Reminiscence

The wheels of my bicycle toppled over the indentations of the curb. I heard a familiar hum in the distance and looked up to see my grandfathers white Lincoln. Knowing I was just on the outskirts of my boundary line, I waved wondering if they would tell. Mom and Dad only allowed me to ride my bike so far, I was nine years old.

Riding back to the house, a rush of panic fell over me. What if they told my parents? Maybe they didn’t even know I wasn’t allowed to ride there. Restless, I spent most of the night waiting for the phone to ring. The phone never rang and that was the last time I saw them together. It was the last smile I had ever seen on their faces.

My grandmother died shortly after.

My grandfather rarely smiled ever again.

He lost is muse and so did I.