The Pop-pop Disappearance
Author's notes: As always, my deepest gratitude to my bestie ZephyrCamida. Thanks for being an understanding and most helpful beta and a lovely person to chat with.
I would also like to thank each and every one of you that read, commented and favourited my first fic. This story is very different, but I'll be back with some Shamy goodness soon, so stay tuned!
Sheldon is probably my favourite TBBT character, or at least the one I have a deeper connection with and especially his childhood and family background strike a chord. So there's that.
This story is dedicated to my grandfather. Wherever you may be right now, my biggest wish is that you're still solving equations and reading Dante's Divine Comedy.
Trigger warning for cancer. Nothing too graphic or explicit, but I know it is a sensible topic and I don't want to upset any of you.
It was a hot summer day. The humidity in the air was such that nothing could have possibly made a bad day even worse − except the clouds that covered the sky, acting like a Tupperware lid – that was definite proof: it was the worst day of the season − at least for now, one could never be too sure in Texas.
In the early afternoon hours, Galveston was waiting for rain. In the meantime, the only audible sounds were barking of dogs and engines of passing cars. Most people were locked in their houses.
Sheldon filled a tall glass with lemon tea, watching as the liquid came in contact with the ice cubes already in it, starting to crack. He then picked a red straw and dunked it in his beverage, playing with it before he started sipping.
He reached for the wall phone and started composing the first sequence of numbers he ever learned: his grandparents' phone number.
The door to the backyard slammed open, making him jump from the scare.
«Whatcha doin'?» sputtered a gruff voice.
A man − whose clothes were so wet from sweating they acted like an uncomfortable second skin − entered the kitchen and opened the fridge to grab a Pepsi. He then placed it on his neck to cool himself and wiped his face with the other hand.
Sheldon hung up and looked at him as if he was asking the obvious: he wasn't exactly lighting up a fire or disassembling the toaster − that happened a week before. «Calling Pop-pop?» he asked rhetorically. «He said he'd come pick me up. And play legos with me.»
His stare met its receiving end. The man lifted his eyebrows way up.
«You really want him out of the house with this heat?»
«But Dad, he promised!»
«Alright, alright.»
George raised his hands in a surrendering motion, then cracked open his Pepsi can with a flick of his thumb and headed for the door.
«You sure you don't want to see how your ol' man fixes the doorbell? Missy and Junior are.»
He was very practical, but could not explain the things he did beyond what an instruction paper would. Sheldon asked many questions, but his father could never give him an answer.
«I don't, I want to call Pop-pop» Sheldon said matter-of-factly.
«Fine» his dad almost cut him off before pushing the door open to head back outside.
The child returned his attention to the phone he was holding in his hand and called again. He waited for quite a few beeps. The ice cubes in the glass were quickly liquefying.
«Hello?» answered a nasal voice.
Sheldon's focus was back to the line.
«Hello, Meemaw.»
«Howdy.»
«Who am I?» Sheldon questioned in a sing-song voice.
«My sweet Moonpie.» she answered using the same tone.
The smile that reply prompted was all teeth.
He had recently read in a book that his baby teeth were going to fall off soon and replaced with the ones he would have for the rest of his life. That made him paranoid: would that process hurt as much as growing these first ones was? Would he know when they were about to fall out? Would he choke?
But most of all: why the change?
When he asked Meemaw about it she mentioned the Tooth Fairy and that made him calmer. At least he was getting something out of it.
«Meemaw, may I speak to Pop-pop, please? I didn't want to talk to you» he said casually.
There was a moment of silence. He heard a strangled chuckle.
«Oh, I'm sorry dear, Pop-pop can't come to the phone.»
«Why not?»
Another pause.
«He got a boo-boo, nothin' serious.»
He gulped down his tea.
«A boo-boo?»
«He broke his leg» admitted Meemaw.
«How?!»
Sheldon sounded increasingly alarmed with each question.
«We were coming home from grocery shopping. He's always in a rush to get things done... you know how he is» she laughed in a stunted manner. «Don't you worry, Moonpie, he's fine. He ain't got a cast to show off his war wound.»
Sheldon finished his watery tea by making loud sounds with the straw, trying to collect every last drop.
«Okay. Now, can you ask him if he can come pick me up?»
The consequent sigh from Meemaw disturbed the line.
He spent a lot of time at his grandparents' house. Pop-pop would accompany him to the train station, Meemaw would share with him information about fruits and vegetables while she took care of her herb garden. The three of them would prepare food together, read books, simply enjoy each other's company. His brother and sister visited regularly, but didn't stay as much as he did. Sheldon, though, wanted to be with them: he didn't like other children − or most people, to be honest − he found them boring and uninteresting. On the other hand, it seemed like Pop-pop and Meemaw held the collective knowledge of the world.
The remainder of the summer passed, autumn came - calendar-wise - but it was still boiling hot and so it seemed like nothing had changed.
Quite the contrary − and if Sheldon had any say in it, he didn't like it one bit.
Pop-pop was recovering, slowly but surely: he took a few steps once or twice a day leaning against someone else for support, but he spent most of his time in bed reading and used a wheelchair to move around the house (Junior liked to drive him, avoiding tables, chairs and doors − Pop-pop had a laugh about that).
His family visited his grandparents' house more often and at times he would join them at the table for meals.
But what Sheldon didn't like and made him extremely uncomfortable was that his precious Pop-pop and Meemaw time was gone. No more books, no more cookies, nothing.
Then, on October 1st, the day he reserved months before to discuss with Meemaw his Halloween costume plans − The Flash being his first and only choice − Mary Cooper sat her children at the kitchen table with a hot cup of tea.
«But I wanna see Pop-pop! What do you mean we can't go?»
«Exactly what I meant, Missy.»
«Why?» asked Sheldon, though it came more as a demand than an question.
«Pop-pop wants to be alone for a while» explained Mary.
«Now that doesn't make sense.»
«Sheldon, don't use that tone with you mom.» his Father warned him.
George was drinking a can of beer, leaning on the sink, effectively using it as a bar stool. Sheldon took a sip from his tea.
The older child in the family, Junior, was staring intently at his own cup.
«Y'think I don't know what's going on? I'm not five like these two here.»
Just as Mary opened her mouth to speak, George threw the empty can in the bin on the other side of the room with a jerk of his hand.
«The same goes for you, Junior.»
Mary stood up from her chair.
«And how many times do I have to tell you not to do that?»
She glanced at her husband sideways; the sound made by the incessant drum of her fingers on the table was deafening despite its innocuous nature.
«Oh, I'm sorry. Does it bother you?» he replied with an exaggerated smile.
«You know it does.»
«I can't read your mind, woman.»
«Don't sass me, George. I'm warning you.» she said slowly, letting the syllables roll on her tongue.
«Warning me.» he repeated flatly. «Don't throw your own problems in my face, then. Do you see a toilet?» he gestured towards his face in a circling motion. «Huh? I'm not here to take your shit.»
«Throw m−?» she stopped. «Like you did with that can? How can you even compare the two?!»
With that, Mary was face to face with her husband.
«Please, let's go» Sheldon quietly begged his brother and sister.
«Yup.»
«Let's get outta here.»
They moved outside to the patio and sat on the white bench that was there. A dry, suffocating wind was blowing and brought with it the smell of dinners from their neighbours' houses.
«Do we really have to stay here? It's full of mosquitoes at night.»
Sheldon was pouting and started scratching to prove his point.
«Didn't you use that thing you have? Y'know, for bites?» asked Junior.
«Well...»
«I am not going back there. No» interrupted Missy, sitting down.
Her gesture seemed definite enough, and no-one wanted to argue with that little force of nature or was eager to go back in the kitchen.
The last place they would rather be right now was inside.
A pale slit of moon was peeking beneath the passing clouds.
Her brothers sat at her sides; Sheldon with a bit of reclutance.
«Uh, it's so sticky. Ew» complained Missy, shifting her weight from one thigh to the other.
«What, your butt?» asked Junior.
«Yes» she giggled.
It always started in the most casual way: one slightly misunderstood remark and all hell broke loose. Then his parents would go in circles with the same old trite dialogue he heard every time his siblings and himself were subjected to this.
«You don't understand me.» «I don't get you.»
«You don't treat me right.» «I don't deserve to be stuck with you.»
«You're a worthless waste of space and time.» Do me a favor and kill yourself.»
«I'm bored» she stated the obvious.
«You and me both, Princess.» yawned Junior.
«Why do they have to scream? Can't they just talk... yeah?» Sheldon asked, knowing well how useless of a question that was. Then, having more pressing topics to discuss, he leaned forward to look at his brother. «What do you know about Pop-pop? Spill the beans.»
«...I can't tell you that.»
«Tell me, tell me!» Missy raised her voice, with emphasis towards herself.
«I...» he sighed heavily. «You two are too young.» He shook his head.
«Stealing Meemaw's sage from her herb garden to smoke it makes you as old and stupid as them to know what is happening?»
Sheldon indicated the door with his index finger. Their parents were having the most intense fight of the month, much to the children's annoyance. Once it started, you would never see the end of it.
Junior opened his eyes wide. «How do you know about that?»
Sheldon crossed his arms and bopped his head a couple of times left and right.
«Or how about... Mom's cigarettes− no, Dad's beer you keep under your bed?»
«Ass!» Junior hissed, smacking the bench with his flat palm.
«Ah-as, ass!» repeated Missy with enthusiasm.
«I'll tell Mom and Dad if you don't tell me. I won't repeat myself» advised Sheldon.
Junior brought his left thumb to his mouth to bite on its nail. Sheldon didn't want to look at him because that habit made him sick, but he was itching to know to if his brother was giving in or not.
«I... I think...» started saying Missy «I think... that...»
Her brothers slowly and simultaneously turned around in her direction.
«...you tell him. Okay?» the little girl somewhat concluded, after either losing her train of thought or not knowing how to put it into words.
As suddenly as their fight erupted, it came to a halt. They couldn't hear anything more from the kitchen. That's when they usually started worrying. No one dared move to go and have a look. They'd rather not know.
«Alright» George slapped his thighs and took a deep breath. «Pop-pop has... a problem, let's say.»
«He can't walk, yes we know that.» Sheldon urged impatiently.
Junior was about to give him an appropriate answer, but just spit on the ground instead.
«Ewww!» shrieked Missy.
Then he smirked. «Yes, Shelly, that's all I know.»
«Well... that was useless.»
«...you little shit.»
George's figure rushed out of the house, headed for the car and disappeared into the night with it.
Mary staggered her to the patio sometime after that, holding a half empty, transparent plastic cup, while she held beneath the fingers of the same hand a cigarette. She placed the cup on the handrail and lighted a cigarette with a gas-lighter she took out of a pocket.
«Meemaw says smoking is bad» said Sheldon; a comment that he promptly told her every time he saw her light one up.
«I can tell you, Shelly, that Jesus doesn't judge.»
«I still agree with Meemaw.»
Mary puffed on her cigarette. After that, she tapped off the ash in the cup.
«Did your dad take the car?» She contorted her mouth. «Idiot.»
None of her children answered. They didn't have to; she seemed to be talking to herself anyway.
Halloween came and went. The leaves had begun to fall but the temperature was still high.
They were still not allowed to visit Pop-pop.
Sheldon read everything he could find on telephones during those days. After all, it was the only way he could keep in touch with Pop-pop and talk to him about the latest Professor Proton episode. Strangely, he had nothing to contribute, normally he would have so many things to add.
«Pop-pop, why do you not want to see me anymore?» he asked one day.
On the other side of the phone, the man sniffed.
«I have a very bad cold.»
«Oh.»
His tone was indeed lower.
«What about Meemaw? Aren't you afraid you're going to infect her? What then?»
«I'm trying to keep her away, too.» he said. Words came forcibly out of him.
«You are so brave, Pop-pop. Should I sing you Soft Kitty?»
He thanked his grandson, but declined his offer, saying it wasn't necessary. He excused himself from the phone.
Then, when he started pondering whether he should have started taking Meemaw's suggestion to become (the other kind of) doctor into serious consideration to find a cure to what seemed like an endless, incurable cold, his Dad told him to «move his bottom» and get ready to visit Pop-pop.
Sheldon couldn't decide what he wanted to bring with him to show his grandparent, but as he was still in his Batman pajamas and George was getting impatient, he put on a yellow t-shirt and quickly headed out the door without grabbing anything.
When they arrived at his grandparents' house, he was surprised to find Uncle Carl and Uncle Edward's cars parked there. Unlike the five of them, Meemaw's sons didn't visit there often.
«Now you wait here. We'll call you when Pop-pop's ready. You understand me?» Mary said eyeing her three children. They all nodded fervently.
Their mother left them in the living room on the first floor. George was bored out of his mind watching infomercials while Missy and Sheldon were building a lego house.
He didn't want to disobey his mom, but he yearned to see Pop-pop and Meemaw above everything.
«Where do you think you're going?» asked Junior just as Sheldon put a foot on the first step of the stairs.
The younger child instantly knew how to answer.
«I warned you.»
«Fine. Whatever. Get yourself in trouble.»
He was trotting up the 25th step on the set of stairs, when he heard two different groups of voices coming from opposite sides of the floor. The first and closer one consisted of two female voices and was just behind the corner next to the stairs. The other − all male − came from his grandparents' bedroom.
«The doctor told me he was about to go yesterday, but today he's as lucid as he hasn't been in months. I've seen this happen before and I think the doctor's right.»
Meemaw's voice. Sheldon straightened up against the wall to not be seen.
«Are we really going through with this?» asked his mom.
«He wants to see all of his children. He looked me right in these two eyes as he said that.»
«Didn't we agree to−»
«He changed his mind.»
His eyes focused on the orchid plant close to him. The dirt in the vase was dry, as much as the flowers. Meemaw wasn't one to not water her plants; she loved them.
He then noticed with a hint of shock a couple of dried leaves on the floor.
«I don't know about that. He could scare them.»
«Don't tell me about scarin' anybody. All we ever did was take care of them. While you−» she stopped. «I ain't got time for this. It never concerned me. It was all you.»
Sheldon heard his Meemaw put particular emphasis on that last word. Missy got that from her.
«All I'm sayin' is that, considering his state−»
Mary was once again interrupted.
«And you know what makes... my blood boil? I've been told you two− instead of being, I don't know... reasonable and responsible adults − just kept going at it again and again. Right in front of innocent eyes. Don't get all holy on me, Mary. Don't you try to put the blame on me. I wish I could say I was here twiddlin' my thumbs, but alas, I can't. I really can't.»
Another emphasis.
Sheldon's mother didn't respond to her own mother's words.
«Go on. Tell Dad what you've been trying to say to me. I ain't stopping you.»
Sheldon furrowed his brows. It couldn't be possible: Meemaw silenced Mom. Either that, or time stopped behind the corner. Or maybe they got transported to a different dimension.
Whatever the case, he wasn't interested anymore. He got close to the bedroom careful not to make any noise. The voices coming from there were all male. He distinguished his father's back from the slightly opened door.
«I suppose y'all heard what I said. Carl, Edward? Do we agree?»
They answered yes.
Pop-pop's voice was breathy.
«Now, George. I need to ask you one question.»
«Sure» said his son-in-law after a second.
«Can I trust you?»
No answer.
«I can't... leave without knowing how things are going to get resolved. I know you two have your differences and you know I wouldn't be against... radical... choices, but whatever you do, I... I just want you to...»
He cleared his throat.
«Water» he said in a whisper that Sheldon was barely able to catch.
The air was stagnant. The light filtered through the curtain on his left let him see particles of dust floating in the room.
His Dad took a few steps forward. He was no longer in sight.
«Tell me.»
«Take care of the children. I don't want to see them suffer.»
Sheldon wasn't understanding any of this. Why did Dad have to take Pop-pop's place?
«...okay.»
«Everyone makes mistakes, George. Most of the times, you are given a chance to start again... until you don't get them anymore. Remember this.»
«I will.»
Sheldon's parents were either silent, funny or angry. Not serious.
His brain was trying its hardest to work out a solution, but before he had any real chance to compare all the data he possessed, the bedroom door was opened and he almost lost his balance from the crouched position he was in. His dad's shadow towered over him. Lifting his gaze, he took in one peculiar detail he didn't associate with the pateral figure − reddened eyes.
George passed a hand under his nose.
«Sheldon» he asserted in a low voice.
«Daddy...»
Sheldon was expecting to be scolded or hit for disobeying, but instead George reached down and lifted him up in his arms. He took the opportunity to peek over his dad's shoulder. Pop-pop was abandoned in sleep.
Something wasn't right. He wasn't someone to stay in bed all day − he didn't waste his time idling.
Sheldon was scared. Scared of Pop-pop. Scared of the house he was currently in.
«Moonpie?» called Meemaw from the other side of the corridor. She was wearing her signature red cardigan; it always smelled of fabric softener.
Red was her favourite colour. Thanks to her, he knew every shade of that colour. Ruby, amaranth, scarlet, terracotta... he was making a mental list.
It calmed him immensely.
«Come on.» called George, adjusting his grip on his son's body.
Sheldon held to his father's nape as he kept his eyes fixed on Pop-pop sleeping on his bed while they slowly descended the stairs − moving away from him.
It didn't happen often, but he didn't mind when his dad embraced him like that. Missy was the most likely recipient of those attentions. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of being weightless. His dad held him close and securely.
«I know you wanted to see him. Still and all, Mom told you to wait. Be the smart boy you are and don't you dare do that again, ya hear?»
«Sorry» Sheldon apologized, hiding his face.
The man carried him down the stairs, went past Missy and Junior − who glanced at them − and entered the kitchen.
«You hungry?»
His son nodded.
«Lemme see...» mumbled George.
«The cookie jar. There. The big strawberry» suggested Sheldon.
His dad shifted the child's weight all on one arm to take off the lid from the cookie jar with the his free hand; he picked a broken cookie.
«That's not perfect. Not good» he complained.
Dad closed his eyes. He exhaled deeply. «That's for me, then» With that, he threw it in his mouth.
Missy rushed into the kitchen, stomping her little feet on the ground.
«Daddy, take me, too?» she cried, raising her voice.
Sheldon eyed his sister from his position: face muscles twisted into an exagerrated pout, tears ready to pour out of her eyes...
He didn't get all the fuss.
«Y'all are getting big, I can't have ya both» he cupped his daughter's face with his rough hand.
His twin sister always knew how to get her way and he could only comply.
«Let me go» he murmured.
«You sure?» George asked his son adjusting his hold on him once again, turning his neck to look at him.
Sheldon put his hands on his father's chest as if he was pushing him away − he had avoided his eyes since he carried him away from Pop-pop.
«Yes. I'm a big boy, remember? You tell me that.»
«That's what I wanted to hear.»
George ruffled his hair, then lowered him down until he could touch the floor. Missy took the chance and grabbed onto her dad.
«Hold your horses, Princess» said George, tickling her at the hip. His daughter's clear laugh resonated in the kitchen. He then lifted her up. «Sit down, Shelly. I'll grab something to eat.»
He sat down at the table after flattening his hair. Missy was telling their dad nonsensical stories about her day, animals she saw... something or the other. He needed to concentrate and she was just background noise.
His mom entered the kitchen along with Junior. She placed a kiss on her younger son's forehead. She was distracting him, too.
«Is anyone hungry?» she asked.
Everyone in the room except for him nodded and agreed much too enthusiastically for his taste.
They needed to shut up.
His thoughts were coming and going in rapid succession, getting over each other in a way that he could almost hear his brain working − then just as quickly reminded himself that that couldn't have been possible, brains didn't make sounds.
He noticed some papers with a package close to them. It looked like a medical record.
He glanced furtively at his dad, who was busy with Missy. Mom was searching for food in the cabinets. Junior already served himself with the cookie jar. All clear.
Curiosity got the best of him. He slid the top document on the flower tablecloth to bring it closer to read it. There was Pop-pop's name on it.
A word caught his eye.
Metastasis.
Sheldon grabbed the package.
«...morphine» he mouthed.
How did he not see this before? How could he have been this dense?
George turned to him.
«How 'bout some cookies?»
«No, they're just going to ruin his appetite. The same goes for you» declared Mary and with that took the cookie jar away from her older son.
Sheldon's eyes kept going from the paper to the package, over and over again.
He understood what that meant. For the first time in his life, he didn't want to.
Both his parents were watching him. Then they looked at each other in silence.
Mary took a step forward.
«Shelly, what are you...»
«Why?!»
Dragging the chair away from the table with his feet, he got up and ran as fast as he could across the living room and up the stairs, closing himself in the first room that was in sight. He didn't know what he was doing − or why he was doing it − he just wanted to get away without having to think about anything.
The dim light of the early hours of the evening cast a dark shadow on the furniture. Squinting his eyes, Sheldon tried to adapt his view to the new place. He recognized three very familiar beds on his right side − that was where his siblings and himself slept in where they stayed at Meemaw's on the weekends. Or any other day, depending on the event (usually his parents fighting).
Three white matresses. No flower bedding. Scrunched pillows.
Seeing those beds that they used to push together to sleep close to each other in that uncared state gave way to tears he didn't know he was holding in.
One, two, three knocks on the door.
«Moonpie? Please open the door.»
He couldn't say no so he just unlocked it. Sheldon tried to regain a semblance of self-control: he could feel tears and snot on his face, that must not have been a pleasant view. Meemaw didn't comment on it, though − instead, she turned the light on, simply passed him by and went to sit on one of the beds. She then patted it gently to invite him to sit down with her.
His eyes stung from the crying and the sudden change of light. Hesitant, he took a few steps forward to join her. He sit slighty afar from me, but she quickly reached over and pulled his head on her shoulder. Sheldon hid his face in the croock of her neck and tears took him over again.
Meemaw let him cry as much as wanted to. She wasn't Daddy, who would've told him to stop crying. She wasn't Mommy either, who would've told him to smile instead. She just offered her short but strong arms as support and her handkerchief for cleaning purposes.
His cry resembled more a violent fit of vomit than the action of shedding tears from one's eyes, but then again Sheldon didn't mind. She was his Meemaw.
«Meemaw» Sheldon finally called with a nasal voice, as she was making him blow his nose.
«Yes?» she answered after a second.
«Does Pop-pop have cancer?»
Meemaw was concentrating on folding her handkerchief. After taking a deep breath, she looked straight in her grandson's puffy eyes.
«Yes, dear.»
Only one question came to Sheldon's mind.
«...why?» he whispered, sniffling.
Meemaw eyes lost their focus as they fixed on a indefinite point in the room.
«There isn't.»
He clasped his hands and held them together tightly.
«What do you mean?»
«You know how Pop-pop doesn't like doctors?» suggested Meemaw.
«Well... he likes nurses. You are one» he said.
Sheldon noticed the lovely lines around her eyes that were more accentuated when she smiled.
«He didn't want any problems, didn't wanna get checked... And in the end, he had to. But it was too late.»
Sheldon replayed that phrase a few times in his head.
«Is it Pop-pop's fault?»
«That's not what I said» replied Meemaw immediately.
«But you said he didn't want to get checked» he answered back just as quickly.
«And when he did, he didn't want treatment» she repeated calmly.
«So it was his fault» he insisted.
«He... avoided the problem 'till it could no longer be avoided.»
His Meemaw wasn't really answering.
«But Pop-pop is the most intelligent person I know.»
It was his last resort. He didn't want to accept it.
Meemaw took her grandson's hands into her own, looked at him and smiled a little.
«Sheldon. Being intelligent doesn't mean you can't do stupid things.»
Those were probably the last words Sheldon ever wanted to hear. He grabbed onto her small frame and started crying again.
Pop-pop was almost sitting on his bed thanks to a bunch of pillows under his back and head. A tube peeked from the sheets and led to a catheter bag. He resembled a frail doll thrown there with too much intensity. His tall figure consisted of a skeleton with flaccid skin over it − didn't look like a human body.
His eyes, though, were the ones he remembered him with: open wide. Ready to explore and take it all in. That was nice − somewhat − in the midst of unpleasantness. That small thing was enough. Just being with him was enough.
After Daddy-turned-delivery-man brought the lemon ice cream Pop-pop requested − one of his favourite foods − they all dove into it. Pop-pop was eating to his heart's content.
«You like it, dear? Is it good?»
Meemaw was sitting next to her husband on a chair, spoon-feeding him. Sheldon, Missy and Junior were eating their ice cream in red glass bowls that Mary brought upstairs. They were sitting in front of the foot board, while their mom was sitting close to her own.
«It's cold. Refreshing» said Pop-pop with the mouth full of melting ice cream.
«I'm glad» told him Meemaw and stroked his head after placing the spoon in the bowl.
Mary bit her lip − maybe the ice cream was hurting her sensitive teeth.
Pop-pop talked about lemons, talked about ice creams, explained at length how much he liked both so very much. It was getting late and, if it wasn't for the very real and obvious fact that he was a man that couldn't do even the more basic activities by himself anymore, the genuine laughter that filled the room − including his own − would have been misleading to a stranger.
Then Meemaw and her husband talked about their youth while everyone else just listened. Sheldon could have listened his grandparents retell their memories for the rest of his life.
«What day is it tomorrow?» asked Pop-pop out of the blue.
«Uh... it's Thursday. Yes it is.» replied Meemaw.
His eyes pointed to the right. As Sheldon knew and was taught by him, that meant he was remembering something.
«I haven't done my homework to help Mom.» he complained. «Mr. White is gonna be mad at me...»
The room temperature turned from comfortably warm to numbing cold.
Missy was the only one still happily eating her ice cream.
Meemaw stroked her husband's face with her knuckles, touching him with her wedding band.
«It's going to be okay.»
After the build up, the realization hit Sheldon like a speeding train: Pop-pop's consciousness was slipping away.
«I'm tired, dear» yawned Pop-pop, opening his mouth real wide like a baby.
Meemaw just stared at him in the unique way that was reserved for him.
«Let's all say goodnight» encouraged Mary in a trembling voice, turning to look at her children.
Sheldon was the last one to get close to his bed. Wanting to hold him as tightly as he could, but knowing he couldn't, he settled for placing his own head on Pop-pop's chest, using his hand on both sides of him as support. He caught a slow, irregular beat. His cheek was patted by the callous hand of his grandfather one, two, three times.
The child bit his lower lip and closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath.
Mary and George were drinking coffee sitting at the kitchen table. Their three children could hear their parents exchange pleasant talk while they resumed building the lego house. Junior had joined his younger siblings in their endeavour.
It was after midnight, but they weren't eager to go to sleep. Playing was a good distraction and they couldn't get enough of the unexpected but most welcome background noise.
Until Meemaw came downstairs, that is. She made emergency beds, prepared a hot cup of milk with a tray of cookies and told everybody, adults and children alike, to get to bed as soon as they concluded their little snack.
A lonely lamp illuminated the room where she was watching over her husband.
The next day, the sky was clear.
On a warm sunny day, Pop-pop passed away.
He went to sleep the night before and never woke up. In the morning, his heart stopped beating.
He died on Spaghetti Thursday, his favourite day of the week.
After death, his face was incredibly serene. Attenders at his funeral commented − albeit in a slight morbid fashion − that his face was like that of sleeping man.
Sheldon had always been a very talkative child, but that day he was confused. He didn't know to do, what to say, how to act. His brain was not functioning properly.
He wanted things to go back the way they were. He wanted Pop-pop to be with him. That year, he wished for his return to Santa. That didn't come true.
He was angry. Angry at Pop-pop for making him go through the hardest change he had to accept.
Pop-pop was the one who died after a long agony and all he could care about was himself and his needs.
Things kept on changing more and more after his death, and Sheldon did nothing but place the blame on him.
He felt stupid.
He could have ran away, but going to Meemaw reminded him − not that he needed the reminder; he never forgot it, not for a single moment − that something was missing.
Ever leaving home didn't solve things. He was homesick, but thinking about home made him just sick to his stomach.
Sheldon thought that what he couldn't have anymore in reality, he could find in his memories. He could close his eyes, go back to a time when his parents could look in each other's eyes, when he could play without any worry, when Pop-pop was alive.
He hid in his brain, where everything was preserved, stopped in time; his life was as perfect as he wanted it to be and nothing had changed.