It's been awhile since I've written. This story filled my head this morning as I rode in on the subway. It's 3:30 EST and it has finally overwhelmed me to the point that I gave birth to it. This uses the epistlory format that I'm using to write a novel. The names used here are fictitious as is the story:
February 8th, 2007
Assorted tulips in a crystal vase sat centered on Granny’s marble dining room table. They rested on top of the clear plastic tablecloth, protector from our spills (AKA accidents), and our grubby little fingerprints. The water in the vase seemed too little to sustain the lovely cut flowers, but who was willing to get in the ring with Grandma and state this to her face?
The room was dim, as brightness generally aggravated her eyes, but the tulips gave the room its own sort of brightness. My sister, 7, and I, 9, watched it from a distance (too afraid that our clumsy hands would tip them over).
We’d saved our allowance to buy them for granny for Valentine’s Day. Who else was going to do it? Grandpa started the tradition the first year they were married. This was the first year without him, but it didn’t mean she didn’t deserve her flowers.
Six months of us secretly pooling our allowance, birthday gifts, etc., and we were able to pull it off.
We walked in the door with our parents on the 14th and handed them over to their rightful owner. Granny took off her glasses. Her eyes watered up and then the tears spilled down her face. She looked over to my parents to see if they’d been responsible for the gesture. The two of them shook their heads and pointed to the two of us.
Granny beckoned us to her. She grabbed us both in a bear hug, suffocating us with her breasts, and thanked us. She’s never gone a Valentine’s Day without her tulips and we were happy to be a part of the tradition.
Kenneth Adams (28) & Jessica Irons (26)
Queensbury, New York