“Ugh,” as my body ascends from the bed, I look over at the other side “empty,” and it feels cold, like a morning chill that I loathe. I make my way to the simple white kitchen, a table with a red and white patched cloth, a bowl of fruit, particularly bananas because they have low sugar. A painting of a black woman dancing and praising her joy reflects my own that I once adored. The basement is small, too small, and it feels claustrophobic with the tiniest windows, and I can’t see the outside, only the steps leading to the backyard garden. The worst part about this is that it’s winter, and it’s cold, not any cold, but it gives off an unsettling feeling of seeking both warmth and acceptance.
When I turn on the light, it reminds me of a hospital room, leaving me uneasy with thoughts not so joyful.
8:30 AM
“Good Morning, Grandma,” yells my granddaughter (she’s my favorite one) because she stays with me while I’m here, and that hint of loneliness disappears when she is with me. “Good Morning, Kay,” and I smile with glee due to the tiredness of her voice but reassuring happiness in her tone. She never gets tired of me, and I’m now 80- I can’t remember, maybe 85, 86, 87; who knows? As I got older, I started to lose my memory bit by bit, but only by what was said or mentioned to me. I forget about days in the week, what month it is, what I need from the store unless my granddaughter reminds me. As I said, I have gotten old.
8:50 AM
I put the water in the kettle and onto the stove so I can make my morning tea, a relatively crisp green tea, I’d like to say. Even though it could use tons of sugar, I’d suffice with the earth sweetener my daughter purchased for me. The dripping water from the shower starts to die down as I believe she is getting ready for work. All she does is work, and sometimes I wish that Kay would go out with me.
9:10 AM
“Shoo, Shoo!” I grab a green tea bag from the cabinet and the sweetener and put it in one of my mugs. Turning the knob to turn off the stove, I grab the kettle and the cup and pour the hot water in there.
Soon returned to the creaky chair, retrieving my crossword, glasses, and pencil to begin the day. I hear footsteps walking closer; I look up, I see her black coils and black attire with the polo shirt she wears underneath. She carries the handbag around, and she walks towards the door, putting on her black and white sneakers. As I begin my crossword, she looks at me and smiles, “Have a good day, grandma. I love you.” Kay always says those three words to me every time she leaves. She sometimes makes sure that I don’t forget, “I love you too, Kalie, be safe.”
“I will!” she shouts.
The footsteps fade, and it is lonely again as I sip my tea. “I want to go home.” Short Story, Family, Grandma, Granddaughter, Love, Tea, Life