By ReBecca Compton
I was fourteen when my grandfather bought me a Furby. I was too old for them and they weren’t really popular anymore, but even though he didn’t smile as I pulled it out of the Walmart bag, he looked so proud of himself. The way he crossed his arms and nodded to me when I thanked him, I knew he believed this would make me happy. I carried it with me around the house for the next few months. I didn’t expect any of my friends to understand him, and that’s ok because they didn’t need to.
He wouldn’t have cared.
He worked for the city’s utilities, and when he walked through the kitchen on his way to the couch, I’d hum The Song of the Sewer. He’d pretend not to hear, but I’d caught him smiling once. He liked that, when I teased him. Maybe it reminded him of my father in a way, though from what I understood Grandpa watched him from afar too. Continue reading