Wallpaper
Elizabeth
I never liked your wallpaper. I’m sorry, Grandma, I didn’t. I thought it was ugly and dated and deserved to be burned. I didn’t like that it was blue. It was hideously blue and it hurt my eyes. I used to hate coming to your house because I couldn’t bear to look at the walls.
I would sit in your living room, on your overstuffed beige sofa and listen to you ramble on about things you couldn’t remember. And after you’d told me all about the time my Grandpa spent in Vietnam, you would ask me if I remembered that, too. I would remind you that Grandpa was never in the army, and you’d get upset.
You used to call me Elizabeth all the time, Grandma. And I would let you, because it didn’t matter how many times I told you my name was Leslie. To you, I was Elizabeth and you liked it that way. You would send me birthday cards in the mail, addressed to my mother, but that was alright. My mom always knew you meant to put “Leslie” on the envelope, but that you didn’t know how to spell it.
I miss your wallpaper, Grandma. I miss your ridiculously blue wallpaper and all of the headaches it gave me. I miss your stories. They were entertaining, even though you couldn’t tell me where Vietnam was if your life depended on it. I miss you calling me Elizabeth, but just for the record, it’s spelled “L-E-S-L-I-E.”
So if you can hear me all the way up there: I miss you, Grandma. It’s me, Elizabeth.
I would sit in your living room, on your overstuffed beige sofa and listen to you ramble on about things you couldn’t remember. And after you’d told me all about the time my Grandpa spent in Vietnam, you would ask me if I remembered that, too. I would remind you that Grandpa was never in the army, and you’d get upset.
You used to call me Elizabeth all the time, Grandma. And I would let you, because it didn’t matter how many times I told you my name was Leslie. To you, I was Elizabeth and you liked it that way. You would send me birthday cards in the mail, addressed to my mother, but that was alright. My mom always knew you meant to put “Leslie” on the envelope, but that you didn’t know how to spell it.
I miss your wallpaper, Grandma. I miss your ridiculously blue wallpaper and all of the headaches it gave me. I miss your stories. They were entertaining, even though you couldn’t tell me where Vietnam was if your life depended on it. I miss you calling me Elizabeth, but just for the record, it’s spelled “L-E-S-L-I-E.”
So if you can hear me all the way up there: I miss you, Grandma. It’s me, Elizabeth.
♠ ♠ ♠
This wasn't written from personal experience, and, for whatever reason, I've been told that I should tell you that. I drew upon my life for inspiration though: I lost my grandmother to Cancer, my grandfather was stationed in Germany during Vietnam. Other than that, this isn't about me. I'm sorry to all of those who thought it was - I didn't mean to shatter the illusion.