Grandma Contrarian

As the 737 gets to the front of the queue on the tarmac, and faces down the takeoff strip, she taps me on the arm. “Oh, JC, she says, it’s so nice to be here with you. I pat her on the arm. “You know, sitting here on the runway, it always makes me think of —”
She trails off, looking warmly into the middle distance.
“Of what, mum?”
“Of your grandmother. Dear old Grandma Contrarian.”