Recollections

Grandpa—

It’s been a while. 

I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Maybe too much. The idea of you being a part of my life seems so far away. My mind tends to wander to distant memories, memories of the past, and memories of what could’ve been.

Sometimes I feel bubbly.

Grandpa—

It’s been too long.

I have a picture of you and grandmother. There’s beauty in every corner. Sometimes I’ll sit, with my morning cup of coffee, and stare. I’ll stare for what seems like hours and hours until finally the reality of life begins to settle in. 

I’m not sure what to think of it.

Grandpa—

There was so much I wanted to say.

Too much, if you ask me. But I was little. Small enough to wrap my entire hand around your index finger. My mind was puzzled when Father tried to tell me. My eyebrows furrowed, my hands began to shake. I finally began to understand what was happening. 

That’s when my eyes began to swim.

And my thoughts began to drown.

Grandpa—

I wish you could see what I’ve become.

This is all too much for me, really. Sometimes when I recall the past I hear faint noises of laughter and skateboards. I smell the strong sting of scotch being pressed up against your lips. I’m reminded of grandmother and her large 1978 sunglasses covering half of her face, while she forces her cigarette butt between her lipsticked teeth. Father smiles while the sun makes all our eyes squeeze shut.

Nostalgia has begun to settle in.

Grandpa—

I miss you.

I miss the little things you used to tell me. I miss the hour and a half british soccer games you used to binge. I miss the crazy stories of Father’s childhood. You always made it sound like a different world back then. I miss the 7 pm curfews and the 5 am wake ups. I miss the moments of absolute silence; the only thing you could here were hundreds of crayons that I dug deep into copy paper and the hot cups of tea you would pour for two. It was in these moments that I felt a feeling of peace come over me.

It was in these moments I felt serene.

Grandpa—

There wasn’t enough time.

I always had the best adventures when you were there. I’d climb the only tree you and grandmother had in your little 1,000 square foot yard. I’d jump on the 30 year old dock that was barely holding itself together. I’d climb those spiral staircases up to the balcony, as if I was a princess entering her castle. I’d run and jump and do twirls all over the place. The only thing that stopped me was a dry throat and crispy lips. 

And when I stopped, you’d stare at me, smiling from ear to ear, and you’d say, “ice cold tapaline, love. That’s what you need.”

And still, every now and then, I do my twirls. And I do my jumps. The only thing that stops me is a dry throat and crispy lips.

And when I stop, I want one thing.

Ice cold tapaline.

Because really, that’s the only thing I need.