Memorial Day Memento--1000 Words

**WINNER** of the May 30, 2016 "The Writer's Cramp" contest "WINNER AND NEW PROMPT - Due May 31"   with the prompt:

Tomorrow is a holiday, but your elderly mother, grandmother, aunt, etc. (or father, grandfather, uncle, etc.) has a full list of items they need you to do for them, which amounts to seizing YOUR day.

Write a story or poem about how you feel about this (prior to spending the day doing chores,)

AND

how the day actually ends up being a plus because of how you spend it with this beloved relative.

Memorial Day Memento

Today was supposed to be awesome--full of memories and fun and perhaps with an added bottle cap for my collection. My friend Rob often introduces us to new beers from all over and I began collecting caps to remember the experiences. Today is one of the biggest grilling days of the year with lake parties and backyard barbeques. Today is Memorial Day. And instead of spending it getting drunk and playing drunken games like a normal college student, today I will spend it with my grandfather. Don’t get me wrong. I love the old man. But today? Can’t I help him tomorrow?

Let me fill you in. My grandfather recently moved over 500 miles because he wanted to be closer to family…and the VA hospital for his care. After my grandmother died, he became really morbid about life and death and family and doing things with your life that have meaning. Meaning? I’ve got a lifetime for that. Right now I want to do things that give my life fun with a dash of danger. Meaning? Blech! Alas, while the parental units hold the purse strings, as well as the laundry bag strings, I’m their weekend slave. And this weekend they’ve decided I’m helping grandpa with some chores.

Off to grandpa’s house…much like Little Red Riding Hood and her trip to grandma’s house, mom sends me off with a basket of goodies—muffins, cookies, bottled water (probably not in the original story) and some leftover paint (definitely not in the original story). This will be my first time at his house. I’m curious to see his new place. The address isn’t in the best part of town, but I suppose it’s safe enough.

As I pull up, he’s unloading tools from his pickup truck.

“Howdy! Give me a hand with this mower.” He’s got a small lawn mower on his truck. It’s gleaming like it just came from a car wash—or a conscientious repair shop.

I help him lift it out, naturally carrying the front part, the brunt of the weight.

“Today will be outside work. Next weekend we’ll tackle the inside.” He has a gleam in his eye as he smiles at the thought.

Next weekend? No way! I have plans next weekend. Well, okay, not yet, but by then I WILL have plans and this weekend has already been ruined. I’m not doing this again next weekend. I really need to come up with a better way to pay for tuition than selling my body like a prostitute. Okay, maybe not quite a prostitute, but still, I study hard-ish all week. I deserve the weekends. These are supposed to be the best years of my life!

Sullenly, I pull the cord and begin the mowing process. With the sound of the engine, at least grandpa won’t be able to give me any more bad news. I can sing pop songs to myself and maybe figure out a topic for that paper due Friday. I should have probably started on it already. Anyway, away we mow…

I draw lines back and forth in the yard, pleased to see the progress I’m making. At least this should get me brownie points in Heaven. I smile to myself at some of my college antics that this good deed will hopefully erase.

I’ve watched the slow progress my grandfather is making on a woodworking project. Finished with the mowing, I sit down beside him. He stops and pulls out a couple bottles of cool water. I wish he’d put them in the fridge, but whatever.

“It’s a wheelchair ramp,” he proudly announces.

“Hm.” He’s not ready for a wheelchair yet, but I suppose by the time he is, he won’t be able to make the ramp. Good planning, I suppose. The cool water washes grass and dust particles down my throat and into my stomach for my body to deal with. “I’m done with the mowing.” I know I’m not lucky enough to go home yet. He’s still working on his ramp.

“And a fine job you did! Did I ever tell you about when I first joined the Army? The war hadn’t started yet. Of course, we did training, but we also did lawn maintenance…A LOT of lawn maintenance. Back then you didn’t automatically get a free weekend like a lot of Soldiers do now. You had to earn it and only a certain number of people could earn it each week. I was young and dumb, always getting into trouble, so I usually spent my weekends on lawn maintenance. I mowed more grass that first year than you’ll probably ever mow in your lifetime—and with a push mower at that,” he says with a laugh. “I thought I hated every minute of it, until the war started. Then I wished I could just go back to that…that…boring, safe job. But I’ll tell you. I don’t regret joining the Army for a minute. Not only did I get to be an expert lawn mower, but I learned to appreciate life and living like I couldn’t have otherwise. I also learned to appreciate the life we have here in the U.S. War was hard. It’s complicated. But I wouldn’t change it if I could. Anyway, get the blower and clear off the driveway.” He uses my shoulder to help himself up.

“Do you like your new neighbors?” I ask, not ready to get to work. I fiddle with the bottle cap between my fingers.

“Neighbors? This isn’t my place. It belongs to a young Iraq vet I met at the VA. He was paralyzed from the waist down. I just wanted to give him a little surprise. Nice kid—Real heart. He’s about your age.” He turns to continue his work on the ramp.

I swallow the rest of my water, finished. I stand and slide the cap into my pocket to add to my collection. This is one Memorial Day I never want to forget.