oldmansfiles (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oldmansfiles) wrote2008-12-30 12:23 pm
oldmansfiles) wrote2008-12-30 12:23 pm
Entry tags:
Skips a Generation
Fandom: Original (autobiographical) others here
Characters: Kat Korolev (me, under pseudonym), Pops
Rating: PG
Summary: I sometimes write true stories. This has been sitting in my WIP folder for a while, I finally put an ending on it, figured it was a good time to. I call my grandpa "Pops" or "Papa" because it helped differentiate from the other grandpa when I was young. So. Miss you, Pops.
The lines of the street echo the lines of his face.
It was the summers that she remembered best, the white Keds on her feet making slapslapslap noises as she and her sister ran down the sidewalk. They were raised outside the urban neighborhood, and the adventure was the people, old and young, mowing their lawns to a perfect one inch. She remembered finding the skeleton key and telling her sister that when you opened the door in the garage with it, you would pass into a another world.
Now a more metaphorical season cannot be found. It is winter.
"One time we were going to knock out this wall." But he couldn't now, because his hands shook. He didn't need to say it, because she understood.
The house hadn't changed since her father was a child, because they were the sorts that let their furniture make permanent indentations in the carpet. As a young man he'd walked through France to find shipmates; as a old man he's always driving somewhere, seeing people. His wife was the one that kept it in order and put the indents on the carpet.
His girlfriend now goes bowling with him.
"You have to find a place, Katherine. No matter how much traveling you do, you have to come home."
She knows that she gets it from him, the restlessness and security all mixed up with one another. They were born under the same sign, after all, even if she's not half the charmer that he is. It skipped a generation, the urge to get up and go walking and disappear for a while, only to sit at home on the evenings when other people are out. Almost a Korolev family curse.
"I'll be sure to always come home, Pops."
Characters: Kat Korolev (me, under pseudonym), Pops
Rating: PG
Summary: I sometimes write true stories. This has been sitting in my WIP folder for a while, I finally put an ending on it, figured it was a good time to. I call my grandpa "Pops" or "Papa" because it helped differentiate from the other grandpa when I was young. So. Miss you, Pops.
The lines of the street echo the lines of his face.
It was the summers that she remembered best, the white Keds on her feet making slapslapslap noises as she and her sister ran down the sidewalk. They were raised outside the urban neighborhood, and the adventure was the people, old and young, mowing their lawns to a perfect one inch. She remembered finding the skeleton key and telling her sister that when you opened the door in the garage with it, you would pass into a another world.
Now a more metaphorical season cannot be found. It is winter.
"One time we were going to knock out this wall." But he couldn't now, because his hands shook. He didn't need to say it, because she understood.
The house hadn't changed since her father was a child, because they were the sorts that let their furniture make permanent indentations in the carpet. As a young man he'd walked through France to find shipmates; as a old man he's always driving somewhere, seeing people. His wife was the one that kept it in order and put the indents on the carpet.
His girlfriend now goes bowling with him.
"You have to find a place, Katherine. No matter how much traveling you do, you have to come home."
She knows that she gets it from him, the restlessness and security all mixed up with one another. They were born under the same sign, after all, even if she's not half the charmer that he is. It skipped a generation, the urge to get up and go walking and disappear for a while, only to sit at home on the evenings when other people are out. Almost a Korolev family curse.
"I'll be sure to always come home, Pops."