Gram's place.

Most folks remember goin to their grandma's place when they were little. Some ain't so lucky as to meet them. I was blessed enough to meet my Gran when I was little. She was a sweet little old lady, the kind you'd see in any cartoon special. She'd bake cookies, go to the church on Sundays, the whole nine yards. Hell, when things turned sour for my Pa and us she even let us stay with her in the country. It was a little place with barely enough room for herself and her cats.

The house was little more than a cabin just off the main road, wood paneling on the walls and cushioned furniture in the living room. A room for me, one for my parents, and then there was Gran's room. Her room was always a weird place to me. She had a dresser topped with all kinds of memorabilia, Elvis pictures and a figure of "the king" still boxed up. Her bed was beyond soft, and it was in that bed where she and my mom would read to me. The kitchen was the heart of the place, giving it's scents to the whole of the place. My how Ma and Gran would argue about the stove. Ma swore up and down by electric, but Gran never did replace that old gas model. Even if it did flare up now and then. It wasn't just the food that made the kitchen so important though. That room had the table; semi round piece of wood with four chairs that was always cleared, and next to that was the game cabinet. Every week without fail was filled with games and conversation and laughter, all around that hunk of wood just sitting in the kitchen and the glass candy dish that sat proudly at its center.

An entire year and a half me and my folks stayed there in that house. Memories made more often than meals. It wasn't long after we moved there that we met my cousins. The only people I somewhat knew after having moved across the country, people who were supposed to take care of me be my friends after having lost all of my old life. I trusted the three of them instantly with my Ma's words ringing in my head "you gotta get along with everyone." They were theives. My first interaction with them left me crying and afraid. Our first game was hide and seek, so I hid in the hall closet and waited for them to find me, smiling at the fact that I had new friends who would always be nearby. Time passed...then more time...They weren't looking for me. I pushed at the door, but it didn't budge. Not an inch. It was dark, and the coats hanging behind me were too warm. I pushed harder but nothing. The darkness closed in around me, choking me, and the coat wanted me to turn around so that it could smother me. I moved back and a sleeve grabbed my arm. I screamed and kicked the walls. No one was home. Even the cousins had left a while ago. It was hours before anyone got home.

When my Ma and Pa got home they found the dresser shoved in front of the closet door, and my three new "friends" denying any knowledge about it. When I was let out I heard the lie they had told. They said I was playing videogames and didn't want to come with them. They locked me away because they didn't want to deal with me. I went to my room and found my trading cards missing. The eldest had taken them. I walked out of my room, tears still on my face as my mother and my Aunt Hope were having a conversation about how to punish her kids. I tugged at Ma's shirt. "What's the matter sweety?" She asked calmly. I pointed at him, the ring leader, he was the one who suggested hide and seek. "He has my cards..." I said quietly. My Ma looked at her sister. "Oh my boys would never do anything like that."

"Cut the shit Hope." My Ma said. I looked up at her in shock. That was the first time I ever heard her curse. She looked at Brexton, the eldest. "Empty your pockets. All of you." Hope put up her hands. "They would never do that though." Ma glared at her. "They locked my son in a closet. You'd better hope that's all they did." Hope went quiet, then got pissed as Brexton took the deck of cards from his pocket. "Are you kidding me?" She spat at him and wrenched the cards out of his hand. "You're grounded." She growled. "But you said t-" She cut him off. "You made me look like a liar and a bad mom. C'mon, we're going home." Dragging him out by the wrist the got in their old car and drove off. That wasn't my last interaction with the cousins, but they all went similarly. I never did forgive them for any of it. But as the years went on I kept thinking of what Brexton was going to say.

Time went on, we got our own place and visited Gran once a week or more to continue game night. I would visit Gran whenever I was scared or just needed someone to talk to. Once a month we would go to the next town over to catch a movie, and every Sunday I would go to church with her and help her cook. Even when I was in highschool she had solid advice for me. "Be kind and you'll be fine. I promise." She always said it with a smile. And whenever it was a serious matter she'd sit down at the table with me, give me a candy from the dish and let me tell her all about it. We may have had our own place now, but to me Gran's place was always home.

A year before I was set to graduate from highschool Gran got very sick. Pneumonia had its grip on her, and the doctors in town couldn't tell a sprain from a broken leg. It took some time, but it was just enough for her to get everything settled. I visited her the last day and told her how much I loved her and thanked her for letting us stay with her that year. She smiled and grabbed my hand saying "You'll always be welcome in my home." I went back to our place and later that night we got the news. I spent the time up to her funeral in shock. Everyone in the family showed up, even my aunt and cousins. I couldn't hold back anymore seeing the slideshow of Gran and just wept openly and unashamed. It felt good to cry. But as for my aunt and cousins? They stared at their phones the entire time...their grandma and her mother was gone...and they felt nothing? Later as I stood outside the church the only thought I had was how strangely cold it was.

Gran's house, as it turned out, was a rental. My Aunt Hope snapped it up, and everyone was happy that it was being kept in the family. I wanted to visit the place for sentimental reasons...but somehow I just couldn't bring myself to do so. A few months went by and we got a call from my Ma's other sister, Nancy. "Hope's in the hospital. She high as a damned kite and getting arrested." We all went to the doctors, the officer told us that Hope was being detoxed and Gran's old place was being searched. My mother was disappointed in her sister...I was shocked. I let it go for the time being. Weeks later we looked through the house to get Hope's clothes and claim whatever could be salvaged.

I stood on the porch, unable to fully adjust to the horrid scents that came pouring from the front door. I took a single step inside and was assaulted by the smell of smoke and burning blinding my eyes. The carpet had been torn and ripped showing the floorboards beneath. The wood paneling on the walls had been stripped in places to get at the copper wiring. Gran's furniture had gouges and her Christmas decorations had been smashed and smoke out of...Aunt Hope had turned Gran's home into a crack den. My father, usually so cool and collected, was yelling outside at my Aunt while the state trooper stood by and let him say his piece. My hand traced along the walls as I went from room to room just looking into each as the memories, now tainted by that vile woman and her ilk, came flooding in. It didn't take long.

I stopped at the doorway to the kitchen. The stove that had once been used to make cookies and meals and holiday dishes for the church was now nothing more than a means to make drugs into a liquid form. The table that had once stood at the center had been broken into three pieces, almost like someone had landed on it. I wouldn't have been surprised. As I turned from the doorway something caught my eye, a glint of light from some bit of glass. "Probably another crack pipe." I thought to myself as Mom pushed passed with the only bag of salvageable clothing. I sighed and went over to make sure, might as well tell the cop right? I blinked, the scent of smoke still irritating my eyes. It was grandma's candy dish. "Of all the miracles..." I bent down and traced my fingers along the glass gemstones and bumps set into the old bowl. The lid was under the smashed table. They were both covered in ash, but they were intact. I crawled under the table and put the two pieces together dusting them off.

As I walked out onto the front porch holding the dish in my arms I heard all the fighting and yelling stop. This one thing. This simple dish. It was all that remained, and it was mine. All the memories, all the kindnesses, and the holidays, the conversations, the meals, the joy; all of it fit into a bit of glass. I don't know how it survived, but I knew one thing as I walked up to Aunt Hope. That woman had disrespected Gran AND her memory. She was dead to me. She looked at me with the fear of some animal knowing that it was not long for this world. I sat the dish on my seat in the car. She started, "You can't take that, that was mom's." I turned, quietly, and with as much restraint as I could muster pointed to the house. "So was this."