Grandpa’s Journal
Written by N. W. Fidler
Special Thanks to W. Waltz for Editing.
Roads split all the time. This time I’ll take the left.
4/22/06
Cool. A journal for my birthday.
I LOVE writing. Don’t get enough of that at school already.
Thanks Grandpa.
4/23/06
What does the roads thing mean? Just drive down one and then the other. It’s not that hard. Weather was okay.
Kind of cloudy.
Not much to say today.
5/1/06
Today was boring. School sucks. Max dumped me. Everything sucks.
8/10/2016
Mom made me go see grandpa today. Said he needed help with getting rid of some junk he’s been hording. Course when I get there Mom is nowhere to help, the place smelled funny, and grandpa couldn’t care less if I just sat around eating everything in his fridge all day. Except he had nothing in it. It wasn’t even plugged in. Typical.
So, of course Mom finally comes back after three hours of weeding and starts complaining I’m not doing anything. Like what? The place is a dumb. There’s dead bugs everywhere and the place smelled like a toilet.
Through all this yelling, guess what? Grandpa just sat there in his chair, staring off into space. Like usual. I think the last time he ever said a word to me was when I was five. I don’t remember about what, all I know is my parents getting on his case about scaring me, then kicking him out of the house. I wasn’t scared. Never was.
“MARCH.” Mom pointed up the stairs and I did only to get away from her. Upstairs was worse than downstairs. At least downstairs had a pathway, up there boxes and stuff were crammed into every corner. Also it was hot. Like the floor could be literal lava fresh from a volcano hot up there. I’m pretty sure everything up their was melted and just stuck together. I had to climb over a tracker tire, some newspapers, I think a box of pointy lawn gnomes, and some much other trash that by the time I got to the back I felt like I ran a marathon. Two even.
“Just start tossing boxes my way and I’ll take them down the stairs.” Mom called to me. I did as she said. Just grabbing and throwing them over or pushing them at odd angles as quickly as I could. I’m sure the sweat all over my body had dried up by the time I had room to sit.
Mom couldn’t keep up with me so I just took a break and waited. It was boring. Opening a random box, I shuffled through it for something interesting to jump out at me. Nothing worthy of note, just old clothes with lace or frilly. They must have been grandma’s dresses I guess? I don’t know. I never met her. She died before I was born so I never met her. She had odd taste, a LOT of this stuff was poofy and overly colorful. Mostly just ugly.
There were other boxes with papers or random trinkets. A lot of it I had no idea what they did. It wasn’t till Mom called for me to send more boxes that I saw it. Just as I lifted one of the paper filled ones, an old as nails tan book flopped out of the bottom. The pages flapping open with dust everywhere. There were some dates so I guessed it was his old journal?
I was tired, thirsty, and hot so I have no idea what drew me to this thing. The box held up just enough to get it to Mom before the weight of the papers busted open the bottom in Mom’s hands. I’m sure she was cussing under her breath but thought I didn’t hear her. “Jason, hold on, it fell all down
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