Biscuits, Triscuits…


“Memories of Old and Young”- Patrick Maguire
August 28, 2013, 8:59 pm
Filed under: Micro Fiction | Tags: , , , ,
 
My grandfather came to live with us for a time when I was eleven. His first night was the first night I heard the screaming.
As small boy’s are known to do, I immediately looked to the shelter of my parents. My mother soothed my fear as only she could. “Grampa sometimes makes noises in his sleep. He’s done that ever since I was a little girl but it’s nothing to worry about.”
Back then we didn’t have words like PTSD in the popular vernacular. My mother lacked the resources to accurately describe what WW2 had done to my grandfather but her words were a comfort. The screaming was something you got used to like the popping of radiators when the heat comes on. The thing that was hard to get used to was the crying.
One day when I got up to use the bathroom I found my grandfather crying on the hallway floor. This was not the first time I had found him in such a position but it was the first time I did not retreat back into my room to stare at him nervously through a barely cracked door. This time I walked up to him and said, “I’m sorry about what happened to you.”
He looked up at me with such a look of relief, which I at first mistakenly attributed to my saying sorry. With tear stained checks he then said to me, “Don’t worry son. I’m not crying because I was there. I’m crying because I’m so happy to be here.”
 
 
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