Laughter flies through the air on silver wings,

and my eyes light up at the large letters of the book

with its colorful princes and dragons and dungeons galore.

I do not notice as he shuffles into the room.

My world with its corrupted happiness is all that matters to me and I

run to him, screaming, Grandpa! Grandpa! Look at my pretty book!

I do not see the

shaking hands

as they

Squeeze

the plastic film of McDonald’s ketchup onto the wooden plate with two small fish.

The smile wavers ever so slightly

until it bursts into a laugh and he sweeps me into the air--

But his shoes tell a different story.

I frown as I see his gray slippers, made of styrofoam hide feet

Coarse with labor from when he was twenty.

I did not know then, what his feet had to tell.

He silently pushes the larger fish towards me and sits on the

hard rickety stool with its three short legs

and I accept, sitting on the high chair with its soft velvet cushion

I pick up the fish and greedily put it in my mouth,

Red dripping from every inch of breaded flesh and

a sweet taste lingers, sour with preservatives and something else unknown.

I do not like this unknown feeling: it feels too scary, too strange, too

real

and I lift my head up for the first time

to see Grandpa’s trembling

fingers

as they try to spread the

One remaining splotch of ketchup on the vast breaded surface

and the taste grows too strong for me, the sweetness uncanny on my tongue.