For my father...

THE CLOSING OF THE BOOK

Tell Me A Story

The small boy hid beneath his blankets, unable to sleep due to the raging storm outside. Hard rain smacked against his window, and the shadows that often accompanied the night began to eat away at his courage. This isn't the way he wanted to spend his first night of summer vacation; paranoid of unseen monsters lurking in his Grandpa's guest room. He tried his best to remain perfectly still so that whatever beast or devil may be in the vicinity would be unable to see him. The huge lump in the middle of the bed wasn't important.

It came as a pleasant surprise when his grandfather opened the bedroom door and peaked inside. "Having trouble sleeping, Joey?" He had a gentle sounding voice, the one that almost all old men seemed to get when their hair fades to white and their eyes dim slightly.

Joey pulled down the covers just enough so his icy blue eyes were exposed. "Maybe a little," he sighed. The young boy had only recently celebrated his fifth birthday; he was old enough to know better, but still young enough to scare.

Grandpa flipped the light switch and started to walk towards him, then stopped abruptly. "I'll be right back," he said, turning around and heading back out of the room. He was kind enough to leave the light on, allowing Joey the dignity of remaining outside of the sheets. A few moments later, he returned with a small plate of cookies and a tall glass of milk. "Maybe this will help." On a tray carried by two hard, calloused hands caused from years of physical labor, he offered his guest a late night snack. They weren't home-made, but they'd do.

A huge grin came across Joey's face as he quickly sat up straight and took the plate and glass from his Grandpa. "Thanks," he said. A loud boom of thunder struck overhead, startling Joey. "Sure is loud," he said, sounding as grown up and unafraid as possible. "Wonder how long it's gonna last?"

"Hard to say," Grandpa replied. He sat down next to Joey and helped himself to one of the cookies. "Storms aren't that common in the Great Northwest. We get our fair share of rain... well, actually, we get more than our fair share! But it isn't often we get the thunder with it." He caught a chocolate chip from falling onto his lap. "I don't think it'll last very long, but I bet if you try real hard, you'll be able to ignore it. Or maybe even get used to it."

Joey shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. "I hate 'em." He dipped his cookie in his glass of milk and held it there for five seconds, giving it proper time to soak up the goodness without becoming too mushy. "Was Grandma afraid of storms?"

"No, she sure wasn't," he answered. A softness came over his words as his mind wandered back to younger days. "Your Grandma wasn't afraid of anything. Not one single thing." She was a wonderful person and his best friend, and there hadn't been a day since she passed where he didn't think of her face. Living alone in a house full of memories was often hard, and more days than not he found himself fighting off the dreary loneliness that accompanies silence in big spaces. Finishing the cookie, he got up to his feet and seemed to be on his way back out of the room. "You try and get some sleep after the storm is over, and be sure to finish your milk." Joey looked so much like her; he had her eyes and smile and the certain way she'd look when she found something puzzling.

"Wait," Joey cried out, not wanting to be left alone again while the storm was going on. The light being left on might destroy any hidden shadow monsters, but it has little magic when it comes to working on storms. "I was thinking, maybe you could tell me a story or something."

"A story, eh?" the elderly man asked, trying not to chuckle. "And what kind of story would you like to hear?"

Grandpadidn't really need to ask him that question. There's only one story Joey ever asked to be told, and he'd heard it at least a hundred times. But he never seemed to get bored with it. And why should he? It was perhaps the greatest story never told. "You know," Joey smiled. He fluffed his pillows up, nice and big, and quickly dusted off whatever crumbs remained of the cookies they had devoured. With a grin plastered across his face, he snuggled up against the head of the bed. He could almost feel the coldness of the wall escaping through the pillows and pricking at his back. "The one about all the robots and what happened to them."

"Oh," Grandpa said, acting surprised. "That story..."

end chapter 1