, and a cherry on top.”

“What nonsense you spoutin’ now?” With a flick of his wrist, Granddad jettisoned his wallet into the glove compartment. “Sumptin ‘bout cherries? Those are in Jersey. We ain’t headed that ways.”

“Granddad,” Julia said, “let’s make a deal.”

Granddad froze, his fingers faltering on the ignition. “A deal…” he muttered, musingly. “A deal?” He turned to his granddaughter. “Let me look at ya,” he said, beholding her. “You ain’t no game show host, is ya?”

“See, all this drivin’ and riflin’ and lightsaberin’ around and stuff is really putting me in the mood for some, well…” She flicked a nod in the direction of the Baskin Robbins sign set into the brick front face of the Travel Center.

Granddad followed her gaze. “Oh, ice cream now.”

“Yeah. And so, seein’ how we’re already here in this town of—” she pointed to the spot on the map “—Blah-blahs-burg, why not stop and get some yummy ice cream? Buy me some ice cream then we’ll go on to the park, and we’ll have fun.” Under her breath, she said, “I know how much it means to you.” With a sigh, Granddad flopped back into his seat. Julia took a deep breath. “I’ll be good. I promise. Oh, please, Granddad, pleeeeeeeeese!”

Granddad fumbled his hand around in the glove compartment; he grabbed his wallet. With a twinkle in his eye, he took a good long look at his granddaughter. “Got you a hankerin’ for some grub, eh? Deal,” he said. He shook her hand.

“Peace treaty,” Julia corrected, shaking right back.

Granddad leveled his brow. “I like that. Peace treaty. That’s smart. You’s a smart cookie.”

“Oh, and I want one of those, too. Chocolate chip, preferably. Maybe we can get it to go?”

Julia plunged her plastic spoon down through whipped cream, through ice cream, through cookie, all the way down until she hit cup bottom, which was where all of the hot fudge was hiding. “This ice cream is da bomb,” she exclaimed.

Granddad looked up with wide eyes. “What’s this you sayin’ ‘bout bombs?”

“Granddad, look, it’s the mo-ther lode…” Julia said, laughing, as she admired and showcased the reward of her mining efforts, brandishing her spoon as if it were Excalibur. A second later, the spoon was in her mouth, and the fudge was all gone. Chewing, swallowing, with her vocal cords sounding as if they were covered in chocolate topping, Julia said, “Oh, Grandass. We’re getting there—to the park, eventually. Oh yesh, yesh, yesh, we are. But firs, let’s sit and enjoy this hot-fudge-sundae aweshomeness!”

Granddad dug in. “This bananer they got’s not too bad, neither.” He spooned up a big chunk of it. “Ya see this…?” He pointed with his spoon. “Real ice cream. An old-fashioned bananer split; none of this cocka-fancy new…” Granddad cleared his throat, replacing the swear words that he was about to say with a long, sumptuous bite of ice-cream-smothered banana. He swallowed. “How’s that Forbidden Fudge crap with cookie on the side treatin’ ya? Best a both worlds, eh?”

Julia plunged her spoon in for another go at some hot fudge.

“Now, you be careful with that. Too much sugar and you’ll be jumpin’ on the cannons and statues ‘stead a just lookin’ at ‘em.” Redirecting, by slow degrees, his gaze out of the restaurant window, Granddad sighed. “Not much to look at here. A fire station, an old church, a cluster a manufactured homes, a few cows, an auto shop … not exactly the kinda local culture I had in mind when—”

“It’s got a travel center, with ice cream in it. That’s good enough for me.”

Granddad worked his dentures against another helping of banana chunk. “What’s the name of this here town again? Map said the name, but I forgat. Dang, left the map in the car. Sumptin … Burg.”

“It’s Heidlersburg,” offered the teenaged employee with a cap on who, just yards away, was busily employed changing out the garbage receptacle, but not so busily employed to refuse to offer assistance to a customer. “Not much here, you’re right. Most everyone coming through here are travelers between Harrisburg and Gettysburg. Are you guys headed to the park?”

Chewing, swallowing, then spooning a dollop of whipped cream, Granddad replied, “God, guns, and grub, son. The three most important things in life; and don’tcha forget it.” He flattered the boy with a look up from his entrée. “We’s a gettin’ there, son, slowly but surely.”

Julia set her spoon aside. “Know what they should call this place?” she said, ice cream dribbling down her chin in milky green streams. “Getting-theres Burg!” She looked at the boy worker. “Guess what?”

The boy shook his black plastic garbage bag then tied it. “What’s that?”

“We’re getting there,” Julia said, covered in smiles and ice cream. “Even if my granddad gets a heart attack for trying … or lung cancer.” Without warning, Julia grabbed her spoon then initiated a surprise attack on the smallish, melted mound of mint chocolate chip left in her cup.

Granddad scoffed. “I ain’t gettin’ no lung cancer.” He beheld the boy. “What say you—all gussied up in that there u-nee-form a yers? Does this here look like an old man ready for radiation treatment, for chemo?” Granddad tapped his fingers on the table. He lasered a look over. “Come again? Am I almost dead, or not? I can’t heeeear you.”

Not knowing what to say other than something presumptuous sounding in answer to this query from an old man who looked as if he had for sure chewed off his fair share of cancery cigar tips, and maybe even chewed his way through a barbed-wire fence or two, the boy stammered, “No—no, sir.” Excusing himself, he trounced off behind the service counter to disappear through the swinging doors in back.

“These kids nowadays, one and alls actin’ like they’s just fell off a the turnip truck.” Granddad shook his head. He nudged his granddaughter. “Prolly hidin’ out in back there so’s he can goes listen to some M&Ms, what’d’ya think?”

“Or eat some M&Ms,” Julia giggled.

Granddad smiled. “We’s gettin’ there, ain’t we, pal? We’s on our way.” He rose, slowly. With arms raised, and banana all over his dentures and ice cream on his chin, “Listen up, y’all,” Grandad declared to the restaurant at large. “This here place be called...Gettin’-theres Burg!”

Customers turned and stared, then smiled, not understanding the significance of the announcement, but anyhow amused and delighted by this cheerful-looking old man with the ice cream on his face.

A few minutes later, the boy, remembering the sack of trash over by the receptacle he had cross-tied yet failed to haul off, returned to the dining area. Testing his courage against this little girl and her gray-haired granddad whom he kept telling himself couldn’t hurt a fly, never-mind intimidate an applicant to Penn State, he said, “You folks do know how to get to the park, right? It’s only nine miles or so—”

“We know where the dang park’s at,” Granddad grunted. “We’s got ourselves a map.” He peered over. “Oh, and this contraption o’er here they insist on callin’ Alexa.”

Suddenly, Julia remembered the plan she had had to text her younger brother to tell him that she was at that very moment eating Forbidden Fudge crap with a cookie on the side, and he was not.

“Texting Logan,” she said, her fingers tapping.

Granddad snarled. “Wants to sit at home and play his video games. Foulest an excuse I ever did hear. He’s comin’ with us next time, or I’ll be fixin’ to give that boy a piece a my mind!”

“Next … time?” Julia said. Returning her attention to her phone, she pressed the send button.

Granddad sat quietly for a moment, his thoughts roaming, roaring, and then, finally, raging. At wits end, he cleared his throat. “Gimme that there son-of-a-gun.” Granddad reached over-top their sundae selections. “Give it here.”

Easing a smile, Julia offered up the phone. “What, wanna try?”

“What … do I do?”

“Just hold it in your hand. No, not like that. Like this. That’s it. Okay, now, ask it a question.”

Granddad sighed. “Better late than never.” He settled himself the more securely into his seat in anticipation of the surprises that he now figured inevitable. Removing his palm as far away from the device as possible, and with his fingertips splayed in spiderweb fashion, barely touching—as if in contact with some kind of alien artifact, he said, tremulously, at the screen, “H-Hello.”

“You have to ask it a question.”

Granddad hesitated. He craned his neck until his lips nearly touched the screen. “How are you?”

“No, not like that. Ask it a real question.”

“A real one?”

“About a person, place, or thing.”

With wide eyes, Granddad nodded. “Is that right?” His fingertips clam-shelling ever more firmly around the sides of the Smartphone, Granddad’s brow creased. “Alexa,” he said, his voice taking on a sterner tone, “gotta ask you something. When, oh when, oh when, is that damned son-in-law a mine ever gonna get his shit together?”

Julia squirmed in her seat. “You can’t ask it questions like that, Granddad.”

Granddad creased his brow; a worried, stricken look shadowed his face. “Oh,” he said, setting the phone on the table. “Alexa don’t like questions ‘bout son in laws?”

“Well, it’s just that you mighta hurt her feelings a bit. Mine, too, a bit.”

Julia reclaimed her phone. After licking her spoon and wiping her face with napkin, in a somber voice she conceded, “Daddy, I guess, does need to get his shit together.”

With his knee-joints popping, Granddad rose. “C’mon, les go.”

“Bye,” Julia said, waving at the Baskin Robbins boy as she put her coat back on. “We’re leaving. We’re getting there.”

“Oh, OK. Good luck. Er, have fun.”

Julia’s smile fell off, entirely. With a dubious glare, she beheld her granddad. Finally, brightening, her smile returning, she turned to the boy and said, “With ice cream, anything, everything, can turn out fun.”

________________________

Julia didn’t walk, or run, but skipped through the door that from the garage segued into the living room. She didn’t—couldn’t—wait for her granddad to haul himself out of the car.

“Mom,” Julia exclaimed, prancing into the kitchen.

“Oh, you’re back,” Mom said, with a welcoming smile. She chanced a look over her daughter’s shoulder to see if her escort was in tow.

“He’s coming. He’s old. He walks slow.”

Her smile curving sarcastically upward, Mom nodded. “Were you,” she asked, with another peek over, “nice to your grandad?”

Julia stood beaming. “Oh, Mom. Of course. He bought us ice cream!”

“Ice cream? At Gettysburg?”

“No. Some other town along the way.”

The door into the house from the garage clapped shut. Julia turned around. Mom looked over.

“Lil’ town they like to call Getting-there’s Burg was where we stopped o’er at,” Granddad said, approaching in his ambling manner. “Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

“They had the awesomest ice-cream ever, Mom!”

“Where did you say this was? What town was this?

“And then, after that,” Julia said, panting, “we drove on to the park. Guess what we saw there?” She jumped up and down. “Mom, Mom, it was so cool—first off, there were these guys who were all dressed up in uniforms marching around and shooting at each other … with guns, but not real ones; only get this—” For dramatic effect, and perhaps to catch her breath, Julia paused, then she continued “—the guns had smoke coming out of them. Then, we saw graves as far as the eye could see; ones that were, like, really old. Then we saw a bridge that was haunted—though we didn’t see any ghosts there. Well, I mean, we might have, only, we didn’t know they were ghosts. Also, we saw this place where Abraham Lincoln had—"

“We saw our fair share of ghosts, alright,” Granddad chimed in. “Ones wielding lightsabers, and firing machine guns, even.” Granddad winked. “Isn’t that right, you lil’ rascal?”

Julia smiled, sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess we saw all that, too. Deep in the fogs at the Battle of Gettin’-theres Burg.”

“Lightsabers?” Mom said.

Julia shrugged.

Granddad’s eyes bulged. “Some Civil War guy came right up to the car window wavin’ the thing at us, can you believe it?”

Julia smiled. “Maybe I got it wrong, Granddad. Maybe all that dead guy wanted was a hug.”

Granddad stretched his arms to Julia. “Maybe all this almost-dead guy wants is a hug. Come here...”

Julia rose. “You’re not almost dead,” she snorted, leaning to hug her granddad.

Granddad patted Julia’s back. “Not today, I’m not.”

“Well, it sure sounds like the two of you had a good time,” Mom said.

Julia blinked. She wiped the delirious gleam of wanderlust clear off her face. “Meh,” she shrugged. “It was all right, I guess.” Setting her phone down on the table then excusing herself to go to the bathroom, she made instead a detour and bounded up the stairs to go tell her brother all about the ice cream and the guns that smoked.

“That there little girl enjoyed herself,” Granddad said, setting the matter to rights as he pulled up a chair and sat down at the kitchen table. “So did I.”

“I bet you did.” Mom rolled her eyes; her hands returned to their task of pirouetting atop the kitchen table as they sorted through what was mostly junk mail. “Oh, and by the way…” she smiled as her eyes lighted upon a postcard addressed to herself advertising of coupons to Hershey’s Park, and which she as soon set aside “…Tom called, from the clinic. His therapists say he’s been making excellent progress with his recovery.”

“Therapists, plural?” Granddad growled. “You sayin’ he’s got more than one?”

The tension in the air was palpable, thick, not unlike Hershey’s Syrup, Mom was forced to admit as she, pondering, returned her eyes to the postcard with the coupons on it. Diverting the controversial subject which was her husband, Mom, not knowing what else to say, and so deciding to say the first thing that came to her mind and which was a question also she had long wanted to ask, “So, how exactly are things between you and Julia, Dad? Oh, it’s just that so often the two of you have such a hard time seeing eye to eye.” Mom laughed. “Or maybe that’s just my imagination.”

But Granddad wasn’t listening. His eyes were all over his granddaughter’s phone. Reluctantly, he reached for it. “How much do you think one of these costs?”

Mom forced back a smile. “Ready to make your foray into the modern world, is that it?” “How much does ice cream and a trip to Gettysburg cost? I’ll buy you one for Father’s Day, your birthday, whatever.” Mom scraped her chair over until it was right beside her father. “Now, about you and Julia not seeing eye to eye…”

Granddad stretched his aching legs, and a grin. “She’s a wily one, she is. Takes after her granddad.” Setting the phone aside, he removed a shoe and massaged his toes. “Well, you may be on to something there, Miss Fancy Pants. Though me and her’s hit our fair share of foggy patches ‘long the ways…” the grin broadened until it spat forth a chuckle, “we is gettin’ there!”