Palm Print

Chapter 1

The sun's warmth caressed my peach skin, and the refreshing breeze cooled me. I inhaled as speeding vehicles populated the street, trying to avoid the noon traffic. While rubbing my tanning skin, I reflected on past summers at my grandparents' house.

I closed my eyes and imagined walking the vast acres that stretched into the horizon. The soft grass brushed underneath my soles, and I chuckled as my toes squirmed with joy. My mother despised it when I walked barefoot, but I snuck and did it anyway. While she wasn't looking, of course.

I smiled reminiscing on helping Grandpa with his Garden. My grandfather was quite interesting. Honestly, there wasn't a word that could properly describe him. Grandpa wore a hazmat suit while gardening.

That sounded ridiculous, and people never believed me, but it was the truth. Also, he wore a lab coat while cooking; he had various flasks, test tubes, and beakers scattered throughout the kitchen. It was challenging to move around without stumbling when Grandpa cooked.

Anyway, When I worked in the garden with my grandfather, I found a worm and showed him. Grandpa's shriek was hysterical, and he fled the garden. My grandfather's knees popped and creaked while his gruff baritone voice reached the timbre of a soprano.

"Stay away!" he shouted.

"Grandpa, it's just a worm!" my younger self retorted.

I chased after him not understanding why he was running, and he fell. His face mask popped off, and his face planted in a pile of mud.

My grandfather's face contorted, his cheeks were stained with crimson, his eyes bulged, and his lips quivered. Grandpa had an odd habit of slobbering whenever dirt touched him. His drool flooded the garden, and its thick form caused my hair to stand.

Grandpa ran into the house and scrubbed his body for hours, singing spiritual hymns while crying. My grandmother wondered what was wrong with him, and I explained the situation.

My grandmother had two types of smiles, firstly, the polite angry smile. She gave this smile whenever she disliked someone, or when it was time to go home and Grandpa talked to his friends for too long. The second smile was one of love and affection. That smile crept onto her lips and she shook her head muttering, "My dumb man."

The soaring engine of a small plane flew overhead, snapping me out of my daydream. Its rapid movements parted the clouds. I opened my bedroom window and observed the plane before it vanished. My grandmother refused to fly, but she wasn't always like that. She used to show me photos of her skydiving when she was younger. But now she hated planes. She hasn't flown in over 20 years. It was because of her brother.

My great-uncle was a gardener and journalist. He was very successful and won the Pulitzer Prize for journalism. Whenever I was shown pictures of him, I was mesmerized by his brilliant smile. His teeth sparkled and his smile was so warm. Like tanning on the beach as a gentle breeze cooled your skin. I never got to meet him because, sadly, he died in a plane crash.

My birthday was on the anniversary of his death, September 11. Over the years, I found my grandmother crying alone in Grandpa's garden during my birthdays. I...I hated seeing her like that. Her soft weeps were nearly silent, yet they echoed like a screaming baby at midnight.

Grandma told me I was like him because we loved history and English. "I hope I'm as successful as he was," I whispered. "I want to see the world and be free as he did." I glanced at my suitcase. "Speaking of which."

I walked around my room, packing up for an upcoming trip. I had always wanted to go bungee jumping, but I didn't know now. I felt I was making the worst decision of my life. My fingers tingled and my stomach was weightless. The percussive cadence of my heart reverberated throughout my body. My wobbly legs stumbled to my drawer and my throat tightened.