Good Evening Mr. Granger
A short story based on a dream.
by K.G. (MoodilyLit)
The cool night air poured out of my nose. I was outside and I hadn't seen a night so clear and glorious in a long time.
My parents were standing somewhere next to me, talking, laughing and having quite the time with our new neighbors.
We had recently moved into this beautiful upper class suburb where perfectly manicured lawns and white picket fences reigned supreme. The gathering was of the 'Welcome to the neighborhood!' variety and it was held at one of our neighbors back yard. I can barely remember the faces, they're all one giant blur to me, but I can recall almost every single aspect of that backyard. I don't know why, but that little piece of suburbia seamed magical to me at the time.
Maybe it was the soft glow of the lights that came from string of paper lamps overhead, warm and inviting, or the emerald green of the freshly sprinkled grass, or the starless sky like a cloak of navy blue silk, or even the whiteness of the outside walls, so fresh and clean and... new. The atmosphere was certainly charming.
It may have been a blur to me, but I could feel the easy going laughter, the flowing champagne, the multitude of jewel tone colors and an overwhelming sense of tranquil joy. I turned my back and saw a man.
Though I can't quite recall his face, I can say that he appeared to be a very well dressed and polite gentleman of some fifty years of age. He gave off a strong aura of confidence, serenity, discipline and inner strength. He hadn't opened his mouth and yet I was already very impressed. We talked a bit and I finally remembered my manners and ask him his name. He smiled and said his names was Mr. Granger. I liked that surname, it was the same one as one of my favorite storybook characters and I distinctly remember blurting out "Oh my God, that's so awesome!" without really thinking it.
He seamed a bit surprised by my exclamation, but suddenly something dawned on him. He asked my if I spoke English to which I said yes , and from then on we spent the rest of the evening in lively English chatter.
As we took a break from our conversation, I looked around the yard and saw something that caught my attention. A few paces from me, on the ground lay two thick rectangular slabs of marble surrounded by the still wet glass. As I stepped closer, I realized they were engraved, memorial pieces by the looks of them, for two young and brave soldiers who had died in the midst of a war. I turned around to find Mr. Granger with a sad look on his face and a glint of pain in his eye. He didn't need words to explain his change in demeanor, I'd realized that the boys must have been close to him, brothers maybe, or even sons that had died for a cause they were probably to young to understand.
It was then that it dawned on me that the regal and imposing Mr. Granger had probably fought in that war too, as more than a mere cadet, a Captain or maybe a Major and suddenly, an image of a proud man decked in military green, spotless medals shining invaded my head. I was even more impressed with my companion than I had been moments before seeing as not many worldly and grand men stood around and made acquaintance with seventeen-year-olds, or so it seamed to me.
And that glint in his eyes, that pain... He had outlived them. He had had to watch as what was left of them was buries six feet under before they could even experience life at it's fullest. But he seemed calmer now, as if he had had years to overcome his grief, to tone down the burning pain to a nostalgic ache.
This man was a mystery to me, he must have lead an amazing life, and still, out of all the people that populated the yard, only I seemed to notice it. The next thing I remember is walking down a narrow concrete staircase on the other side of the house that lead somewhere outside. I was fallowing Mr. Granger to someplace I didn't know. Was it a door to his life? His times? His memories? Either way, I was certain of one thing only: Where he lead, I would fallow, hoping to unveil a couple more of his secrets.