Every night, Grandma told me the same story to me ever since I was old enough to be going and spending the nights with her. No matter what, it was always Little Red Riding Hood. They started reading it to us in class a couple years after Grandma had already be telling it to me so I knew the whole story, front and back. And a lot of times the teachers didn’t like it when you gave away the end when they were only half way in the book. Hey, I was 4 and I really didn’t think about it.
No matter how old I got I swore to myself that I would never get tired of that book. But then again I was 4, so after a while I got tired of hearing Grandma tell the same old story every single time I went over. But then something happened and it wasn’t because of Grandma’s old age. One night, right after my 9th birthday, Grandma changed the story.
I mean it wasn’t anything big or shifted the plot completely, but she had changed it and, strangely, I had noticed. Grandma keep doing this for a couple more years, changing little special items here and there and making Red sound more like a hero than just a normal girl who ran into a talking wolf. Then Mom made my younger brother come with me to the over-nighters and the stories stopped in general. No matter how much I begged, she wouldn’t tell me about this new Red anymore and to be honest I missed that.
On April 7, I had turned 17 and we had my “small gathering” of a party at Grandma’s. She was happy as a 64 year old grandmother could be, but every few minutes or so she kept calling me over and never told me what she needed. I didn’t know whyand quiet really didn’t care, ‘cause as long as she was happy, I would go over to her no matter how many times she called. Then, as the last person at the gathering had left and she pulled me aside to tell me her last tale of Little Miss Red Riding Hood.
