her door in my slippered feet, so I papers, so the idea of Grammy know she was talking to Granddad doing it is weird. again. I ever tell you about the “Did Granddad’s in Heaven now. time your Granddad dressed up as I’m not really sure what that is, Willie Wonka?” Grammy asks. but I think it’s a good place where I look up, noticing for the grandparents sit in comfy chairs first time the laugh lines folded doing their crosswords and into the skin around her mouth. watching our lives pass on TV at least fifty times. “Yeah, screens. Granddad loved TV. He Don’t you have any new stories?” loved crosswords, too. But I know She laughs, a sweet sound he loved me and Grammy the that carries notes of the strange best. music she listens to on her radio Grammy herself with when she’s balancing her bank care from her seat. She limps to accounts by hand. It reminds me the coffee maker and fills it with of sunshine and the pain of a water. I would normally get up loose tooth and success when you and help her, but not today. It’s finally pull the tooth out and put been quiet for what feels like an it under your pillow. It’s a real, hour, and I don’t want to be the true laugh, not the fake kind one to talk and ruin it. grown-ups usually force out when I also know Grammy and they want kids to think they care, Granddad have been married but they’re really just distracted seventy-five years because I with car payments or jobs or sneaked a peak at Grammy’s desk whatever it is that adults worry calendar when she thought I about. wasn’t looking. She had a heart Granddad had lots of “Your drawn around today’s date. And stories,” she says. used to be “He that’s kind of silly. Girls at school able to come up with one at the draw hearts and boys’ initials in drop of a hat. Like you. His talent the margins of their homework lives in you.”
her door in my slippered feet, so I know she was talking to Granddad again. Granddad’s in Heaven now. I’m not really sure what that is, but I think it’s a good place where grandparents sit in comfy chairs doing their crosswords and watching our lives pass on TV screens. Granddad loved TV. He loved crosswords, too. But I know he loved me and Grammy the best. Grammy herself with care from her seat. She limps to the coffee maker and fills it with water. I would normally get up and help her, but not today. It’s been quiet for what feels like an hour, and I don’t want to be the one to talk and ruin it. I also know Grammy and Granddad have been married seventy-five years because I sneaked a peak at Grammy’s desk calendar when she thought I wasn’t looking. She had a heart drawn around today’s date. And that’s kind of silly. Girls at school draw hearts and boys’ initials in the margins of their homework papers, so the idea of Grammy doing it is weird. “Did I ever tell you about the time your Granddad dressed up as Willie Wonka?” Grammy asks. I look up, noticing for the first time the laugh lines folded into the skin around her mouth. “Yeah, at least fifty times. Don’t you have any new stories?” She laughs, a sweet sound that carries notes of the strange music she listens to on her radio when she’s balancing her bank accounts by hand. It reminds me of sunshine and the pain of a loose tooth and success when you finally pull the tooth out and put it under your pillow. It’s a real, true laugh, not the fake kind grown-ups usually force out when they want kids to think they care, but they’re really just distracted with car payments or jobs or whatever it is that adults worry about. “Your Granddad had lots of stories,” she says. “He used to be able to come up with one at the drop of a hat. Like you. His talent lives in you.”
2015%20Autumn%20S&S.docx