I arrived home from school and my grandmother was gone. There was a note left on the kitchen table like someone had ran out to fetch milk. It was mum's handwriting and it said, 'I've had to move her to a hospice.' I crouched down on our linoleum floor, and thought about my grandmother who'd bit her tongue to keep the peace, to raise three girls in a stable family, who had courage and spirit and made an art out of being trapped by domesticity. She ate mono-flavoured food, drank milky tea and gossiped with the neighbours. She wore four different hats and celebrated the day her ice box became a refrigerator.
My tears felt unworthy of my grandmother, but they fell as steadily as wheels rolled downhill. I held my head in my hands, sobbing for this woman I was so lucky to have spent time with in the end, devastated that today she'd been moved to the place that was the room before her final resting place.
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Repeat After Me
Teen FictionAn impossible love between two young street artists. *** Ivy is a 16 year old street artist who finally has the streets to herself when Melbourne goes into the first COVID lockdown. She meets another street artist, Asten, and can't help falling for...
