It let out a small scream when I opened the door. I guess even a microwave knows when it’s over. My grandma let out the same sound when she scooped up the dice after I lost my turn in the game she said I would one day understand. I picked up a few rules in between squeals, but I’m not sure I really ever understood — until maybe yesterday.  

I thought it was the first gift of any substance that I gave to my Grandma Elsie. I moved several times after college. Microwave and large books on Shakespeare in tow. The third apartment had a built-in microwave. It was my mother who told me the timing was perfect — that grandma’s had just died. Of course she could have this one. I was so happy that I finally had something to give. 

It was back when things used to last. Maybe she still had it when she passed away. I never really checked. What she did have was a piece of bark with straw flowers glued into the ridges that stood on her nightstand. An art project I had made in the fifth grade. It turns out I was wrong — I had given her something, long before the microwave, with a much greater value. 

Today we will go buy a new microwave. We will have to dispose of this one. I asked Dominique how much it weighs this morning at the breakfast table. He said it was a two hand operation. I smiled, thinking that it could be picked up in one Elsie swoosh.  It’s just a microwave. I think I understand the game a little more each day.