Christmas Eve at Grandma's--A Micro Memoir
The single lit candle cast a soft glow under my grandma’s chin as she gingerly balanced the sheet cake while slowly shuffling it over to the buffet table where the rest of the family had gathered.
“Happy birthday to you,” most sang gleefully, ignorant of my building terror. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Jesuuuuus, happy birthday to you!”
A searing embarrassment spread through me, singeing each of my nerve endings. I took in my breath so sharply, the cold air in my grandparent’s AC always set on 68 degrees because of grandma’s hot flashes home sent a sharp sensation through me, assuring me that, no, this wasn’t a nightmare, but was indeed all too real.
I bowed my head like everyone else, not in prayer, but in mounting mortification. As I slowly lifted my head, I half expected to see tire tracks in the carpet where he once stood. But, he was still there, mouth agape in disbelief, staring wide-eyed at me, silently asking, What the hell just happened here?
I mouthed, I’m sorry, not because of what just happened, but because I knew what was coming next.
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