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cicirossi mist, free, berries
***** ***** *****
When he found himself thinking about family and feeling a little achy and empty, he wrote his grandma. Mostly just a free postcard he'd picked up in Quoths or a sheet torn out of one of Ru's notebooks, and he wasn't quite sure what she wanted to hear so he'd mostly write her little stories about nothing. The guy in the coffee shop with the duck feather in his cap, or about the two older girls skipping rope with their little sister on the sidewalk outside their apartment. Stuff that wouldn't upset anyone, but so she'd maybe know just a bit about how his life was now.
Thinking about his grandma felt more like home than thinking about his Mom and Dad did. Big family gatherings, and holidays back to visit stretching back till before he could remember, with cooking and laughing and amusement arcades and fireworks. One time they drove right out into the woods and went hunting for blackberries He didn’t think you got blackberries in Maryland in August, so it must have been half term or something – maybe a weekend away from school in the long ago before dance classes took over everything. He had been tiny then, he thought, 'cos the memory was all soft round the edges.
He remembered that he and his grandma had prowled and crept through the bushes, staining themselves with berry juice and bramble scratches while his parents baked potatoes in a campfire and pretended not to laugh. They camped out with marshmallows and air-mattresses, and his Dad couldn't do the tent right, so there were just stars. In the morning it was so cold with the mist and the damp in the air that fried eggs and hot chocolate at a road side diner had been the best thing ever, and his grandma never complained once about anything.
She still didn’t complain, although he didn’t dare call her. She wrote him back, still sent him crisp flat notes out of the blue, like always, and asked him to promise to spend it on books or something of quality and not waste it away, but she never asked about his boys, and that's why he couldn't call.
cicirossi mist, free, berries ***** ***** *****
When he found himself thinking about family and feeling a little achy and empty, he wrote his grandma. Mostly just a free postcard he'd picked up in Quoths or a sheet torn out of one of Ru's notebooks, and he wasn't quite sure what she wanted to hear so he'd mostly write her little stories about nothing. The guy in the coffee shop with the duck feather in his cap, or about the two older girls skipping rope with their little sister on the sidewalk outside their apartment. Stuff that wouldn't upset anyone, but so she'd maybe know just a bit about how his life was now.
Thinking about his grandma felt more like home than thinking about his Mom and Dad did. Big family gatherings, and holidays back to visit stretching back till before he could remember, with cooking and laughing and amusement arcades and fireworks. One time they drove right out into the woods and went hunting for blackberries He didn’t think you got blackberries in Maryland in August, so it must have been half term or something – maybe a weekend away from school in the long ago before dance classes took over everything. He had been tiny then, he thought, 'cos the memory was all soft round the edges.
He remembered that he and his grandma had prowled and crept through the bushes, staining themselves with berry juice and bramble scratches while his parents baked potatoes in a campfire and pretended not to laugh. They camped out with marshmallows and air-mattresses, and his Dad couldn't do the tent right, so there were just stars. In the morning it was so cold with the mist and the damp in the air that fried eggs and hot chocolate at a road side diner had been the best thing ever, and his grandma never complained once about anything.
She still didn’t complain, although he didn’t dare call her. She wrote him back, still sent him crisp flat notes out of the blue, like always, and asked him to promise to spend it on books or something of quality and not waste it away, but she never asked about his boys, and that's why he couldn't call.
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