Crossed

Chapter 4 (Part 2)

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In no time I was at my grandmothers house.

Her house was an average sized house. Three floors; Basement two regular floors. One bathroom, two bedrooms, living room, kitchen and a laundry room. An average house where I live at.

The light blue paint on the exterior was starting to peal. Seemed like it needed a good painting sometime soon. Along with the porch that sat outside the front door.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been here. It took me a few bus stops to get here, but I’m finally here. I remember coming here when I was younger, before my brother was born, but even when he wasn’t here I still never got to see her much. We use to bake cookies and sing songs. She taught me how to knit too. Every time I saw her she would pull out a few cooking bowls; have one bowl with dry ingredients, the other one wet. I remember struggling with the eggs and how tired my arm would get until she took over. While the cookies were baking, she would pull out my knitting needles she has there for me and we would knit dish clothes and scarves. I remember begging her to teach me how to knit a sock, and one year she did. She has me knit my name into it and use it for Christmas as Christmas stocking. Just thinking about everything makes me a want to cry.

Holding back my tears, I walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell. I could hear the light tingling, ring of chimes from the outsides. I could tell that they never changed from when I use to come here.

“Come in!” She yelled from inside “Door’s open”

I turned the doorknob and stepped into the house and my nostrils were filled with the delicious aroma of the freshly made gingerbread. The first thing I saw was her in the kitchen humming a tine while taking out a pan out of the oven full of gingerbread men.

I saw my grandmother with an apron on, shielding her clothes from any unwanted mess. Her appearance hasn’t changed since I last saw her. She was still skinny and thin. Tall and young looking,comparing to her actual age. She has dark skin. After each generation, the skin colour lightened, which gave me my caramel looking skin colour. Her black glassy eyes matched her black straight hair.

“Grandma!” I shouted as if I were a five-year-old again.

Her head turned in my direction at the single word I spoke. She had a questioning look, as if she wasn’t sure if it was just her eyes playing tricks on her.

“Amanda?” She asked.

I kicked off my shoes and raced up the stairs. “Yes Grandma, It’s me!”

She put the hot pan down and gave me a hug. Without a delay I hugged her back.

“Amanda, sweetie, you’re here!”

“Yes. I’m here.” I assured her with tears filling inside of my eyes.

She pulled away and looked me in the face.

“Why are you here” She asked searchingly. “Not to sound mean of un-grandmotherly like but you barely ever come over, unless you need something.”

“It isn’t my fault, it’s mom! And it’s not like I haven’t missed you, but she’s pushed me to come here.” I strongly (and partly shouted) with a hint of anger and rage.

“It’s okay honey.” She said in a loving tone. That loving tone is something I’ve been deprived of most of my life, especially from my father. “What does she need now? Money? Birth certificates?”

I laughed, but it was a short laughter. “No grandma. It’s not money problems, and please don’t think that I’m some sort of undisciplined, juvenile kid who ignored directions or anything like that, because she doesn’t even know I’m here. As far an she knows, I’m probably at my friends house.” I said calming down, but started to get sad at the fact that I went behind my mother’s back.