Existing mouth of the Duwamish River, Seattle, WA, from the West Seattle Bridge.
Credit: Sheri Fresonke Harper | ©Sheri Fresonke Harper
Rusty Nakamura's throat ached while she watched her son Jason grow up on the animation running on her computer. What had all her gifts of love to her son accomplish? She shook her head, wanting to lie down and cry.
Luckily for her, her grandson Conan's arrival last week had finally broken the grief-driven apathy that enfolded her since Jason's dataset arrived with the folded flag. Her only son killed in action in the Middle East over the last dregs of oil. She'd recreated Jason as a gift to Conan. She blinked back tears.
A thump down the hall. Rusty jerked up, leaving her coffee to cool.
In the bathroom, Jason leaned over the bathtub, splashing water.
Her chartreuse rug squished underfoot. "What are you doing?"
Conan stood up. His eyes sparkled beneath tawny bangs just like his father's. "Grammy, you said we'd sail boats. See?"
She swallowed the lump in her throat. A toy hydroplane sprayed water against the shower wall. "I meant at the park. Later."
"Oh." His lip wobbled.
Rusty's hand shook until she gripped the doorknob. She had no heart for discipline. "Berth it, please. Go color until after lunch." Six years of lonely rehabilitation in the nursing home after breaking one hip then the other left her willing to put up with anything.
Conan lifted his dripping toy, his shoulders drooping.
Her heart felt tugged. "I'll cook pizza for lunch. 'Kay?"
He trudged toward the living room lip protruding.
She yawned, wanting to hide away and take a nap. Her dark circles beneath her eyes seemed less pronounced as she pulled her silver streaked hair behind her ears.
She set the household robot to clean up the bathroom and sighed, and this was just the beginning of a long, long day.
Candles purchased last month for the lantern festival to honor Jason caught her attention. Better collect the supplies.#
After lunch and a nap, fresh air cured Rusty's yawns. She and Conan disembarked from the subway three miles down the Duwamish river from Elliot Bay. Cottonwood trees grew along the steep banks of the slow moving water.
Her grandson squealed, "C'mon, let's build a sand castle."
Luckily for her, her grandson Conan's arrival last week had finally broken the grief-driven apathy that enfolded her since Jason's dataset arrived with the folded flag. Her only son killed in action in the Middle East over the last dregs of oil. She'd recreated Jason as a gift to Conan. She blinked back tears.
A thump down the hall. Rusty jerked up, leaving her coffee to cool.
In the bathroom, Jason leaned over the bathtub, splashing water.
Her chartreuse rug squished underfoot. "What are you doing?"
Conan stood up. His eyes sparkled beneath tawny bangs just like his father's. "Grammy, you said we'd sail boats. See?"
She swallowed the lump in her throat. A toy hydroplane sprayed water against the shower wall. "I meant at the park. Later."
"Oh." His lip wobbled.
Rusty's hand shook until she gripped the doorknob. She had no heart for discipline. "Berth it, please. Go color until after lunch." Six years of lonely rehabilitation in the nursing home after breaking one hip then the other left her willing to put up with anything.
Conan lifted his dripping toy, his shoulders drooping.
Her heart felt tugged. "I'll cook pizza for lunch. 'Kay?"
He trudged toward the living room lip protruding.
She yawned, wanting to hide away and take a nap. Her dark circles beneath her eyes seemed less pronounced as she pulled her silver streaked hair behind her ears.
She set the household robot to clean up the bathroom and sighed, and this was just the beginning of a long, long day.
Candles purchased last month for the lantern festival to honor Jason caught her attention. Better collect the supplies.#
After lunch and a nap, fresh air cured Rusty's yawns. She and Conan disembarked from the subway three miles down the Duwamish river from Elliot Bay. Cottonwood trees grew along the steep banks of the slow moving water.
Her grandson squealed, "C'mon, let's build a sand castle."
Comments
Great story!
What a wonderful story. Thanks for sharing.
:)
Very good story.
excellent!
great story I throughly enjoyed it.
What a wonderful story Sheri! You are a wonderful writer. There is nothing you can do. You can write poems, you can write nice stories and great articles.
Awesome :)
Very well done!
Great stuff
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