Good Old Grandpa Harley
Jake English had always dreamed of a life of adventure.
He dreamed of crossing seas and making enemies of pirates who tried to board his ship. He dreamed of scaling mountains and rivers and forests to get to rare and uncharted destinations. He wanted to find the grandest of discoveries and the most interesting of people. When he was little, he had everything planned out for him.
He had expected many adventures when he was young.
And he had gotten more than he imagined by the time he grew old.
Jake English had long ago outgrown his adventuring days. Now all he wanted to do was spend his days with his granddaughter and her dog and hunt his time away. He no longer even called himself English anymore. To everyone, he was known as Grandpa Harley.
And to me, he was my best friend.
We met when I was just young man taking care of his little Bro. At first, I thought the guy was pretty crazy. The walls of his home were covered in taxidermy animals, all of which he called his, 'prize of the hunt'. One of his rooms was dedicated to his vast collection of guns. He might as well have run a gun store for crying out loud. I couldn't say I wasn't impressed by his passion for the things though. Every one was spoken about with pride on his face.
The crazy parts of him were pretty cool actually. It was just those pictures of old models in blue frames that was really creepy to me.
Any conversation he held was filled with humor and storytelling. He added jokes, made fun of the villains in the story while complimenting their ferocity all the same, and even acted out some of his adventures with his guns.
At one point he even spoke about his life. He told me about how he was raised by a horrible woman who he continuously called a witch. He spoke of how he craved a life of adventure, was set to marry the person he considered his sister, and eventually found himself running away toward adventure. Though, he had to leave the one he cared for behind.
Everything he told me never failed to keep me entertained, and I found myself going over to his house every chance I got.
We spent a lot of our time together. We watched movies with the kids, and I couldn't help but stare at him when he laughed at the childish jokes and cried at the most cliched of scenes. We played video games. They were always confusing for him to play, but he insisted anyway. I guess he just wanted to get into the times. Then we even wrestled each other, embarrassing both me and Dave when I lost every single time.
I was never afraid to consider him my best friend. And at one point he even started considering me his own, age difference be damned.
So when I heard about his death that day I just couldn't believe it. They said that he was accidentally shot by one of his own pistols, but I didn't care.
He was gone now, and I'd be a huge bullshitter if I said I didn't miss good old Grandpa Harley.