Memoir

This is a start of something very personal for a contest... I don't know If I will enter but the thought just started. It is my memory of the day I last remember seeing my Grandfather. I was 9 or 10.

Grandma met us and the car outside it was chilly and so this was unexpected. My father picked up my littlest and grabbed one of the bags from the trunk telling the sriver to put them on the walk.

Grandma hurried my dad toward the house. She spoke in low and hurried tones. She was usually more friendly and would hug us. I knew that grandpa was sick but she was happier to see us last time it wasn’t even a year ago.

Daddy came back and told us that grandpa was confused and that he would yell sometimes and that it was OK we haven’t done anything wrong. I was scared I didn’t like being yelled at. I stared at the concrete and grabbed my little school bag from the pile as I went to the stair that lead down to the door that lead into the house throgh the basement.

I hadn’t ever seen the red pain chipped without repair before.  The stairs leading down to the basement door now looked ragged and worn down something the red paint had never revealed before.