On Sunday, the family gathers at Grandma’s on the other side of town for dinner. Grandma labors in the kitchen, a culinary maestro of love. Grandpa silently changes rooms. Dad watches sports on TV with my brother and uncles. Dinner is good, my family, fine people, but Grandma is busy, I’m the only girl and I dislike sports so I seclude myself in another room doing homework – math, history, Spanish. Some day I won’t have grandparents because old people die. Then this solitude will remain the nostalgic childhood memory I recall with fondness of dinner on Sundays at Granma’s.
by Paul Grippi
From: Friday Flash Fiction