Blog Ten - Short Essay One: Draft

Danielle Zingalis

Short Essay One - Draft

 

Grandpa

 

 

            The drive from our house to theirs was so long. When you’re at such a young age, a forty-five minute drive is a lifetime. We were getting closer, so close. We were finally off the bridge and passing the cramped streets with condensed building. We had finally made it down their street and after my father had skillfully parallel parked the car, my mom said we could get out of the car. Our seatbelts couldn’t come off fast enough.

 

 Chrissy and I used to run to him as soon as we got through the front door. We would run through the cold, white hallway and into the living room. As soon as my foot touched the outdated, but still so soft brown rug, it would creak and I would lean my hand on the velvet wallpaper as I continued to run.

 

She would sit in the kitchen, at the head of the table with her cane in one hand and a cigarette in the other. We would run into the kitchen and the creaking would suddenly stop, we were no longer on the carpet, but the old tile. We were getting closer. Chrissy and I would look at her and smile and continue to run, we would say hi to her later, we wanted to see him first.

 

We’re so close to him. Just one more room. Running through the kitchen and past the little hallway, we made it. The walls were covered in wooden paneling and the carpet was green. He was there already standing up from the gray couch with bits of reds and yellows woven through. Chrissy and I would run into him and hug him so tightly. He took our hands and brought us to the couch and had us look behind one of the throw pillows and behind it was a little handheld videogame. He was just as excited to see us as we were to see him.