|main menu | youngsters categories | authors | new stories | search | links | settings | author tools|
|My Grandpa Like Peanuts (standard:drama, 705 words)|
|Author: Daisyeyes||Added: Oct 20 2001||Views/Reads: 2037/1||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A memory of my grandfather before and he passed away. This was written both before and after his death. Feedback much appreciated!|
“My Grandpa Likes Peanuts” I see him resting quietly in his overstuffed corduroy armchair, listening to his Walkman. The sound of his breath machine hums loudly. The blank computer screen stares vacantly back at the empty room. He stands up slowly, wincing at his aching muscles. My eyes can’t help but stare at his sagging flesh and sunken cheeks. He’s losing more weight. The pants that clothe him appear two sizes too large; his button-down, old-fashioned, striped shirt opens coolly at the neck, exposing his starched white undershirt. The suede brown slippers on his feet make clomping sounds on the floor as he walks. He carefully inches his way with his walker into the kitchen, his life trailing behind him in a clear plastic tube; air bubbles are his fuel. I notice that his glasses are taped on the left side, holding the lens to the earpiece. I think to myself about how old those glasses are. For years he’s had the same frames. He gradually sits down on the sanded, wooden, kitchen chair, sighing with a gust of exhaustion. I sit down directly across from him, not yet able to comprehend how special the moment would be. My lips separate, revealing my expensive smile; braces do wonders. My mouth begins to move, but my meaningless words hide underneath my tongue, falling into the pit of my stomach where they form into mounds. He looks back at me with love-filled eyes, lids sagging over his black pupils. The words that leave his lips are few, but they are made into beautiful musical notes, harmonizing into masterpieces. His words touch my heart with an impact that I will never forget. He picks up the cylinder of bran cereal, and begins to pour the flakes into his white ceramic bowl with the green flowered pattern at the rim. He lifts up the 2-liter carton of whole milk and opens the spout. The white cream drips out into the bowl, soaking the cereal. His shaky hands spill some of the milk onto the vinyl tablecloth. A tiny laugh escapes my throat as I reach over to wipe it up with a paper napkin that reads, “Home is Where the Heart is”. A warm word of thanks replies the friendly silence that doesn’t feel odd. He picks up the canister of Planter’s salted peanuts, and sprinkles the fattened pellets onto the surface of his breakfast. He’s trying to gain weight in any way possible. He glances over at my frantic grandmother and whispers words so lovely, “I love you Alice.” A tear trickles from my grandmother’s eye, and down her flushed cheek. She lives each day to hear those three little words. She walks over to him and places a small kiss on his aged lips. She hands him a Tupperware glass filled to the rim with an orange liquid. In her other hand she reveals, as if by magic, four plumply colored pills. He removes them from her wrinkled hand, and tosses them into his throat, washing them down with a gulp of juice. He looks at the floor now as he clasps his fingers together in prayer. Childishly, I bow in sync, my eyes peeking open at odd moments to admire my date. He looks up at me, then at his spoon. He removes it from its comfort spot on the tabletop and forces it through the brown blanket of food. Raising his hand to his opened mouth, he dumps the filaments onto his tongue. The spoon travels back to the bowl as his teeth chomp down on the objects of his wonder. I can hear the crunching of him chewing as if it were escaping his ears; so slowly, yet so diligently. His hand is now shielding his eyes. He is trying to protect me from seeing him in such a condition, and to hide himself from the shame of being found so weak. I move my chair out from under the table and place my napkin down. Clearing my throat, I stand up. I reach across the table and kindly pull my grandpa’s mask away. “I love you, Grandpa.” I look into his eyes and see the fear in them disappear. “I love you, too,” Tweet
Authors appreciate feedback!
Please write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
Daisyeyes has 4 active stories on this site.
Profile for Daisyeyes, incl. all stories