When no one else is in the car with me I listen to the sixties station. The voices seem pure, and there’s that crackling under the track that makes you think of a needle on vinyl and right then, only then, I miss my grandfather. Everyone knows he was a bad guy, I mean, Jesus, my dad changed our last name and everything. But I have this picture in my head, it’s—it seems stupid, I know, but it feels like something. We’re under the staircase in my childhood house, I’m about five, and we’re dancing. I’m standing on his feet, my hands are around his waist and my ear is pressed against his belly. If I look up, I can see the vastness of his double chin and I can hear his heartbeat under the Etta James record. And there’s that crackling. There’s nothing else, just the dance. I can’t remember if it actually happened. It may have been a dream, or something I read about in a story, and it’s not like I can just ask my parents because it’s taboo to talk about him, and they weren’t there. That night under the staircase, if it happened…..
This is an excerpt/preview. You will be able to download the entire monologue once purchased.
- Written by: Allison Lee Flom