Jim’s grandfather was a POW in WW2. He lost an eye, but that was later. While in the camps he ate only rice and prayed for the souls of his captors. Forgiving the Japanese was what kept him alive, he said, kept him alive then and kept him alive now. His grandfather learned to like rice again, those other men- the ones that never forgave, they hated rice until the days they died.
Jim’s grandfather was a POW in WW2. He lost an eye, but that was later.
One September afternoon, when the grass was brown and the pine trees crackled from lack of rain, Jim went to his grandfather’s house to help him move a refrigerator. When he pulled into the driveway he saw his grandfather lying prone in the front door of his house, a sliver of sunlight gold across the faded blue of his grandfather’s jeans.
Jim jumped out of the car approaching the doorway with slow careful steps, afraid of what he would have to deal with once he reached the unmoving body. He moved in, putting his grandfather- so small and peaceful- in shadow.
“You’re blocking the sun.” Said the corpse that was not a corpse after all.
Jim stepped back, felt his breathe return, and remembered a different afternoon when he was small boy standing in that same spot looking up instead of down, watching his grandfather as he balanced on the peak of his roof, sure-footed and invincible.