“Did i comb it right, Emilia?”
“I got it cut the other day and Tony..” he chuckled midway through the sentence.
“Tony said, I look like Elvis Presley,” it bloomed into laughter.
“Me?, Elvis Presley, you gotta laugh ehh, haven’t you” he carried on combing his hair or rather head.
Grandpa was bald, like the bald eagle from geography class.
And I wasn’t Emilia. I was Adriana. Everyone says I look like grandma so i guess it’s understandable.
But he, he was still grandpa and i love him receding memories and all.
“Have we got any gel?” he carried on.
Written for Friday fictioneers a weekly blog event hosted by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-fields.
Please click the link to visit her lovely blog. And click this link to read other lovely stories.
Do join in if you can. Thank you.
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