I believe my grandfather was my hero

I believe my grandfather was my hero.

As I sit in my room, the walls take on a sinister texture. I sit on the edge of my bed and the musty smell of mold slithers up my nostrils. My thoughts race like a madman standing on the edge of an abyss. Now the tears start falling, the molecules screaming as the ground races up to meet them. They splatter and soak the carpet, soon followed by more of their companions. Their source of creation is a small, confused, extremely depressed child, who sits quite alone in his room accompanied only by the companions found in his thoughts. From the edge of his bed, he buries his face in his hands, and screams at the chaos happening in his mind.

He questions god and the rest of the gods, and damns them all; Anger. He thinks to himself, “Why me, why so unlucky?”; Confusion. His heart, his core, and his microphone, when his minutely influential voice falls upon deaf ears within the family, now silenced; Hurt.

His heart feels like the glass of a decrepit old building window, the slightest breeze knocking it down and shattering it into a trillion pieces. Then it is collected full, only to be destroyed again, upon the realization that he is truly gone.

Picturing his “Hercules” driving along without a care in the world. Several diplomas, multiple languages, the disclipline and values as bright as an army general in the best army platoon in the world. His schedule flowing through his mind. Those thoughts announcing a single word that resonates in his head and fills his defined face with a smile. That word, being, “Ride.” The motorcycle hums beneath him. A sudden flash out of the corner of his vision, a furry critter barely eluding his tire. His care and compassion for all living things resulting in his slow, merciless downfall. Now as he lies there on the road under that metal deathtrap, motionless and in pain, he slips into a deep sleep of endless thoughts.

Now in the air, looking down at his own mangled body, watching the wheel of his bike get slower and slower, he is pulled away by unseen hands, and blacks out. Somedays later he finds himself in a dark room that seems to be vibrating with sadness. He watches helplessly as his only grandson soaks his clothing with his own tears, and listens to the mother sitting next to him trying to soothe the child. He realizes the mother doesn’t know her voice is falling on deaf ears. This child is lost in self-pity.

The mothers voice tunes back in now, as the childs thoughts finally slow down enough to breathe. He hears her saying, “It happens to all of us eventually son … it was only a matter of time …”

My legs jump to life then. I throw open a door and run, blind now, seeing only memories of a long gone hero….

Remembering myself sitting in the garage nearly attached to his side, watching as the muscles in his trunk of an arm flex and retract, the metal barbell going up and down in front of my face. I picture myself someday looking just like that….

Remembering the dew sliding down my arms and soaking my shoes as I walk beside my grandfather on the grass. I glance down at the dog walking between us, and watch in fascination as my hero makes him stop dead with a simple flick of his wrist. His massive hand drops down on “Buddies” head and pats him. I watch as he glances left, then right, to make sure the street is clear. I hear a sharp clang as the leash is released, and the dog shoots into the forest quite fast, despite his size….

Now walking in complete bliss and listening to the smart, wise words as my hero tells me about life and teaches me things so I don’t make hard mistakes like him.

Now our gaze shifts to an old, sickly looking stranger as he lets out a horrible cough and drops his cigarette on the concrete. It rolls down the driveway, letting off a careless, evil wisp of smoke. My grandpa just shakes his head. That posion never got my grandpa. Nope, he was too smart for that…

Remembering my stomach bulging out but still scooping that heavenly milkshake into my mouth. Watching the boys with sparkly blue and silver helmets smash through the defensive line and break into the end zone. The sudden burst of energy from beside me as his team wins the game. I just sit back in my chair, cross my arms, and smile with a look of fascination and pride….

My grandfather taught me. He molded my values to be the respectable person I am today. I still damn the gods. My anger at them for taking part of my heart will only grow and grow. He never smoked, never drank alcohol, much the saint, actually. Yet he is snatched away as if in a cruel, heartless joke.

Without my grandfathers guidance and lessons he passed on to me I’d most likely be a much different person than I am presently. Therefore, I believe my grandfather was my hero, and always will be, no matter where he rests.