aBIGsheep
12-20-2008, 07:32 PM
His neck is twisted to the side, looking off majestically into the dusty back corner of the living room. He must be thinking something wonderful -- something pristine, basic or innocent. From where his head is mounted, you could almost assume that he wasn‘t dead. But as the tall stalks of his antlers dance shadows against the wall, that sad, sick, stillness of his form remind me otherwise.
Grandfather and I are sitting at the edge of the hearth. Me on his lap, and his thoughts long gone. He’s a sorry ol’ coot. My dad would tell me these weary old adventure stories about how his father got lost in the wilds, trudging along in search of some lost civilization. When Grandfather crawled, partly frozen and half-starved into the local All-Day-Every-Day Diner, dad said Grandfather was much happier with a meal than a civilization.
The old man nudges at his glasses as the light from the flames bounce against the edge of his grin.
“You wanna hear a story, m’child?” Grandfather asks.
I nod my head.
“You see that big buck?” he makes a nod towards the deer head glaring away from us.
The laugh-lines stand against the edge of his cheeks.
“Bastard put up one helluva fight!” Grandfather laughs a full hearted laugh, letting it start all the way down in his gut and bellow right out his ears.
“I spen’ two weeks lookin‘ fer that one,” he says proudly before thrusting two wrinkly fingers into my face, “Count ‘em! One, two!” I chuckle at him and he grins, happy that I’m amused by him. What a sad joy it is, finding meaning in the smallest of moments.
“Dang Grandfather,” I say to him, my voice an echo compared to his, “was it worth it?”
“After two weeks you bet yer britches it was worth it!” He says, slapping his knee and laughing at himself.
But as he laughs, my eyes trail up to the silent figurine watching us from above. Such a magnificent thing. Hard to believe that such a powerful creature could be broken down into a mantle piece -- merely existing as a foot note to someone else’s legacy.
My grandfather notices, quieting himself before he joins my gaze. We sit there for a moment, enjoying our silence. The majesty, the regality, the unobserved wonder that could’ve been a king! The enormity of his antlers! They sit on his head like a crown as it sparkles against the firelight.
“You know,” Grandfather begins slowly, never pausing to look away from the Deer, “those two weeks were some of the loneliest, coldest, days of my life.”
I turn my head to look at him, but he doesn’t move. He sits there, smiling at his peer, letting the light of the dying fire slow-dance somberly against his skin. I finally take notice of how old he is. I feel sorry for how his skin sags against his grin -- how it once must’ve accommodated so much vigor in it’s youth! I look at his laugh-lines. They must’ve been memories of happier days -- and the giant furrows above his eye brows, reminders of the hard ones. But his eyes. . . You could almost see his thoughts play on his pupils like a television.
Good show ya’ ol’ hooligan! Damn you put up one helluva fight ya’ ol’ bastard!
“Harder than when you crawled into the diner Grandfather?” I ask.
“O’ nothin’ coulda rivaled that m‘child,” he chuckles softly before he turns back to me, “but those days came damn close.”
“It was just me and him out there, bravin’ the wilderness like nothing ever should,” he takes a deep breath and straightens his back, growing taller and more radiant with the firelight. He raises his chin, pointing it up at some unseen audience as he reminisces about his glory.
“Tha’ thing was as big as a coup but it moved so silently in the snow! It was a pleasure huntin’ him. Gave me mo’ trouble than a whole van full of gran’ children!” He laughed to himself and ruffled my hair.
“But that thin’ had m’beat. It’d just disappear into the snow, y’know? Like a spectre in the night. And just when I’d finally given up, just when I’d finally packed up everythin’ and decided to head it out . . .” I could see the scene in his pupils, “thar he was, grazing on some small patch of grass that’d somehow found it’s way through the snow. The sun was smilin’ on ‘im as if God had made a beacon for me to follow. It was almost like he was handin‘ ‘imself over to me, almost like he was sayin’ ‘you’ve worked hard enough, here you go.’”
Grandfather took a deep breath and sighed, letting the air escape his lungs before he bent his back over in defeat.
“I shouldn’t have shot him, m’child,” he whispered hauntingly to me, ”Tha’ thin’ was a king before I got to ‘im. Two fer two, pound fer pound, we were even matches. He’d eluded me for weeks, tha’ bastard, and jus’ when he thought it was safe, just when he was at the high light of his life, I took it all away from him . . .”
The fire was but a cradle of embers, flickering in and out. Grandfather sniffled in the dark. I felt a tear break apart as it dropped onto my skin.
“But look at ‘im now! He aint ever gonna get ol!” he was laughing a hushed laugh; a pained laugh that hurt somewhere deep down in his chest.
“Jus’ look at me! I’m jus’ this sorry ol’ sack of bones! He aint never gonna git tired or weak! He‘s jus‘ gonna stay so damn purdy up thar on m‘wall!”
He twisted his neck and looked at the corner of the living room, averting his gaze away from his old adversary, thinking that somehow it’d hide his fossil shame and envy.
Grandfather and I are sitting at the edge of the hearth. Me on his lap, and his thoughts long gone. He’s a sorry ol’ coot. My dad would tell me these weary old adventure stories about how his father got lost in the wilds, trudging along in search of some lost civilization. When Grandfather crawled, partly frozen and half-starved into the local All-Day-Every-Day Diner, dad said Grandfather was much happier with a meal than a civilization.
The old man nudges at his glasses as the light from the flames bounce against the edge of his grin.
“You wanna hear a story, m’child?” Grandfather asks.
I nod my head.
“You see that big buck?” he makes a nod towards the deer head glaring away from us.
The laugh-lines stand against the edge of his cheeks.
“Bastard put up one helluva fight!” Grandfather laughs a full hearted laugh, letting it start all the way down in his gut and bellow right out his ears.
“I spen’ two weeks lookin‘ fer that one,” he says proudly before thrusting two wrinkly fingers into my face, “Count ‘em! One, two!” I chuckle at him and he grins, happy that I’m amused by him. What a sad joy it is, finding meaning in the smallest of moments.
“Dang Grandfather,” I say to him, my voice an echo compared to his, “was it worth it?”
“After two weeks you bet yer britches it was worth it!” He says, slapping his knee and laughing at himself.
But as he laughs, my eyes trail up to the silent figurine watching us from above. Such a magnificent thing. Hard to believe that such a powerful creature could be broken down into a mantle piece -- merely existing as a foot note to someone else’s legacy.
My grandfather notices, quieting himself before he joins my gaze. We sit there for a moment, enjoying our silence. The majesty, the regality, the unobserved wonder that could’ve been a king! The enormity of his antlers! They sit on his head like a crown as it sparkles against the firelight.
“You know,” Grandfather begins slowly, never pausing to look away from the Deer, “those two weeks were some of the loneliest, coldest, days of my life.”
I turn my head to look at him, but he doesn’t move. He sits there, smiling at his peer, letting the light of the dying fire slow-dance somberly against his skin. I finally take notice of how old he is. I feel sorry for how his skin sags against his grin -- how it once must’ve accommodated so much vigor in it’s youth! I look at his laugh-lines. They must’ve been memories of happier days -- and the giant furrows above his eye brows, reminders of the hard ones. But his eyes. . . You could almost see his thoughts play on his pupils like a television.
Good show ya’ ol’ hooligan! Damn you put up one helluva fight ya’ ol’ bastard!
“Harder than when you crawled into the diner Grandfather?” I ask.
“O’ nothin’ coulda rivaled that m‘child,” he chuckles softly before he turns back to me, “but those days came damn close.”
“It was just me and him out there, bravin’ the wilderness like nothing ever should,” he takes a deep breath and straightens his back, growing taller and more radiant with the firelight. He raises his chin, pointing it up at some unseen audience as he reminisces about his glory.
“Tha’ thing was as big as a coup but it moved so silently in the snow! It was a pleasure huntin’ him. Gave me mo’ trouble than a whole van full of gran’ children!” He laughed to himself and ruffled my hair.
“But that thin’ had m’beat. It’d just disappear into the snow, y’know? Like a spectre in the night. And just when I’d finally given up, just when I’d finally packed up everythin’ and decided to head it out . . .” I could see the scene in his pupils, “thar he was, grazing on some small patch of grass that’d somehow found it’s way through the snow. The sun was smilin’ on ‘im as if God had made a beacon for me to follow. It was almost like he was handin‘ ‘imself over to me, almost like he was sayin’ ‘you’ve worked hard enough, here you go.’”
Grandfather took a deep breath and sighed, letting the air escape his lungs before he bent his back over in defeat.
“I shouldn’t have shot him, m’child,” he whispered hauntingly to me, ”Tha’ thin’ was a king before I got to ‘im. Two fer two, pound fer pound, we were even matches. He’d eluded me for weeks, tha’ bastard, and jus’ when he thought it was safe, just when he was at the high light of his life, I took it all away from him . . .”
The fire was but a cradle of embers, flickering in and out. Grandfather sniffled in the dark. I felt a tear break apart as it dropped onto my skin.
“But look at ‘im now! He aint ever gonna get ol!” he was laughing a hushed laugh; a pained laugh that hurt somewhere deep down in his chest.
“Jus’ look at me! I’m jus’ this sorry ol’ sack of bones! He aint never gonna git tired or weak! He‘s jus‘ gonna stay so damn purdy up thar on m‘wall!”
He twisted his neck and looked at the corner of the living room, averting his gaze away from his old adversary, thinking that somehow it’d hide his fossil shame and envy.