Monday, September 15, 2014

We all have secrets

A little story I am working on.

  In my small bathroom, hidden behind the locked door, I freed my wounds and stared at them. These were the same hands that had zealously gathered blackberries with my grandpa and had been toughened by the thorns. My "giftly tools". Nightly baths would soften my tender tips so that the morning sun could take me back to my grandpa's side in the garden.Helping on the farm had prepared me early for disappointment, as well as the importance of patience. I thought back to the planting of my first tree.

 "But grandpa, you said it would grow! You promised!" I stammered with shaking lips and wrinkled brows. Blonde curls stuck to my forehead from my sweaty attempt to be a tree grower. I looked first at the two foot tree that I had watched daily for weeks, then up at my grandpa's face to wait for his answer. His callused hand rested on my shoulder and he was close enough for me to smell his hard working body.

 "Listen, Little One." And he stayed quiet like he always did when he wanted to be sure I was paying attention."You have the seed, right?" I looked down at the ground and nodded my head, but refused to speak. My eyes swelled up behind the lids with determined tears, and like the big girl that I was, I held them in. "And I gave you the tools, correct?" I sighed and nodded my head again. "The rest is up to you. It won't be 'your' tree unless you do the work. And it won't grow overnight."

My  young body slumped as I realized that even if my grandpa did have a secret tree growing method, he wasn't sharing it with me. My grandpa didn't hear my final words that day because I had whispered  them just low enough so that he couldn't hear me.

 I repeated those words now into my mirror with those same swelled eyes. "We all have secrets, grandpa."

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