The class is a basic creative writing class for my sophomore class in college.
I don't know if you do short stories here. Just delete it if you don't
thank you. Also it is also rated MATURE..for drug references.
The breeze was crashing into trees, the ground was wet, yet the rain stopped.
My grandmother was going through the cleansing part in her depression. You know that part where you can’t stop cleaning. I made myself some cereal, toppled with 8 spoons of sugars. I grabbed myself a sip of water, and began to watch her. She was entertaining to listen to, plus her room was full of colors. Fabrics, looms, easels, fitting in a room no bigger than a bath room.
“How do you fit everything in there.” I ask, chewing on a mouthful of cereal. Her jaw dropped, her hands down to her sides and her feet stopped slightly.
She replied, “You know, I just threw out my television. To give me some more room, it’s been in my closet distracting me from my weaving. I can’t even paint in here without turning to the television, eight or nine times.”
The phone rings and I am slurping up the rest of my cereal. I put the bowl down, then run picking up the receiver.
“Hello, Rachel…it is Angela from next store. I am just letting you know that Steve Ricks died last night, I was wondering if your parents knew that”
“Angela, no….I don’t think they know this…Let me give you my grandmother.” My grandmother picked up the phone.
They spoke a while, then my grandfather walked up stairs. I turn to him and say,
“Steve Ricks, across the street died last night.”
“I knew something was wrong…” His face dropped of expression.
“Who is he? Isn’t he that cop who parks his car outside of his house every day.” I asked, because honestly I didn’t know who Steve Ricks was, but when she said across the street…I figured it was him.
“Yes…yeah, when’d you hear this?”
“Angela, she’s on the phone.”
I sat and thought to myself. ‘Where death comes from? What causes someone to die? I thought about what I would do with my grandparents.’ The mere thought became unbearable.
My grandmother hung up the phone.
“Maybe I should call him.” My grandfather said, grabbing the phone off the hook.
“Hey Joe, I heard about your father…I saw all the cars, and would have came over but I didn’t want to get in your space….Yeah Joe……I’m sorry.” He stopped talking to listen to Joe speak. “Yeah Joe, if there is anything I can do let me know.” He hangs up.
My grandmother started to cry.
“You know…I felt so bad for him….he used to like to go flea markets…drive his car and go to flea markets and he would collect things. His son made him throw out all the things he collected. When I’m near my death, I want no one to touch a thing from my room.” She said wiping her tears away.
“Yeah Steve, would take daffodils out of baseball parks and plant them in his yard. He was a funny guy. But his son, did take his car away because he drove 5 miles an hour. He was bound to kill someone by how slow he drove.” Says my grandfather.
“He was probably scared, knowing this day and age.”
I walked out of the room, it was time for a hit from the bowl, I was so angry at the fact his son made him throw away his collections, before he passed.
A few weeks later, was the most dreaded day of the month. Buying weed day. It’s horrible. I have to call this guy and beg him to sell me pot. He’s super paranoid, and thinks everyone in my neighborhood stares out their windows. He makes me flash him every time to prove I’m not a cop.
But this time was different, he made me meet him a half a mile away from my house. Which he didn’t like meeting me because of Officer Rick’s cop car being parked in the street. He had a blunt lit, and he passed it to me.
I got out of his car, and for some reason I felt like the paranoid one. A cop turned around the corner, and I literally flew into a bush. The cop had to see me, and that he did. He parked right up to me, and I tried to curl up as tightly as I could.
It was surprise! Officer Ricks…I thought this would be easy, I’m fine…He’ll let me go, he’s my neighbor.
“Is there anything wrong here.”
“No…I just got paranoid.” I did not just say that……I did…
“Paranoid….ey? You have an id on you?”
“You’re my neighbor…I thought you would know who I am”
“What does that mean…let me ask you again, can I see your id?”
I reached into my pockets.. And pulled out the weed. Shit…..
“drop the drugs!” He squawked, and I wanted to run….but there was no bush.
“Look officer…I need this stuff, it’s my medicine.”
“Do you have a marijuana license?”
“Then your in trouble”.
Sitting in his car as he drove, my high was reaching it’s peak.
“I‘m totally banned from the outside deals…for now on!” I then began singing, he didn’t look amused. “I’m not a bad person or anything….just some weed…ma-y-un-….you smell like onions..”
This guy sucks… he doesn’t even care, about my problems and this is the same guy who threw out all his dad’s belongings before he died.
“Yeah, you’re the asshole who threw out of all his dad’s belongings before he died.” The car stopped…shit. It all went silent. He opened the car door, and let me out.
“Your right I am an asshole…whose got a change of heart.” He gets back into his car, reached into his pocket. Then handed me back my weed, and he drove off.