BPOV

My fingers gently caressed each shiny slip of paper.

The yellowed edges were marred with creases and small hacks. The old sepia photographs were cloaked in years of dust that danced around my eyes when I blew the top layer off. The remaining particles still coating the glossy pieces were wiped off by the blue flannel shirt I wore. I handled the forty to sixty year old images with the utmost of care and affection.

I loved visiting my grandmother's home.

The quiet little cottage was located only forty-five minutes from my hometown of Forks, Washington. Its warm walls and atmosphere could only hint at the benevolent little old widow that resided within. A cobble stone path leads from the cleared out parking space to the little, wooden, front door. A barricade of trees surrounded the secluded area, cloaking it in a mysterious, magical aura. In the spring and summer months, hundreds of wild and domestic flowers sprouted and bloomed. Vines of violets and yellows and blues and greens wound and crawled their way up the outer, wooden walls while rich emerald grasses and flora sprinkled itself over the woodsy clearing. In the autumn and fall, Grandma and I would sow, plant, grow, and harvest various vegetables and fruits. The very best of our labor would be either baked into one of her mouthwatering, succulent fruit pies or tossed into some other magnificent dish for us to feast on. During the blisteringly cold winter, smoke would rise from the short stone chimney. Hot chocolate would always be set out on the dainty kitchen table just inside the door, right next to freshly baked cookies.

I had always been fascinated by the yellowed photographs of my grandmother's past. The antiquity of it all just drew me in like Pooh Bear to honey. Whenever we would come across a particularly interesting depiction, my grandma would launch into her rendition of the tale regarding the event. I loved hearing her speak so fondly of a happier time and place. Her eyes would glaze over as if she really returned to that moment in history and a faint ghost of a grin would curl her lips up. It was beautiful to behold. But really, there was one story in particular that fascinated me the most.

My eyes returned to the picture I currently held. Sure enough, my grandmother's eyes followed mine and landed on the image before us. A sad but gentle smile shimmered over her face as her hazel eyes softened to butter. It was another picture of him.

Maria Isabelle Swan—my dad, Charlie's, mom who kept her maiden name after her husband died on the warfront—was a mere twelve years old when she claims to have met the perfect man. No, he was not who she ended up marrying. No, no. He was perfect. E. A. Mason Jr. was 'everything any woman could only dream of'. A sharp, defined jaw bone with full, pouty lips and large, almond shaped jewels of jade glistened on his face. He stood proud and proper, just over six foot and would always dress impeccably no matter the occasion. He had been charming and oh so knowledgeable for such a young man. Of course, the last thing Grandma Maria mentioned about him was that he absolutely loathed her.

"Such a shame he was such a sod," she had once revealed to me when I located yet another old photo. "I never did understand his hatred towards me. The first time I ever met the boy when I was a wee twelve years, he glared at me as if I had shot his first puppy! He would tease and taunt me mercilessly! Of course, I gave as good as I got! No respectable Swan would ever let anyone, much less a self-righteous, stubborn ignorant fool of a man! Oh the things we did… I will have to tell you sometime. There are far too many tales to tell. Next time dear, next time." She had then waved me away before going to take an afternoon nap.

I had to admit, he was indeed breathtaking. I simply could not picture such a… well… such a gorgeous boy being as cruel as Grandma Maria describes. I was also insanely curious as to why he was so mean to her. There just had to be more to the story than what my grandma let on.

However, after a single picture taken in 1918, E. Mason just disappears. I looked and looked but could never find any sign of him after early on in that year. Grandma says that was just because of the epidemic.

Grandma Maria had been born in and grew up in Chicago. She had just turned 17 when the Spanish Influenza swept the state. She told me that the illness could have claimed the bane of her existence, but highly doubted it. In fact, despite the reports of the Mason family being wiped out, she still thinks E. Mason is walking the earth.

I think her old age is getting to her.

You see, Maria Isabelle Swan was in her early to mid forties when she had my dad. She had only been married five years. Dad and Mom had me when he was 36. I am now 17, almost 18. I guess you could say my family waits a long while to have kids. Grandma Maria is now 99 years old and very gnarled, wrinkled, and fragile. She turns a nice round century in two months and my concern for her health and wellbeing increases exponentially with each passing week.

Like I said, old age.

As dusk crept over the dense mass of timber, greenery, and fauna I neatly and carefully organized the various stacks of glossy, but faded photographs. Stacking them up before placing each gently into the old shoeboxes, I shoved the containers under Maria's bed once more.

I kissed my grandmother on her forehead, telling her I was leaving. I promised to try to be back this weekend. She just smiled her crinkled little smile and softly told me everything would be fine. She also said to tell Mason he's an ass.

See? She's delusional.

But I just let out a quiet chuckle and my grandmother's eccentric mumblings, told her I would, and left.

When I got to my old, beat up truck, a sigh fell from my lips.

Tomorrow was my first day of attending Forks High School. I've been here for a month, clarifying things with my old school in Phoenix and moving what little belongings I had into my dad's home. I had cleanly completed the few classes I had been in early so I would have that one month for myself, but this had been my last day. It was February and the semester had already started.

Oh joy.

Heyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's been a while and I know you guys were probably hoping for an update on one of my other stories but I just haven't been feeling twilight like I was before. Updates will be few and far between. I am going to try and make them longer though.

I don't know if you noticed but I changed my pen name from HermioneCullen-vampirewizard to Hermioneoftherealworld. Like I said, I'm just not feeling twilight anymore.

Well, anyway, here's a story that's been floating around the catacombs of my brain for a while now. Hope you like!

Review please!!!! I love reading them and it's so fun to hear from you all! 10 reviews and I'll update as soon as I have time to write more!

Hermioneoftherealworld