This story is set in that very cute post-Shambhala OAV about Ed and his descendants in modern Japan.
3 February, 2005
Let me start by saying that I love my grandchildren. Actually, they’re my great great grandchildren, but that’s repetitive and makes me sound old, so screw that.
I love them, but hell, I AM actually old, and I look damn good but my joints ache like you wouldn’t believe, and sometimes it’s hard to keep up with three boisterous Elric spawn. They came by to wish me a happy birthday and brought me a present from Al (because even though his body is FIVE YEARS YOUNGER THAN MINE, he fell and broke his damn ankle last week and couldn’t come out to see me for my fucking CENTENNIAL).
So to keep them sitting still for a while, I let them paw through my old photo albums. I didn’t think kids anymore cared about family history, but what do I know, because they LOVE my albums. It’s fun to watch them, wondering who so-and-so is, or what corner of the world Al and I are in, or arguing about which of them was the cutest infant.
So there I am relaxing in my favorite chair reading the book Al sent (large print, the wiseass, even though I told him a hundred times that my eyes are 20/20 with the new glasses) when the kids all start laughing like hyenas. Little Ed holds up a picture and turns to me. “What’s this one, Grandpa?”
They’re across the room and I can’t see it from there (because of the sun in my eyes, dammit), so I tell him to read me what it says on the back. I’m really good about labeling things like that, even though you always used to call me disorganized.
“’Nineteen seventy-nine,'” he reads. “'U.K. Disco Dance Finals, doubles dance, over 50 category. Music: Le Freak by Chic. The Golden Brothers take first place.’ The Golden Brothers?”
“Is that because of the weird jumpsuits you’re wearing? They’re really awful, Grandpa.”
“What’s disco dance?”
I tell you, Alfons, I thought I was gonna have a heart attack from laughing so hard. How could I possibly explain that it was the 70’s, and all that gold lamé seemed like a good idea at the time, and “Le Freak” was the hottest new song from the States? I think I probably wrote to you about that night, but I’m too lazy to go back that far and check. Hell, it’s not like you need me to tell you these things—either you’re watching and you can see it anyway, or you’re not so how could you read my letters? But I like to think you’re watching. Especially now that I’m too old to worry that you might be spying when I’m trying to...what did you used to call it? Sich abzapfen? I bet your mother never knew you had a filthy mouth like that.
Gotta go—phone’s ringing, it’s probably Al.