My
grandpa’s was a language of staring. He stared when I had something to
say. He stared when I should’ve had something to say. He stared
when there was nothing at all to say. Being young, I took this as reason
to avoid him. But once, while my parents were out, I found him in his
room, staring at a movie. I preferred it to being alone, so I sat without
permission, saw Mel Gibson driving a dune buggy on TV. After the first
explosion, I exclaimed, “Wow.” He echoed, “Mm.” We went on this
way, in simple agreement of what was cool, who deserved to be shot, how we
wanted the hero on top. Before the movie finished, though, my parents
came home. Being young, I ran out the room to be with them. I left
my grandpa staring at the TV, whispering to the end.
Dresden de Vera
A Scanner Darkly
Philip K. Dick