The Old Transistor Radio
The clock winked, it’s now quarter before 10 in the evening. Before I went to bed, I took a peak at the living room. I heard a slow static sound competing against the tranquillity of the night. I sighed.
“He’s still awake as usual.”
My step grandfather was there, rocking his chair as he listens to the evening news in his old transistor radio. I shook my head and made a faint smile; I wonder why he always loved that alkaline-battery-operated junk. It’s so him. It’s so old, and lonely.
A year has passed since I saw him. He obviously lost lot of weight. The previously tough faced man who never gave amour to me and whom I never gave love either is now weakened by time. The black hair-color he used to cover the greys was now completely covered by whites. His fingers were now thin and wrinkled than ever. On his chest lies his favourite dark green cowboy hat which he usually wear even inside the house or even when he’s asleep. He breathes slowly...and heavily.
He was always on that same position listening to that same radio station, with my grandmother beside him – when she was still alive. In just a tick of the clock, I lost all the hatred I had for him when I was young. I suddenly imagined myself old, alone, unloved. I never wanted that. A part of me realized, I may not care for him as relative but I guess I’d start caring for him as granddaughter. I retreated.
I went to my room. I prayed for his health then I sleep.
A week later, away from home...I received a text message.
“Grandpa was gone.”
I look at the clock; it winked at quarter before 10.
Created: Aug 4 2011 at 05:56:26 AM
Updated: Aug 4 2011 at 05:56:26 AM
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