By Iona Winter
My grandfather, when he’s awake, only remembers random facts.
“I owned an Impala in ‘67.”
After Granddad lost his marbles, my grandmother started speaking through him, with her own words.
“He wants shellfish,” she said, like a mind reader.
So off we went. Our toes dug at water’s edge, searching for the hardness beneath. Dinner.
He thought I was Mum. I didn’t correct him.
A wave swished through our basket of molluscs and onto his rolled-up trousers.
Granddad looked over and laughed.
“I know what you’re up to,” he said with a sly wink. “She wanted me out of the house.”
Fantastic characters all revealed in 101 words. Superlative job.
Kia ora, thanks Jeanne for your feedback 🙂
What Jeanne Althouse said. Only she says it a lot better than I could have. Very, very good story.
Kia ora – thanks Bobby for your feedback 🙂
Very intriguing!
Kia ora Rachel, thanks 🙂
Very sweet. You’ve captured the humanity in families in a lovely way.
Kia ora and thanks Sue, appreciate your feedback 🙂
As a person who has just had this very thing happen to a grandfather, I loved this. It was sweetly done, with not too much reliance on manufactured violin tears. Just well-done and expansive. Hats off to your piece.
Kia ora and thanks so much Noah for your feedback 🙂