R. Short Stories

Apricots

The memory came out of nowhere, leaving the faintest trace of a smile upon my face.

We were sitting in his trailer sometime after nine one night; almost everyone else was asleep but us. He asked if I was hungry, to which, my child self naturally replied, "Yes."

Smiling, he turned towards his kitchen to find us a  quick snack. Opening a cupboard, he pulled out a box of generic frosted flakes, a bag of something I couldn't identify, then turned to the fridge to retrieve some milk.

While he grabbed spoons and bowls, I sat down at the table in my pajamas waiting to feast. After pouring our flakes and milk he asked, "Would you like some in yours?" Showing me the bag from before, I was still unsure of what it contained.

"What's that grandpa?" I asked.

Looking at the bag then me, "They're dried apricots, mija." He answered. "Would you like some?"

"No thank you." Scrunching my nose up in distaste for something I did not know. "Just this please."

Taking out a few from the bag, he put them in his bowl, then added a pinch more of sugar to our sweet treats.

I remember it like it was yesterday, the twinkle in his eyes, the happiness I saw of my great grandfather bonding with his golden grandson's first born. Grandma was still alive at the time. That's when he was still happy, still alive, not just living.

We were discussing his downfall in life when the memory arose, leaving a bittersweet feeling all throughout my soul. Later that same week when we went to the grocery store, I was able to convince my mother to buy us some generic frosted flakes, milk and dried apricots, something she didn't usually buy.

That night I sat at the table alone sometime after nine, dropping a few apricots into my bowl from the bag. Stirring all of the ingredients together like he once had, I took a bite and realized that dried apricots weren't so bad.