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Late Night Toast

The Summer Camp Writing Challenge

By M.L. LewisPublished 2 years ago 3 min read
4

Growing up, I struggled to make friends. The Locals in my hometown were set in their ways, and there was no changing it. Being a more open-minded child made me sort of a social outcast. But, I had one friend I could rally on to be there for me no matter what, my grandfather Doc. My grandfather was a great man. He was always there for me, no matter what. He was also very ill with kidney failure. A concept I didn’t quite understand until I was much older. Because he was so sick, he had to take an array of medications at various times of the day and night. Every summer, I would spend two weeks with him in July. Maybe more, depending on my mother’s summer plans. Despite going to Dialysis every morning, he never let his sickness stop him from taking me on many adventures. Boy, did we have fun! We would go to the theater to watch plays. We go to the video rental store and spend hours deciding what movies to watch that night. Then we would head to the nearby mall to buy all toys and books I could carry in my tiny arms. My favorite part of the day was going to the thrift store in town and conjuring up little stories for the trinkets we came across inside. When we got back to his house, we would eat dinner, and spend the rest of the night watching the movies, or old TV shows like The Munsters and Bewitched. As the evening hours approached, we would move the party outside. We sat on the porch swing watching the sunset over the nearby riverbank. The colors were as stunning as my grandfather’s strength. As the stars began to pop out, we went back inside to wash up for the night. Around nine o’clock, we would all head to bed. I would sleep on the folding cot near the foot of his bed because of the limited space in the house. This is where the battle of wills began. While he and my grandmother slept, I would watch TV to fight the urge to sleep myself. It wasn’t a hard fight, though. Growing up, I was always a night owl, so staying up past my bedtime wasn’t the issue. But staying awake until two in the morning could be challenging for a kid. I would sit there on my little cot, trying my best to keep my eyes open. No matter how badly I wanted to, I knew I couldn’t fall asleep. At long last, two o’clock would come. The first sign I knew it was time was when the TV would click off. My grandfather had it set on a timer so that I wouldn’t fall asleep leaving it on. The next clue was the part I was waiting for all night. I heard him shuffling to get up in bed.

“You still awake?” he mumbles.

“Yes,” I would whisper, trying not to wake my grandmother up. I would watch his shadow slide on his slippers as I put on mine. He would get up and take my hand. We would tiptoe through the house towards the kitchen. I took my seat next to his at the head of the table as he prepares jelly toast and cocoa for us. But it was just ordinary toast he would make, at least not to me. After he cooked the toast to perfection, he would add a thick layer of butter, followed by the jam. The jam was the sweetest you’d ever tasted with the butter, really bringing out its true flavor. After he took his medication, we would have in-depth conversations about life, the future, and my ever-changing career goals. Sometimes we didn’t talk at all. We would just sit in there and enjoy each other’s presence as the house settles down around us. Just the two of us enjoying what little time he had left on this planet. He passed away in 2006, and even though life goes on, jelly toast just hasn’t tasted the same without him.

literature
4

About the Creator

M.L. Lewis

Welcome to my little slice of pie. This blog will primarily focus on prepping and homesteading skills with a sprinkle of fiction every now and then.

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