Grandpas Mind :: Dialogue Essays

Grandpas Mind As I pulled into my parents driveway, I realized how punk the radio was. I dark it down, peeled my legs off the blue vinyl radical seat, and lugged my pile of laundry up to the front door. The doorknob wouldnt turn and I still hadnt gotten around to making myself a duplicate key. I rang the chime and waited. Nothing. Leaving my basket of dirty clothes on the steps, I tramped done the bushes in front of the living get on window. Pep was across the room sitting in his usual chair and reading the paper. He was a familiar sight in his plaid flannel shirt, striped clip-on bow tie, and tweed cabby hat. I knocked on the window. He turned around, startled, and focused his eyes on me. I smiled and waved at him, only when he just stared at me. I gestured toward the front door. His face had that hollow look, but something made him get up and let me in. Hi, Pep. I kissed him on the cheek. He made way for me and my laundry. Hello, how are you? I headed for the washing machine. Pep trailed well-nigh behind. Kevin and Clare arent home, but they should be here soon. Do you want to wait for them? Yah, Ill be here. I began separating whites from darks. Do you want anything to eat? Theres meat and bread in the ice box and some cookies in there. No thanks. I dont sack out where Kevin and Clare are. They took Katie out somewhere. Do you know Katie? I paused. Here we go. This was going to be one of those conversations. I should just say, Why, yes, I know Katie. But maybe if I venture a bit further, something might jog his memory board and we wouldnt have to go through the whole routine. Dad says that Pep has a tape recorder in his brain, and bits and pieces keep getting erased. I resolved to give it a shot.