Bottle of Death
...us; you just wanted to be there. My brother and I were sitting in my room playing games while we anticipated the arrival of Papa. Papa was one of our favorite relatives. We impatiently kept looking out the window to try to spy Papa's car pulling into the driveway. David and I were dressed in our best. I waited and waited for Papa to arrive so he could tell me that I was such a beautiful little girl. Papa was a half an hour late…then an hour…then an hour and a half. I started to panic and a million things raced through my mind. My face became red and hot in fear that something terrible could have happened to him. My brother tried, unsuccessfully, to calm me down. I could not help worrying. I was only a little child and did not understand why Papa was not there. Crazy thoughts began to race through my head. What if Papa had not shown up because he thought I was such an ugly child? Maybe he did not love me anymore…What else could it be? Another half hour went by and still no sign of Papa. Then, the phone rang. I was still in my room fear stricken with all of the possibilities. My dad walked in with a liquid paper white face. His face was an empty canvas. I could not read his expression or his thoughts. "Daddy, what is it?" I asked with a shaky voice. "It's Papa…" he replied with still no expression. "Daddy, what happened?!" "He's…he's…dead…" My father answered with a shaky voice and teary eyes. I had known that my grandfather had more alcohol than food inside his body each day. He was a skeleton and always looked so pale. My father clasped me with a deep embrace and told me with an unconvincing voice that Papa had gone to a better place and everything would be okay. This Thanksgiving is the worst ever and is forever kept in my mind. To this day...