sandaranicki1582
My grandfather never learned the days of the week.
Every Friday, he would ask a passing schoolchild what day it was. If they said Friday, he would go buy meat - and then walk to the slope at the edge of our village to wait for me.
This is a memoir about him, about my grandmother, and about a rural village in Hubei, China that is slowly disappearing. It is about the children who were left behind, the elders who carried a century of history in their mouths, and the ordinary days that turned out not to be ordinary at all.
Crossroads began as something I wrote for my grandfather who was still alive.
It became something I am giving to one who is not.