(This is my first piece. The story is fiction and never really happened.)
“One day, you’ll understand it,” he said. His smile wasn’t fake, his wrinkles resembled his endless wisdom. I miss him every day that goes by. I wanted to know what he knew but couldn’t tell anyone because they wouldn’t believe him. I wanted to know it, I knew that knowing it will bring me to his ease, his calmness which nobody could gain anymore.
“What, what is it?” I asked desperately for the thousand time.
He paused for a moment, and looked me deeply in the eyes as if he was scanning my thoughts, looking for something he could not find.
“I could tell you,” he said, “but what’s the fun in that?” he added with his well-known grin.
I groaned, tightly snug my eyebrows and stared at the floor.
“Don’t be mad at me, I’m just trying to protect you,” He said, caressing my head.
“From what? What could possibly be more hurtful than hiding the truth?” I demanded to know, as if I actually knew better than him.
“Well, that’ll be the truth itself,” he answered, looking straight at me.
We were sitting on his front porch, observing the view of the lake nearby. My grandparents’ house was the biggest I have ever seen, that was one of the reasons I used to visit them so many times.
“Grandpa, why do people detest others?” I asked with the eyes of a child’s eternal curiosity.
“Well, son, this is a question many discerning men couldn’t answer,” He replied.
“But you are not like many, you are more discerning than many, aren’t you?” I questioned.
He laughed as he had laughed for so many times, and I laughed with him. I didn’t know it was going to be my last day with my grandfather, and I’m glad I did not. It would have been horrible if I would have known. I would’ve been trying to make it the best, which would’ve ruined it. I like it just as it was and nothing more.
“If this is what you think of me, I won’t give you an answer, I’ll give you my opinion,” he evaded my impertinence wonder. “People simply detest the unknown, the different and the misunderstood,” he told me and added, “But there is another reason I am familiar with.”
“And what is that reason, Grandpa?” I listened, wishful to hear it.
“Sometimes, people do bad things to others” he said, “things that’ll never change.”
“What things?” I asked.
“Hurtful things,” he said, “bad and vicious things.”
“Things that cannot be forgiven?” I asked.
“Yes, son, things that cannot be forgiven,” he let out a sigh, “once, I did such a thing to someone whom I very loved.”
“What happened after you did it?”
“She never forgave me for that, and I never saw her again.”
“Did you love her as you love grandma?”
“It wasn’t this kind of love, it was a different kind of love.”
This time was the one time I saw my grandfather cries. Although he was crying, he smiled as he was remembering something happy that made him sad. Something he didn’t have anymore, something that slipped away and will never come back.
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