sirens

The sirens went off every Saturday at noon. The boy was always surprised, but then remembered that it was only a test. No tornadoes were coming.

What would happen if a tornado came at noon on a Saturday, would everyone just continue pushing their carts down the produce aisle and making sandwiches and folding the laundry? Would they hear the noise before it was too late and run to the far corners of their basements. Would they have time to save the dog?

Why hadn't any adults thought of this problem? They were supposed to be in charge.

This is what he was thinking when his Grandpa came into the room.

The boy's Grandpa was a kind old man, soft around the middle, with deep creases in his face. He'd raised the boy since his son dropped the boy off for the weekend and never came back. It didn't effect the boy much, he was so young, but to his Grandpa it meant a lot. He knew he had to be better than a father, better than a mother, better than a family.

And he was better. He raised the boy with more attention and love than his son ever could have.

The old man was sick though, but they still went about their daily routines, the boy’s Grandpa pretending he wasn't getting weaker and the boy pretending that he didn't notice.

The boy took on many of the tasks the old man couldn't manage anymore. He cooked their meals and helped with the cleaning. He did a good job too. He had never gone to school because his grandfather didn't believe in it, but he had managed to learn enough along the way.

Now it was his grandfather who was startled by the sirens, and every Saturday the boy had to dry the old man's eyes and reassure him they were safe.

The only thing the old man had any energy for was destroying his belongings.

He'd push glasses off the table to watch them shatter. He’d tear houseplants out of their pots. The boy didn't mind because it was something he used to do when he was little. And because it made his Grandpa happy, the boy would sometimes help.

Their favorite thing to do was to tear the pages out of books. Sometimes they'd spend the whole afternoon shredding one text after another. Reader's Digest, War and Peace, The Joy of Cooking. Even the Bible. Their house looked as though a small tornado had made its way inside and devoured everything in sight, leaving only the walls and furniture intact.

When it was time for his Grandpa to die, the boy helped him into his best suit, now worn thin at the knees and elbows. The boy cooked and they talked and laughed all morning.

When they ran out of things to say, the boy led his Grandpa to his room and placed a pillow beneath his head. He crawled into bed next to the old man, and this time when the sirens went off, it was the boy who cried. When the sirens stopped, the boy wiped his eyes, kissed his Grandpa's cold cheek, and walked out the front door.