by Olive Rosehips
Leaving was hard on all of us but especially hard on Grampa when we decided we’d had enough of trying to live through the dust bowl that rolled through Oklahoma in the 1930’s. We all had hope, us young and middle aged folks, or maybe it was desperation. Grampa, what he had was a lifetime here in Oklahoma and everything he ever knew, ever loved, ever worked hard for was here; even if it was buried under all the dust. We understood, fully realizing that Grampa was not a young man and starting over could not have been an easy idea for him; but we had to go because the dust was consuming our lives by staying. We explained till we couldn’t no more how we had to go until we began to understand that Grampa was not ever going to consider California; would remain stubborn about staying and we were surely not to leave him here alone. And so it was we tricked Grampa into getting in the truck with a little liquor and then it was easy to get him in the truck but we lost Grampa before we ever got out of Oklahoma which somehow was alright because he belonged where his heart was anyway.
Olive Rosehips listens to jazz, knows she can't sing, drinks dirty martinis, and paints her toenails dazzling shades of red.