“Those are just lovely, thank you so much, dear. I’ll see if I can find someone to get some water for those.
Well, now let me see, it had to be over twenty years ago. You were very small then, I bet you hardly remember him. Your grandfather was the love of my life. He was so darn stubborn, that man. Gosh, but let me tell you, he was a romantic at heart. You know, every Wednesday, he would bring me a dozen roses. He’d just leave them on the counter for me, without a word, as if he was too embarrassed to hand them to me himself. He liked to act all tough, but deep down he had the sweetest heart.
Let me take that from you, no sense in you carrying it around. I know, it can get a bit warm in here.
Anyways, he was the love of my life, your grandfather. So stubborn. And secretive too! I made him promise me that he would stop all that smoking. I still can’t believe he was able to hide it from me for all those years.
Do you see that woman? I swear, she seems to always be looking in here. Nosy people.
Well, anyways, I never once smelled it on him, and you know, I have a very sensitive nose. He must have changed his shirt and sprayed cologne all over himself. He was always chewing gum, too. It wasn’t until after, when I was going through all his things that I found piles and piles of those cigarette packs. Everywhere, I tell you! They were in the garage, in the old barbecue, in the, what do you call it.
Well, anyways, he was such a stubborn man. But he really loved to spoil me. After golfing, your father would love to take me to that restaurant in the country club and we’d have such wonderful dinners. I’m sure you remember. His little golfing friends loved to poke fun at him for leaving games early to make sure he picked me up on time. Whipped, they called him! Ha! But he was such a sweetheart. Did you know that every Wednesday, your father would buy me a dozen roses? Every Wednesday—he never missed a gosh darn week.
He would spend all his time working down at the liquor shop with, what’s his name. I’ll ask him later. They were good friends, though; both a little too stubborn if you ask me.
That woman is still out there. Does she have nothing better to do with her time? Why, I have half a mind to go and tell her to move along.
What was it that you were saying? Yes, I remember, now. Your grandfather, he—you know, I loved that house we shared. It was his ‘dream house,’ he liked to call it. He would always pass by the lot, waiting for the day it would come onto the market. And one day it was and—Well, I’m sure he could tell the story far better than I can. Now, where is he? I’m sure that he should be back by now. Maybe, he’s at home. We should be at home. Where, where are we? He’s sure to be worried if he comes home and I’m not there. Oh dear. Whose coat is this? Why am I holding someone’s coat? Whose is it? And tell that woman to leave! She’s upsetting me, just sitting there like that. Staring at me, copying me! That old, putrid woman, sitting there, sitting there and, and just, oh!
Why, those are just lovely flowers! Is it Wednesday already?”
Samantha Veres is an avid writer with an erratic personality and an obsessive pull towards anything strange. With a passion for storytelling, she spends most of her time writing poetry, short stories, and fiction.
Main Squeeze Literary Journal 