A Child's Perspective

The table is made of dark wood, so dark that it’s almost black.  My cousin Marc and I have made drawings on the underside with my chalk.  I didn’t get in trouble for this because Grandma hasn’t seen them yet.  Marc told me that it wouldn’t matter, chalk wipes off, but the bottom of the table is rough, it didn’t rub off. He said that it was something we learned and we shouldn’t do it again, but the next time he came, we played tic-tac-toe in blue.

The table is covered by a white linen cloth that Grandma has made stitches on in the pattern of diamonds and flowers.  It’s very pretty and I’m not to touch because there’s a heavy lamp that sits in the middle of the table on the cloth.  It’s the second lamp that’s lived there because I tried to use the cloth when I lost my balance.  It didn’t work well. I fell and then the cloth came and the lamp fell too.  It made such a crash that everyone came running, Grandma, Grandpa, Grandma Shook.  Even Mommy.  They weren’t happy, but they weren’t mad.  Accidents happen.  It’s just that we have to try to only let the same accident happen once.  So I was careful not to touch the cloth as I ducked under the table.

I was hidden now.  Small and invisible in the dark under the table and the cloth.  Grandpa would never find me here.

I could hear the squeak of the screen door that led to the deck.  It was one of those squeaky things that Grandma always shook her spoon at Grandpa over.  He was going to fix it.  One of these days.  One of these days never came, though.

Then Grandpa’s footsteps sounded up the hall.  They were heavy and steady and my heart beat in anticipation.  Only good things would happen if he found me, but I still felt the delicious twinges of fear that waiting always brings.  Giggles burbled in my belly and I had to press my hands against my mouth hard to keep them from slipping out and giving us away.

“Where’s my girl?”  Grandpa was standing in the doorway, if I leaned forward, chest pressed against my knees, I could see the deep, dark leather of his boots.  Leaning further still, dark hair, one ear and my cheek pressing into the ugly green carpet, I could see that his hands were on his hips.  He had on dark blue pants and a red checkered shirt. I couldn’t see the shirt, he was too tall.  I could see legs and hips and hands, but I remembered the shirt from breakfast.  “Has anyone seen my girl?”  he asked again, and this time I shoved my whole fist in my mouth, my body shaking with glee.

He moved into the living room, the same room I was in, but he walked across from me, going to peek behind the couch, I guessed.  “Is she gone?  Did she move away?”  He asked loudly, letting go a sigh.  “I was just getting used to her.”

I squeaked then, a small bit of a giggle that wouldn’t stay silent.  I could see Grandpa’s boots turn toward me.  “A mouse? Is there a wee mouse here?”

He moved closer.  My trembling intensified to a gleeful quivering.  “I’m going to miss that girl.  Guess we’re going to have to find a new one.  I need someone to watch my programs with.”

Oh no, I couldn’t let that happen, I’m his girl.  I watch the programs. 

Launching myself at his legs, I scrambled out from under the table, “Here I am.  I’m right here!”

Scooping me up in his arms, Grandpa twirled me around.  Laughing, I pressed my face into his neck, breathing deep.  Grandpa smelled of dirt and sweat and shaving cream.  It was the best of smells.