A Tire Swing Story is a bite-sized "imagining" inspired by an object I discover while wandering. It could be a curbside trash gem or a message sprayed on a wall. A lost mitten, or an antique store find. Anything goes. I photograph the object and post them together, the story and its inspiration. There will be a new story every Monday and Wednesday. On Fridays, I'll discuss writing, life, love, and coffee. (In no particular order and maybe all at once.)

Wednesday, November 17, 2010














Gramma comes to visit me sometimes, but I’m not allowed to tell Mom.
I tried to talk about it once, but Mom shut her bedroom door and didn’t come out until dinnertime. I wrote notes that said: “Mom, are you okay?” and “Mom, I'm sorry I hurt your feelings,” and slipped them under the door. Later, when I put my cheek to the floor and looked through the crack, I could still see those folded notes lying there.
The next time Gramma came, she told me I’d better not mention it to anyone.
Gramma doesn’t look any different. Her hands still feel papery-soft. She smells the same too, like flower perfume and baby powder. That day, she didn’t mind sitting down for tea at my little table by the window, even though her knees came way up almost to her chin. She was wearing her favourite purple suit, and lipstick.
I thought she looked pretty and I told her so. She ran her fingers through my hair and said: “How are you these days, pet?”
Dad has started sleeping in the den. It’s no good trying to watch The Muppet Show in a room that smells like cologne and has your Dad’s shirts hanging from the curtain rod. I said this to him and he told me to go to my room. So I stomped up the stairs as loud as I could.
Yesterday, Gramma and I were playing dolls and I asked her what heaven is like. She said, “Charlotte, heaven is a place where every wish you could wish comes true.”
In my heaven, all the doors in this house would fall off their hinges and none of us would be able to shut them again.

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