I'm losing you

Chapter three - grandma

I knocked on the blue door, where the paint was peeling off. I heard some commotion, swearing, and a thud, but then the door finally swung open, just missing my nose, and my grandma's happy, smiling face appeared in the doorway.

"Oh, hello sweetie, are you here again? Come inside quickly, it's cold outside!"

I quickly stepped out of the harsh wind and biting cold, gave my grandma a grateful look, and hung up my soaked jacket.

"Wait," my grandma said. "Maybe you should hang it over the chair so it can dry a bit, otherwise you'll have to wear that wet, heavy thing when you leave again."

I nodded, picked up my jacket from the old, iron coat rack, and walked through the small hallway of the apartment to the small kitchen and living room. My eyes searched for the high chair, which was often moved around the small kitchen island. It was a brown leather stool with black metal legs, now covered by a drenched jacket.

"Sit down," Grandma said in her usual tone: sweet and calm.

"Do you want a cup of tea or something else? I think I still have a can of cola somewhere..."

I smiled. "No, tea is fine."

A little later, Grandma walked over with two steaming cups filled to the brim with boiling hot tea, which she placed on the wooden side table.

"How was school?" Grandma asked, rummaging through a kitchen cabinet, searching for the cookie tin which always contained freshly baked cookies. "Was it really bad?"

"Yup..." I said softly. "Terrible..."

"Oh, no, darling! What happened that ruined your day?" Grandma sat down next to me, holding the cookie tin in her wrinkled hands, concern written all over her face.

"I was late for school... Mom and Dad weren't home, both working. They left me behind again. Dad had taken the batteries out of my alarm clock because he needed them for 'important things' and he would put them back in once he got new ones. But I should have known he would never buy new ones. Well, long story short, I overslept. I had five minutes to get dressed, brush my teeth, comb my hair, and pack my bag. I did it as fast as I could, I swear. I even took the shorter route through that stinking field, but I was still late..." I paused for a moment and continued: "You know how my class would react, right?"

Grandma nodded attentively.

"They reacted twice as bad as usual, teasing me until I started crying, right in the crowded cafeteria... Everyone stared at me. Everyone laughed."

I left out the fact that two of the worst boys in my class had taken something out of the trash to put in my mouth. And they had succeeded... They grabbed me roughly, I have proof: the incredibly large painful bruise on my upper arm. They forcefully opened my mouth to stuff in a soggy, brown remains of a chewed-up banana. The whole class was gathered around, everyone, even kids from other classes. Even one of the janitors was hidden behind the crowd of students, grinning with a fake look in his eyes. I felt incredibly watched, laughed at, and unloved at that moment. Shivers ran down my spine as I thought back to that moment.

"Oh, honey, how awful!'' Grandma scooted closer to me on the fuzzy gray couch and put an arm around me.

"I wish I could do something for you... Doesn't the school administration do anything about it?"

I shook my head and thought about that damn janitor who stood there giggling when they shoved that disgusting banana in my mouth.

"I told my mentor once, about three years ago. He said I shouldn't complain. That it wasn't that bad. That I was exaggerating. Since then, I've decided to keep my mouth shut; I was afraid that all the other teachers would hate me too. I just wanted to be invisible to the outside world. That no one hates me anymore. I don't care anymore if anyone loves me or not, as long as no one sees me and insults me."

There was a silence. A long, deadly silence.

"Well..." Grandma whispered. "Would you like... a cookie then?"

I smiled weakly. "Sure, I would like a cookie."

It's been three months since I told grandma that things aren't going well at school and at home, and she reacted quite strongly. In a good way, in a way that showed she would always be there for me. I saw her on the verge of exploding when she called the school administration to tell them they needed to do something about the bullying, but she held back. But you should have heard her when she called my parents; she exploded. She screamed and shouted, said things I had never heard her say before, and paced restlessly back and forth, to the kitchen, to the living room, pacing for a while, sat down, then stood up again to visit the kitchen and repeat the cycle. She pointed out to mom that we didn't have enough mother-daughter time and that dad worked too much. Mom works too much too, but well... Grandma and I chatted for a while longer, until she wanted to show me something. So we walked to the spider-web-covered attic where grandma grabbed a box that was right at the front and had some of the dust wiped off. She opened it, rummaged through the items, and pulled out a photo album. She blew off some remaining dust and opened the book on the first page. There was a large black and white photo of a man with a beard and glasses, smiling brightly into the camera. We stared at the photo. He looked like someone. The same eyes. The same smile. He looked like mom.

"Is that..."

I saw grandma's eyes light up as she nodded, but at the same time, an empty void appeared in her gaze. She blinked a few times rapidly, struggling to hold back her tears.

"Yes..." she whispered. "Yes. That's... That's grandpa."

A tear slowly ran down her wrinkled cheek, gleaming, sparkling, full of love. She began to cry softly. This time, I put my arm around her bony shoulders and tried to comfort her; it worked. She gathered all her courage and turned the page. There were two large photos on the page: one of a fine, happy family, where I immediately spotted grandpa's mischievous gaze, he was still a child, about ten years old. Around him stood his four brothers and three sisters, with proud parents in the background. On the other photo, he stood with another boy on a field with a ball under their arms. We were about the same age. Both photos were old, both photos were black and white again. Slowly, we flipped through the entire photo album, laughing, crying, enjoying every photo, every smile, every happy glance... At the end, there were the wedding photos, in color, where everyone looked joyful and happy. Grandma's wrinkles were gone, her gray hair replaced by brown, full locks. She wore a beautiful white dress with frills and held a bouquet of beautiful fresh flowers. Grandpa had laughter lines around his eyes, wearing his best suit with a white flower in the breast pocket. They were so happy... I squeezed grandma's hand, which was trembling. She still struggled every day with grandpa's death, missing him incredibly. Their love had overcome everything, except death...