Grandma's House

The bottom dresser drawer, crammed with memories, was pulled open. Thick albums, spines cinched by frayed bits of yarn vied for space with envelopes from the local photo lab. Envelopes marked "Kmart Photo Center" vied for space alongside much older envelopes advertising women flaunting bouffant hairstyles and bikinis. Another envelope read "Woolworth Film Developing."

"Sandy, what are you doing?"

"Looking at pictures."

"Let me help you."

"Can we look at the big album?"

"Okay, bring it over here," patting the bed covered in a quilt of orange and red-flowered diamonds, Sandy's grandmother smiled, "next to me."

Opening the book so it lay on both of their laps, Sandy's gaze traveled hungrily over the black and white photos with words scrawled in a loping script beneath them. Her finger danced between two pictures of a stolid man standing against patterned wallpaper, "Who's he?"

Her grandmother pointed to one of the pictures, "That's my father," her finger moved to the other picture, "that's my uncle, Rudie."

"They look the same."

"They were identical twins."

Turning the page, Sandy paused, staring at a picture of a little girl, her hair shorn short with blunt bangs across her forehead. She stood in front of a car, squinting at the camera, "That's you, right, grandma?"

"Hmm-hmm, I was about five and I'm standing in front of an old 'Tin Lizzie'."

"I think you look like me."

"I think so, too."

Closing the album, her grandmother stood, "How 'bout lunch?"

"Fried potatoes?"

"How 'bout a hamburger to go along with those potatoes?"

"Yep, and a glass of sweet tea."