Tag: writer

Grandpa, Tabby and I had a good breakfast. Tabby and I cleared the table, then washed the dishes. While doing that, Tabby asked me:

“Would you like to play cribbage after this, Mark?”

I said, “Sure, that sounds like fun. How about you, Grandpa?” I asked, looking back to him in his chair at the table.

“No, thanks, kids. I’ve got something I’m working on in my workshop. You all have fun. Don’t worry about me,” he said. At that, Grandpa stood up and walked across the kitchen to the door to his workshop. “Thanks for doin’ the dishes,” he said, with a smile, then he entered his workshop and closed the door behind him.

Tabby and I had seen Grandpa working on a set of shelves for Tabby’s room, painted blue, her favorite color. Grandpa had told me they were for Tabby, and Tabby figured as much. “They’ll be neat when they’re finished, don’t you think so, Mark?”

“Yep, they will. Everything Grandpa makes is neat,” I said.

“Yeah, he’s a good ol’ Grandpa,” she said.

We sat down at the table, playing cards for a while. “You can deal,” I said.

“Okay, thanks,” Tabby said. She shuffled the cards, and dealt them out. We played a few hands, alternating the deal with each hand.

“What are you going to do, this afternoon?” Tabby asked.

“I’m going to read a book,” I said.

“That sounds like a good idea,“ Tabby said. “Maybe, I will, too!”

We played out the rest of our card game. Tabby won, as usual.

“You gonna’ go read your book now, Mark?” She said.

“Yep.” And I walked down the hall and then up the stairs to my bedroom. My dog, Old Hank, was already in my room, laying on the bed, with the sun shining on him through the window.

“Hey, Hank. Move over a bit.” I laid down on my bed, as Old Hank adjusted. I probably won’t last long, I thought to myself. I’m full. I reached out to grab the book, on the window sill, but didn’t even start reading, before I fell asleep.

I was walking in the woods behind my grandpa’s house one fall day. I had been wondering where my little sister had wandered to. Any chance to get outside, and she was up for it. Instead of my sister, though, I came upon two boys sitting on the ground in a small dirt clearing. They were playing a dice game. They heard my steps, shuffling in the fallen leaves, and looked up. It was Ben and Albert, two young friends of ours.

“Hey, guys,” I said.

“Hey, Mark,” they both said together.

“Have you seen my sister anywhere?” I said.

The taller one, Albert, scratched his head. “I passed by her, sittin’ on a log by the pond, fishin’.”

“Sounds like my sister,” I said.

“Yep,” said Ben. “That Tabitha’s the only girl I know who goes fishin’,” he said, with a smile.

“By herself, anyway,” I said. “Thanks, y’all. Have fun.”

“Okay,” said Albert.

“Bye,” said Ben.

I hopped the fence back into my grandpa’s yard, crossed the back yard, went through the gate, through the front yard, turned left and walked down the street, then onto a dirt path that led to the pond. Albert lived near the pond, on the other side. Ben lived back on the other side of my grandpa’s house. Albert would have passed the pond on his way over to Ben’s house. As I came out of the woods, I looked across the pond, and there she was, sitting on a log, with a fishing pole in her hands.

“Hey, Mark,” she said, smiling, and she waved.

“Hey, Tabby. Grandpa’s got breakfast ready. Pancakes and bacon.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’m coming.” Then she reeled in her hook, still fit with a half a worm on it. “The fish aren’t bitin’ much, anyway.”

By that time, I walked around the pond and stood by Tabitha. I looked down at a bucket of water by her right tennis shoe and saw a couple of brim swimming in it. “Those two look good,” I said.

“Yeah, caught those a while ago. Nothin’ since.”

“Okay, c’mon. Get your fish.”

She reached down and picked up her bucket by the handle, and as I held out my hand, she reached out and grabbed it. “Thanks for coming to get me, Mark,” she said, smiling.

“I knew you wouldn’t have wanted to miss grandpa’s pancakes,” I said.

“Yep, you’re right,” she said.

When we both got back to grandpa’s house, grandpa was waiting for us at the door. “Breakfast is gettin’ cold, you two.”

“Sorry, grandpa,” we both said.

“Watcha got in the bucket, Tabby?” He said.

“Couple of brim, grandpa,” said Tabitha.

“Well, we’ll have to get them ready to cook for lunch!” He said, patting us on the backs towards the breakfast table. “After breakfast, that is!”