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Be With You

By , New York City, NY

When I arrived home, I saw my grandma sitting on the sofa, eyes red. She slowly opened her mouth, voice shaking,


“My mom left.” Then she cried and walked into her room.


Suddenly my mind became blind, I couldn’t feel anything. I know what  “left” means. Later, I found myself sitting on a chair, staring at my great-grandma in the photo.


I remembered when I was little, there was always a kind old woman sitting beside the window, sewing. The things in her hands always attracted me. When I used my small fingers to poke it, she smiled. Her smile was beautiful, like sunshine, with her face covered with wrinkles. In her hands, dead fabrics came alive. Through them, countless shoes and clothes have been sewn and decorated, and I know, most of them were for me. And now, beside the window, it was only an empty chair.


When I was older, her mouth became toothless. It was kind of fascinating to see how she took off her false teeth and cleaned them. She always rinsed them under the water, then put them into a glass jar, which was placed on a shelf near the mirror. And near her, you could always find me, counting my teeth with my little finger, giggling to her. She would open her mouth, show me the few teeth she had left. I told her that I was making a special type of false teeth made of clay, it will never be broken nor get dirty, so you don’t have to take it out and wash it. She smiled and kissed me. Now, there was only the glass jar left, the two women--one old and one young--giggling in front of the mirror have disappeared.


When I was in fourth grade, she was sick. She went back to her old house. It was the first time that I had seen her old house; it was pretty, I thought. The things inside were bright and clean, and it smelled aromatic, like flowers. She has the same smell. It was the first time I saw her in her old house, but it was the last time, too.
I felt my face became wet and warm, tears like raindrops falling out of my eyes. Her smiles stick into my mind, but I am never going to see it again. She told me that some day, she is going to fly away like the birds, and I told her that when she comes back, she needs to tell me all the things she saw, she just smiled.


I walked towards the window, looking up at the bright, blue sky. “Great-grandma, are you up there?” I asked myself. A bird flew past my window, it was white, its feather clean as snow. It stopped on my windowsill. I smiled at it, then it flew away. But before that, I saw the bird grinned.


I kissed her on the photo and said, “Bye, great-grandma, I love you, and my heart will always be with you.”






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