2016 – Day 24

Start writing a story that...

Step 1: has a character who: always wears red

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Grandma Elena always wore red. Her dresses, sweaters, blouses, pants, and skirts ranged from red to burgundy, crimson to scarlet, ruby to garnet. She wore other colors, too, of course, but there was always something in a shade of red.

I first asked my mother why Grandma Elena dressed this way when I was seven. I had come back from my friend David's house where his grandmother had fed us snacks and juice boxes, all while wearing jeans and a dark blue sweater. It had never occurred to me that all grandmothers didn't simply have to wear red.

My mother was busy making Sunday dinner and didn't pause as she responded to my question.

"Oh, it's silly, Bobby.  Don't worry about it. Go play."

She turned to wave her oven-mitt-clad hand toward the living room, then returned to face the stove.

I forgot about it for a while after that, but then I spent a summer week with my Grandma Elena when my parents both had to travel for business. I was 10 by then, and we spend the days walking to the playground and then the YMCA pool, stopping for ice cream or cannoli in-between. She always cooked dinner at home and I was tasked with helping cut vegetables for a salad or the summer soups she made. We set the table on her back deck and ate while the mid-summer sun hung in the early evening air.

I was allowed one soda per day, and so as I finished my dinner one evening, I held my Coke and sipped it slowly, trying to make it last. The rays of the sun bounced off the can, giving it a red glow. I noticed that it matched the red scarf that Grandma Elena was wearing over her pale pink shirt.

"Grandma, why do you always wear red?" I asked, sipping the soda but keeping my eyes on her.

She took a sip of her wine and smiled at me over the glass.

"Why do you always clap your hands two times before you dive into the pool?"

"I don't!"

"Oh, but you do. I see it every day."

"I don't know. I think I did it once because I was excited that first day, and then I must have done it again for some reason. I guess it's a habit."

"Well, it's a habit for me, too," she said, setting down her glass to resume eating her soup.

I watched her eat the vegetable soup I had helped to make as I drained the last of my soda. The sun had begun to set and everything had a redder hue. I knew that bedtime wasn't too far off.

"But how did it become a habit for you? Why did you wear red the first time?"

She paused and looked at me. She seemed to be deciding what she would tell me, so I sat up straighter in my seat and put on my serious "I'm old enough for this" look.

"Has your mother told you that you look very much like your grandfather?" she asked.

"No, she doesn't talk about him much."

"I suppose not," she said, still looking straight at me. "Has she said anything about him?"

I looked around, unsure if I was supposed to know anything or say anything about my mysterious grandfather. I decided to take a chance if it meant finding out the secret of grandmother's red wardrobe.

"She said he went to prison when she was about my age," I said in a near-whisper. "Is that true?"

"It is," she said. "He was not a great man when he was younger, but he's an example of how someone can change."

She leaned in close and tousled my hair. I could smell the rosy perfume that she puts on each wrist just before we go out for the day.

"Would you like me to tell you about him?" she asked.

"Yes!" I said. "Will you tell me about the red clothes, too?"

"Oh, that's all part of the same story," she said.