The rain was cold. I could feel the drops landing in my hair as my glasses were coated with a fine mist of rain water, each drop reflecting my humor of despair. Pools gathered near the bottom wire of my lenses, even as my lower eyelid remained dry. Before me in the sodden grass of the abandoned yard lay a headstone. Carved into the barren stone was the name 'Harold Anderson.' Nothing else was written, not even the date of his passing. The grave was unloved; not even I had brought the man flowers. I could barely come to terms with the fact that he had died two months ago. Time had been moving slowly since then.
My grandfather had been a wonderful man. He had loved unconditionally, even caring for his witch of a wife and my psychotic mother. The two of us always laughed together over silly jokes, but could still talk seriously about adult matters. He was not judgmental, and treated other points of view with respect. Most notably, he loved to tell stories. Grandpa would tell stories about his cat, magic, his children, his wife and all the places he had traveled and worked.
During his life, grandpa had traveled all over the world on business trips for his company. He had built a multibillion dollar company from the ground up, starting as a small garage business and expanding into an international corporation over the course of 50 years. Grandpa was a toy maker. He made good quality, cheap toys for people all over the world to play with. "People," he had insisted, "because toys were not exclusively made for children. Toys were for everyone who needed them." Every day grandpa poured his heart and soul into making these enrichment toys.
Two months ago, he had a heart attack, just after finishing a new prototype. When he didn't show up for work on time some concerned coworkers went to his home. They found him lying in a pile of diagrams and partially finished models. I didn't find out until I had come home from school that day.
Mom and dad were both there, which was strange. They could barely stand to be in the same room as each other since the divorce. The one who broke the news to me was mom. She tried to be gentle, but I was heartbroken. The world seemed to be a lesser place without someone so loving and kind around. We held a small ceremony for him, just the way mom wanted. Soon after we heard from his personal lawyer about grandpa's final will and testament.
I had inherited grandpa's estate, and half his fortune. The other half was given to my father, his only living son. Of course, I has wanted to move out right away, who wouldn't? However, mom wouldn't let me. She insisted I had to stay home and finish high school first. Despite having turned 18 that previous summer, and being legally an adult, I was still forced to listen to her. Grandpa's place was twice as far from school as my moms. I had my own car but I didn't fancy the idea of waking up an hour earlier than I already did, so I consented to her demand.
During the next two months mom was busy preparing me to live on my own. She set up a personal bank account with a handpicked financial advisor for my half of the inheritance. I was forced to attend her on weekly shopping trips so she could teach me how to navigate the stores and manage my expenses. We took several trips to the local colleges with excellent programs in business management. Mom was doing her best to prepare me for taking over Grandpa's company, as was predestined. During any extra time I had between mom's incessant life lessons, I studied hard in my remaining subjects and passed my final semester of high school with all A's.
I graduated today. Everyone around me was filled with a sense of freedom and excitement as they took their first steps into a new world of their very own making. Compulsory education was done with. They could now choose what they wanted to do with their life and the rain would not dampen their spirits. It was hard not to get swept along with the sense of release. Instead I did my best to keep myself in check, as I continued down the path that had been planned out for me since before I was born.
After the final assembly I had gone directly to mom's. After a few weeks of working at her, I had finally convinced mom to let me move out after graduation. Therefore it was now, she couldn't drag her heels any longer, I was moving out. I packed my bags, loaded up my car and drove away, making sure to be gone before she had gotten home. The last thing I wanted was for her to change her mind, or worse.
Yet instead of finding myself at grandpa's estate, I discovered that I had driven directly to grandpa's graveyard. I guess I wanted to visit him again. I felt inclined to tell him all about what had happened. Admit to the troubles I had been having keeping the peace at my mom's. Confess the guilt I felt over moving myself out even though this had been planned weeks in advance. Describe the small flicker of disappointment that had spoiled my graduation when I realized that all my peers had achieved something that I had not. I opened my mouth and breathed in some of the cold air, little drops of water piercing my lips. Then I closed it. I shouldn't speak here, I didn't want to disturb anyone. Besides, people would think talking to the ground was weird. He wasn't here anymore anyways.
I turned and left. The grass beneath my feet swished and swirled. My shoes were sodden. The cold was beginning to creep into my socks. Rainwater was beginning to run down my temples and nose. The walk to the car was short. My plain automobile was the only one in the parking lot. From now on it was just me and the car. Perhaps that was freeing in its own way.