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Nana's house (standard:drama, 974 words)
Author: LizAdded: Feb 18 2002Views/Reads: 2123/1344Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A young girl watches the world all from her grandmother's front porch.

Nana’s House By Liz 

If I close my eyes I can still remember the smell of Nana’s roses. She
had rose bushes planted all over the yard. Up along the side of the 
house, through the back yard and even under some of the clothesline. 
Rose bushes lined the gate and lined the walk way. Sometimes the 
branches grew too long and they would catch your skirt. Nana with a 
cigarette in mouth would take her siccors and cut the long stalks off. 
When I was very young my fingers were always sore from fingering the 
thorny stalks. 

Nana loved to sit on the front porch. She had a wooden rocker. Next to
the rocker was the upside down wooden crate. And when she would be on 
the porch a glass of beer with four ice cubes and her cigarettes would 
sit on that crate. Nana only drank beer in a tall tea glass with four 
cubes of ice. Only four. I would sit with her too and sometimes from 
that porch we would wave good-bye too my Mother. 

My Mother was a very beautiful woman. Her hair was  very dark and long.
Mother worked long hours and liked to take the evenings off and go and 
relax with friends or sometimes a gentleman friend. Mother had been 
looking for the perfect father figure for me for four years. Sometimes 
these men stood around long enough to met me and sometimes they were 
gone before that. Nana would always raise an eyebrow when Mother said 
she had found the perfect man. Sometimes she danced me around the room 
when she found the perfect man. Those were my favorite times. Feeling 
my mothers slim  cool hands on mine and smelling her musky perfume as 
we twirled around the livingroom. 

Glen Hansen lived right down the street from us and he would always wave
as he walked by. Sometimes a group of him and his buddies would walk 
past. Men in hats smoking cigarettes. Glen always waved too me and 
always seemed to look for my Mother. Sometimes when I would close the 
gate in the mornings on the way too school Glen would be coming up the 
sidewalk. A lunch pail in his hand and he would be whistling. Sometimes 
he gave me caramels. 

“ Morning earthquake!” 

he always called me earthquake. One time at the store I had grabbed a
can of corn from the very bottom of the pyramid and had caused a great 

“ Good morning Glen!” 

“ Hows your Mother?” 

“ Shes great.” 

Glen always would wink and hand me a caramel. 

“ Say earthquake...who was the gentlemen here last night.The one with
the funny shoes?” 

“ Oh...that would be Mr. Clements.” 

“ This Clements,he a nice guy?” 

“ He’s OK.” 

Another caramel would be put into my hand. 

“ I saw he had flowers. Nice big white ones.” 

It would take me a second to reply since the caramel would be sticking
to the roof of my mouth. 

“ Mm huh...those are maiseys.” 

“ Maiseys? never heard of the such!” 

I would swallow quickly. 

“ No. Daisies. Those are my mothers 

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