| General Flash Fiction posted July 2, 2022 |
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Trying to imagine who Grandma was.
Two Stellas
by RodG
"Who's that, Grandpa?" asked Stella, my eleven-year-old granddaughter. We sat on the sofa looking through a long-displaced album.
"That's my maternal grandmother," I replied. "You know what that means?"
She curled her lips. "Your mother's mother."
"Yep. She was Canadian, but visited my family every other year. Often stayed six months."
"This when you lived in Reno?"
"Yep, when I was 'bout your age."
Stella's finger wandered to another photo. "She doesn't look like you or your mother."
"True. Looks more like my two uncles." I pointed at a third photo.
Nodding indifferently, Stella flipped the page.
"Where's your paternal grandmother?"
I shrugged. "If Dad brought any family pictures when he immigrated, he lost them long before I was born."
Stella burrowed into the sofa's distant corner. She frowned at the album, then me.
"Did he ever describe her?"
"All I know is she was born in America and had your name."
"Stella?"
I nodded.
"Was she pretty, Grandpa?"
I'd never thought about that before. "Maybe . . . if Dad got her looks. He was a handsome man." I pointed at his wedding picture.
Stella uncurled and studied the photo. Her fingers strayed to her reddish, short-cropped hair.
"I bet she had black hair like his but long and shiny."
"What color eyes?"
She leaned toward me, peered at my face.
"Hazel like yours, Grandpa."
"I'm hoping bright blue like yours. Do you think she was tall like you're going to be or short like your mother?"
"Tall and movie-star slim. She'd have to be, or your French grandfather would have never married her."
"You think he was only attracted by her looks?"
"Oh, no! She had to be smart and witty like Grandma. And I bet she made him laugh."
I laughed. "In other words she had a personality much like yours."
Stella preened and her grin grabbed both ears.
"What else can you tell me about her?" I asked.
Stella returned to the album and earnestly examined the wedding picture. A long minute later her eyes met mine.
"That Stella loved to dance and sing and probably begged her husband to move to Paris after the Great War."
I shook my head sadly. "No. My father did tell me his older brother and father died in 1919 during the flu epidemic. My grandmother became a widow."
"Maybe she remarried!" Stella's knees bounced on a pillow. "And your father immigrated because he hated his step-father."
"That's possible," I replied. "My father came to America in 1927, but never told me why."
"I bet she sang and danced at the Moulin Rouge."
Stella danced around the room.
I smiled. Which Stella was I watching?
Making Memories writing prompt entry
"Who's that, Grandpa?" asked Stella, my eleven-year-old granddaughter. We sat on the sofa looking through a long-displaced album.
"That's my maternal grandmother," I replied. "You know what that means?"
She curled her lips. "Your mother's mother."
"Yep. She was Canadian, but visited my family every other year. Often stayed six months."
"This when you lived in Reno?"
"Yep, when I was 'bout your age."
Stella's finger wandered to another photo. "She doesn't look like you or your mother."
"True. Looks more like my two uncles." I pointed at a third photo.
Nodding indifferently, Stella flipped the page.
"Where's your paternal grandmother?"
I shrugged. "If Dad brought any family pictures when he immigrated, he lost them long before I was born."
Stella burrowed into the sofa's distant corner. She frowned at the album, then me.
"Did he ever describe her?"
"All I know is she was born in America and had your name."
"Stella?"
I nodded.
"Was she pretty, Grandpa?"
I'd never thought about that before. "Maybe . . . if Dad got her looks. He was a handsome man." I pointed at his wedding picture.
Stella uncurled and studied the photo. Her fingers strayed to her reddish, short-cropped hair.
"I bet she had black hair like his but long and shiny."
"What color eyes?"
She leaned toward me, peered at my face.
"Hazel like yours, Grandpa."
"I'm hoping bright blue like yours. Do you think she was tall like you're going to be or short like your mother?"
"Tall and movie-star slim. She'd have to be, or your French grandfather would have never married her."
"You think he was only attracted by her looks?"
"That Stella loved to dance and sing and probably begged her husband to move to Paris after the Great War."
I shook my head sadly. "No. My father did tell me his older brother and father died in 1919 during the flu epidemic. My grandmother became a widow."
"Maybe she remarried!" Stella's knees bounced on a pillow. "And your father immigrated because he hated his step-father."
"That's possible," I replied. "My father came to America in 1927, but never told me why."
"I bet she sang and danced at the Moulin Rouge."
Stella danced around the room.
I smiled. Which Stella was I watching?
"That's my maternal grandmother," I replied. "You know what that means?"
She curled her lips. "Your mother's mother."
"Yep. She was Canadian, but visited my family every other year. Often stayed six months."
"This when you lived in Reno?"
"Yep, when I was 'bout your age."
Stella's finger wandered to another photo. "She doesn't look like you or your mother."
"True. Looks more like my two uncles." I pointed at a third photo.
Nodding indifferently, Stella flipped the page.
"Where's your paternal grandmother?"
I shrugged. "If Dad brought any family pictures when he immigrated, he lost them long before I was born."
Stella burrowed into the sofa's distant corner. She frowned at the album, then me.
"Did he ever describe her?"
"All I know is she was born in America and had your name."
"Stella?"
I nodded.
"Was she pretty, Grandpa?"
I'd never thought about that before. "Maybe . . . if Dad got her looks. He was a handsome man." I pointed at his wedding picture.
Stella uncurled and studied the photo. Her fingers strayed to her reddish, short-cropped hair.
"I bet she had black hair like his but long and shiny."
"What color eyes?"
She leaned toward me, peered at my face.
"Hazel like yours, Grandpa."
"I'm hoping bright blue like yours. Do you think she was tall like you're going to be or short like your mother?"
"Tall and movie-star slim. She'd have to be, or your French grandfather would have never married her."
"You think he was only attracted by her looks?"
"Oh, no! She had to be smart and witty like Grandma. And I bet she made him laugh."
I laughed. "In other words she had a personality much like yours."
Stella preened and her grin grabbed both ears.
"What else can you tell me about her?" I asked.
Stella preened and her grin grabbed both ears.
"What else can you tell me about her?" I asked.
Stella returned to the album and earnestly examined the wedding picture. A long minute later her eyes met mine.
"That Stella loved to dance and sing and probably begged her husband to move to Paris after the Great War."
I shook my head sadly. "No. My father did tell me his older brother and father died in 1919 during the flu epidemic. My grandmother became a widow."
"Maybe she remarried!" Stella's knees bounced on a pillow. "And your father immigrated because he hated his step-father."
"That's possible," I replied. "My father came to America in 1927, but never told me why."
"I bet she sang and danced at the Moulin Rouge."
Stella danced around the room.
I smiled. Which Stella was I watching?
|
Writing Prompt Word count--400-450 Write a true story that includes your grandparents and granddaughter(s)-- including yourself. Keep it G rated--suitable for children Black font only |
Artwork is courtesy of Google images.
WORD COUNT: 448. Apple Pages
My father, even on his death bed, would not tell me my true origins. He changed his last name as soon as he reached America. What I tell Stella in the story about her maternal grandmother is all I ever knew.
Pays
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and 2 member cents. WORD COUNT: 448. Apple Pages
My father, even on his death bed, would not tell me my true origins. He changed his last name as soon as he reached America. What I tell Stella in the story about her maternal grandmother is all I ever knew.
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