The Drawing Room

Michael cherished the joy he felt when he joined his grandfather in the home's library as a kid. The old man dove into books of knowledge while Michael dove into Dr. Seuss and Curious George. Those fond memories returned when he came to visit one year after his grandfather's passing. Michael's grandmother was gravely ill and not expected to live much longer, so he chose to pack up their possessions and donate them to charity.

The delectable smell of his grandfather's cigar consumed him upon entering the library once again. The room was filled with thick wooden furniture, still very clean and neatly placed. The old desk and the leather high-back chair looked the same. On the floor, an Oriental rug with its intricate designs sat curled up on one end. He kicked it down so it lay flat.

He approached the shelves, peering at the books his grandfather used to read: Ptolemy, Aristotle, Thomas Paine, Rene Descartes, etc. Knowledge from the past. However, at the end of the shelf sat another book with no writing on its worn leather spine. Michael cocked his head and pulled it out. Dust floated freely. There was no writing on the dark brown cover. What could this be? He opened it. A stale smell hit his nostrils and he turned away slightly. He turned a page, and then another, then another, then another...

He rifled through the pages absorbing everything he could, stopping numerous times to gawk at what he saw.

He became speechless.

When did his grandfather have the time to do this? How could he do it? Michael paused at one page and memories gushed back. He remembered this scene. Tears welled in his eyes as he admired numerous drawings his grandfather made of young Michael reading in the library.