The Old Rocking Chair
Read this story on galpod.com.
I’m playing a game with Danielle Donders and Christine Hennbury. Danielle takes a picture and sends it round and Christine writes a short story about it. They invited others to play with them and of course I joined in! Go check it out at Danielle’s blog and join us :) This is what I wrote this week.
Becky glances out the window. The old rocking chair catches her eye. She stops in her tracks. For a split second, her heart is still looking for him, even though it’s been years. She remembers Sam, her youngest, asking “Where’s grandpa?” He used to ask the same question almost every day. And it broke her heart every time. He would go to the front porch and touch the rocking chair. As if merely not seeing grandpa there didn’t make his absence real enough. He was four. And she kept looking for him herself. Her heart expected to see him walking up the path or sitting in his rocking chair long after her mind understood that it would never happen.
She watches the front yard for a little while. The peach tree is in full bloom. The sun is shining, and the birds are chirping. She can hear Sam and his friends horsing around in the backyard. She wonders if he remembers his grandpa. Probably not. He’s ten now and has no time for sentimental grownups.
She drops the dishcloth on the side table by the door. So as not to disturb the sudden connection she feels, she eases the door open. As the smell of peach blossom and sunshine and spring washes over her, she tiptoes to the rocking chair. She perches on the edge and a shiver runs up her spine. Hi, Dad, she says in her heart. I missed you.
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