|Inventing Grandmother (standard:drama, 2082 words)|
|Author: BENTLINK||Added: Dec 20 2004||Views/Reads: 1893/1192||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Almost anything is possible if you want it enough.|
Inventing Grandmother Bobbie's grandma gathered him into the circle of her arms and hugged him to her as if he were the most precious thing in her world. For the whole of the school year she had been there just like this, in her pink or yellow apron waiting each afternoon for Bobbie to step down from the bus. I could only guess at the warmth of her arms and big chest, at how it would feel to be encircled with love like that, at how wonderful it would be to have someone that cared enough about you to come, rain or shine and wait for your arrival. Bobbie would sometimes share homemade cookies and cake from his lunch with me. As we sat chewing away at the morsels of moist, sweet ginger bread Bobbie told me she let him help her bake the cakes and cookies while she told him about her childhood. She told him stories about the little farm where she grew up. Stories about animals and how they behaved and about how she had done her daily chores. She told him about feeding broken up corn to the very same chickens and ducks that she had seen hatched from eggs. She had even made helping her older sister with washing the after supper dishes sound like fun. Bobbie repeated her stories about stepping over little green snakes to pick blackberries and about making jelly from the berries juice, about milking the cow and squirting milk from the cow's thing half way across the old barn into an old yellow and black cat's mouth. All this dumb farm stuff had come as news to me for I had never been on a farm or seen a cow except on TV and until Bobbie had explained how milk got out of the cow had no idea about any of this. I had listened with partially open mouth while Bobbie talked about the things the little old lady had done. Last summer Bobbie had helped her plant a small garden and then cooked the baby carrots and green peas they grew there. I don't even like peas but they sure sounded good when he talked about growing and cooking them with his granny. Near the end of the school year I was feeling lonesome and decided I needed my own Grandma to spend the summer with. I was tired of going home every day to the same old empty apartment and fixing my own supper, a T V dinner. Bored with just doing my home work and watching TV and going to bed all alone every night. My Grandmother would be bigger and stronger than Bobbies, she would not limp when she walked and would be real smart. I started talking to the Granny I wanted way before I could see her. Telling her things like how lonesome I felt and how much I would like to have my own grandma. I would talk about school and what I had for lunch, mostly the baloney and cheese sandwich that dad fixed late at night and left with milk money in a brown paper bag on the kitchen counter. I think I started seeing her a little bit after about a week of talking to myself and feeling real dumb. The night I first saw her I had talked louder and longer than usual even after I got into bed and when I got to the part about Bobbie's carrot cake I started seeing her in one corner of my bedroom. At first she would only let me see her if I lay unmoving after I got in bed and even then only out of the corner of my eye. She started out being so pale I thought at first she might be just my imagination. I just kept hoping and talking and soon I could see her better but still so pale I could see the street light right through her if she passed in front of one of my windows. She was pretty short for a grown up lady and a little fat too. I did all the talking for a long time but when I started running out of things to say and ask her about were she grew up and her name and stuff like that she would give me whispered one-word answers. This getting and then learning about your own grandmother turned out to be a lot harder, slower and way more work than I thought it would be. After talking and asking questions almost nonstop for another week or two I still only knew a little about her. She had grown up in Kentucky, just like my mother who died. When I ask her name she said "Mary" but she seemed to like it better when I called her grandma. She first spoke more than one word when I told her my mother had died and she said, "Yes honey I know and I'm real sorry"! I got real embarrassed cause I cried a little bit when she said that. After she saw my tears she started to stand closer to me and got a lot easier to see and hear. Click here to read the rest of this story (106 more lines)
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