Week 3 Theme

“Grandma, can I have a drink of milk?” I asked, looking over at her sitting amidst the piles of cardboard boxes. She sat in the only space left on the small couch, in fact in the only sitting space in the entire living room other than the chair I found myself in.

“Of course Dear,” she glanced up from her knitting, smiled, then turned her attention back to the long clicking needles. This was my first day alone at my grandparents house and being only eight I was a little nervous, not knowing quite what to do or say. I had been here many times with my parents but this was different, it was just me, I was alone.

I waited for what seemed like an hour. I tried to keep my mind busy guessing at the contents of all the boxes stacked up around me, but since I did not have x-ray vision and was too shy to ask, my patience quickly wore thin. My grandmother mumbled and then laughed.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing Dear.” She replied quickly, and still no drink.

“Grandma?”

“Yes?”

“A drink?”

She mumbled to herself and giggled. Was knitting that funny or was it my question? I couldn't help but wrinkle my nose a little. The living room smelled old, not like basement-damp-and-musty old, just old, like old things. Does dust have a smell? Maybe that was it. Man I’m thirsty.

Finally reaching the end of a short-lived struggle to keep myself in check I took matters into my own hands, “Grandma, where’s the cups?”

“Oh, sorry Dear.” She set her knitting down on top of the nearest box and headed for the kitchen. I smiled to myself thinking finally I had accomplished something. A few minutes later she brought me back a nice tall glass of .....Tang. Oh well, at least it was a drink.

Looking out the window set in front of my fraying arm chair that I didn’t dare move out of, I saw my Grandfather pull up in his truck. Grandpa was always fun, finally something to do! “Grandpa’s home,” I squealed, jumping out of my seat and heading for the door. I opened it wide and ran out to hug him as he got out of his truck. He laughed and hugged me back.

“How’s my Sweety-Pie?” he asked, even though I knew he didn’t really expect an answer. It was the term of endearment that mattered most to us both.

“What’s that on your dashboard Roscoe?” I looked up to find my grandmother standing in the doorway staring intently at the windshield of the truck.

Grandpa set me down and for a moment just stood there staring at her. He looked over at the dashboard and simply said “It’s a comb.”

“Well where’d it come from?”

I didn’t need to be older than eight to know a storm was rolling in, and not in the literal sense. I pretended not to notice, walked around the truck to stand next to the big maple tree and tried desperately to blend in with the bark.

“I don’t know Mildred. I bought it at the store?”

“Which store?” Her question was tainted with disbelief, although I couldn’t figure out why, there were plenty of stores with combs weren’t there?

My grandfather decided at that very moment to blow his top. “Jeeesuus Chriiist Mildred, it’s just a god damn comb!” Was that really my grandfather? Did he just say what I think he said? Am I dreaming? I rubbed my eyes just to be sure.

He stormed in through the door, staying as far away from her as the little doorway would allow. Her tone became innocent but no less unbelieving, “Well, I was just asking.” I did not hear what else she said as the door slowly closed behind her. They had forgotten about me but it was just as well. No way in heck was I going back in there now! I decided this was a good time to go look for frogs in the stream out back.

“Geez, I hope Mom gets here soon” I whispered to myself. Although I’m not sure why I whispered, there was no one around to hear me but the frogs.