This weeks prompts are at the bottom. The story here is just for practice. Practice makes perfect.
Grandpa sat patiently on the wooden bench, my valise tucked under his knees and his hands resting on the top of his gaily painted walking stick. Glancing up, he looked at the time; 7:45. He sighed. I watched him as he leaned forward and peered down the track. He leaned back and took a dip then tucked it inside his bottom lip, against his gum. The platform light buzzed furiously.
He looked back at me, “This train is never on time.” He said matter of factly.
“Do I really have to go?” I asked.
“Your daddy’s gonna be worried about you.”
“I don’t wanna go back there.”
“Listen Sammy, you know I love you and, you know I loved your mother but he’s gonna come lookin’ for you. He’s your daddy. You need to give him a chance.” Grandpa turned his head and spit a great glob of brown tobacco juice that hit the spittoon about five feet away.
I turned my head and looked pleadingly at Grandma. Her eyes were watering as she nodded her head in agreement with what Grandpa had said.
Grandma never talked much but she put her arm around my shoulder and pulled me in close. She smelled like flowers, face powder, and mothballs. When Grandpa stood and walked to the edge of the platform to search for the missing train she wrapped her other arm around me, “You’ll be back,” she whispered, her voice crackling like a newspaper opening up.
The train whistle blew in the distance and she let go of me to straighten my cap. Grandpa looked back and motioned me to get up and bring my grip
That was the night I learned how to fly.
This week’s prompts are:
- my name’s not Bud
- Southern Comfort and smoke
- pull on your coat
Go ahead and dive in,
Ready, Set, Go – you have 25 minutes!