Grandad's Toolbox
short story, drama
Published on:
July 16, 8:48pmWord Count:
1268Work Description
Brian finds a new life in the cellar.
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Brian opened the cellar door
and the stench of stagnant air rushed out and surrounded him,
choking his throat and blurring his eyes. Peering into the
subterranean expanse, he discerned little, narrow windows filtered
only trace amounts of light into the cellar.
“Damn it,” he said as he grabbed
the rail and started down the shaky wooden steps.
Brian hated the beach, hated the
people, hated the hot sun, and hated the sand which always managed
to creep in between his fourth and fifth toes and was impossible to
get out without spreading them wide and wiping the webbed skin with
the side of his finger.
Eighteen holes of golf, that’s
all I wanted to do today, watch one stinking round of golf on
television, but I can’t even do that–I don’t know why she couldn’t
have taken the kids to the beach by herself, he thought as he
stepped onto the dirt floor at the bottom of the stairs.
Brian squinted into the shadows,
searching for the cooler his wife ordered him to retrieve. Finally
he saw it in between two stacks of boxes at the far end of the room
covered by spiderwebs.
“I’ll never forgive you for this,
Melissa,” Brian said and shuffled quickly across the room. Misery
piled upon misery; spiders being the only thing he hated more than
sand between his toes.
As he got closer he saw something
on top of the cooler in a spot strangely devoid of webs. It was a
wooden box, nearly a foot-and-a-half long and probably a foot high.
He picked it up and turned it over, inspecting the smooth surfaces,
polished from years of service. He knew exactly what it was–his
late Grandad’s toolbox.
“I’d completely forgot this was
down here,” Brian said, his voice echoing off the cement-block
walls.
Death’s pain fades very slowly,
and never really leaves the heart. It lies dormant like a sleeping
volcano, or a peaceful fault-line, waiting to awaken. It had been
more than ten years since the passing of his grandfather, and he
hadn’t felt sad about it for the better part of the decade. But
occasionally something would trigger a memory and grief would take
hold of the nearly-healed scab and rip it off, exposing the old
wound to the air.
Brian thought back to the last
time he’d seen his Grandad. It was Sunday morning and the last full
day he would spend at his grandparents North Carolina home–his
flight back to Boston, and his parents and friends, departed at
6:30 Monday morning.
Not wanting to waste the last
full day of his vacation on something so dull as church, Brian
convinced his grandmother, or Mama as she was known, that he was
too tired to attend worship services, so she left him to get some
rest. But the moment gravel started popping under the car’s tires,
Brian eyes opened. He leapt out of bed and ran to the kitchen where
his Grandad was busily fixing breakfast.
“Thawchew’s tired?” Grandad asked
in his lazy, Southern drawl. He was holding the handle of a frying
pan in one hand and a discolored metal spatula in the other. The
thick aroma of bacon and eggs filled the kitchen, spilling over
into the living room where a pajama-clad Brian stood, now trying to
sell his fatigue.
“I am,” he said, then added a
wide yawn as further evidence.
Grandad smiled, revealing a row
of tobacco-brown teeth. “Relax boy, I ain’t gonna tell’er ya faked.
I can’t say I much blame ya, neither, seein’ has I woudda faked
too. I don’t like sittin’ in that stuffy room, nex’ta all them
stuffy people any more’n you do. Why that woman does I’ll never
know.” He motioned to the table with the spatula. “Sit,” he said.
“We’re gonna eat sum real food fer once.” He brought the hot frying
pan to the table and served up four strips of crispy
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Thank you so much for this simple, moving memory. That's almost what it was for me--not only because this reminded me so much of my own grandfather (who, by the way, was also from NC), but because of that moment that so many of us are fortunate to have when we are pulled gently back into the present and reminded how fragile, how fleeting today really is.
Brian is so much like our everyday selves, hurried and longing for some time to disconnect and set responsibilities aside. But the lesson his Grandpa taught him was to savor these moments--scoop them up, make sure to enjoy every last speck, as the yolk he scoops up with the decadent bacon. His irreverence for church isn't so much disrespect for religion as it is a joi de vivre, a basic gratitude for the fullness and simple pleasure of the smallest details of life.
Brian opened the cellar door and the stench of stagnant air rushed out and surrounded him, choking his throat and blurring his eyes. Peering into the subterranean expanse, he discerned little, narrow windows filtered only trace amounts of light into the cellar.
Right from the beginning, you did a beautiful job of expressing the metaphor of the basement as Brian's life, stifling and allowing only a little light to dispel the darkness stealing his happiness. He ventures down into the cellar only because his wife has asked him to, and the obligation only adds to the weight of his burden.
the sand which always managed to creep in between his fourth and fifth toes and was impossible to get out without spreading them wide and wiping the webbed skin with the side of his finger.
I love this line, and had to laugh when I read it. I'll plead guilty to getting irritated over small things like this when I should be enjoying myself. The detail, the commonality of annoyances like this, really helps the reader relate to Brian as a living, breathing person.
“Livin’ even one day a yer life tryin’ not’ta die, means ya awready have.”
Amen, and beautifully said!
There were only a couple of really tiny typos I spotted:
Misery piled upon misery; spiders being the only thing he hated more than sand between his toes.
I think I might say "spiders were the only thing he hated more than sand between his toes." I do realize, though, that the way you've worded it is a common Southern colloquialism. Maybe that was your intent--if it was, then please disregard this comment.
Drops of grease popped from the pan landing on Brian’s arm and stinging him like angry fire ants.
Lovely wording, and I really like the comparison of the grease burns to fire ants--that's spot on! I just recommend a comma after "pan."
This was a beautiful, sepia-toned story, with a lesson for everyone. Your characters are vivid and endearing, and you've captured a poignant moment with grace and real affection. Thank you for sharing, and I look eagerly forward to reading more of your work!
Joshua,
I agree with the other critiques. I'd go a bit further to say eliminate all of the following:
When was the last time I played anything with my kids? Brian wondered, but he couldn’t remember. He knew it had been a long, long time though. Ten years after I’m dead, will they still get tears in their eyes thinking about me? I don’t think so, but it doesn’t have to be this way, he thought, and from now on it won’t be.
I don' think you need it. The change in behavior is enough to show the thought process. Keep up the good work!
Warmest Regards,
B
I really enjoyed this story.
The plot was very believable. How many times have we walked into a basement, or climbed into an attic and been struck with memories brought on by forgotten objects? I would have liked to see a resolution between Brian and Melissa. She may not have been aware of Brian's ire, but I certainly was. While you get the idea that Brian has come to terms with missing the golf tournament, I think the story would benefit from saying something to the effect of, "this was a good idea" to Melissa for making him join her and the boys at the beach. Even if it was Grandad that made him see the light.
The pace of the story was very good. The story never trudged along or attempted to get ahead of itself.
The descriptions were very good, especially Brian's first views of the basement.
Obviously, Grandad is the real star of the show here, and rightfully so. You defintely captured the wisdom that most Grandads seem to posess. The accent you provided for him, along with the breakfast he insisted upon having, went a long way toward defining the character.
You did really good job of capturing the rhythm of dialogue. Grandad's country accent was believable and added a deeper element to the story. That's an excellent use of dialogue for building a story, it gave us a hint about Grandad's background and made the dialogue seem more realistic.
Grammar, spelling, punctuation, etc. was all outstanding as best as I could tell. I didn't notice and obvious errors anywhere, though I would recommend reading the story aloud. You always catch something you missed when you read aloud.
Overall, I really enjoyed the story. It was a fun read with a bit of a moral to it, and a terriffic character to relay the message. It was a little like getting advice from my own Grandad.
You brought tears to my eyes which is hard to do! I enjoyed this story immensely. Although, I did have somewhat of a hard time in the beginning with the pacing but nothing too drastic. Maybe I just hadn't had enough coffee in me yet. *chuckles*
The plot was believable and easy to follow once I got into it. Like I said before the first three paragraphs took a few seconds to sink in; just a little choppy - the transition from hating the beach and wanting to play golf is what I am speaking of...BUT...I did get it.
I thought the pacing was perfect. You kept my attention.
OH the description! LOVED IT. I wouldn't change a thing. Brilliant.
Point of view was consistent and I am learning a lot about viewpoints. Viewpoints is something I do not have a grasp on just yet in my own writing so reading someone else's is very helpful.
Oh I loved the characters. I was a little put off by your main character, Brian, but I think that was the point in the beginning. But the grandad! LOVED HIM and I loved your dialect that you gave him. Very believable. I live in the south and you were spot on. I love it when writers get it right and believable. The dialect (his accent) was superb. Is dialect the correct word for what I am talking about? The way the grandad talked.
Dialog was great. I loved when the grandad said,
“Livin’ even one day a yer life tryin’ not’ta die, means ya awready have.”
I didn't see anything that reached out and grabbed me as obscene as far as grammar and spelling go. I was too much into the story!
I'd definitely like to see more of this story and characters. I'd like to see a little more in the beginning, giving us more background into Brian's family; the wife and kids. What does he doe for a living? How long have they been married? Overall, the story was great and I enjoyed it.
Well, it seems as though everyone has bruised hands from applauding this lovely little story!
And I can see why.
You have managed to squeeze out the extraneous pits from the sweet juice and pour us a delightful drink!
This is the kink of stories people search for to read and authors strive to write.
I stand in ovation, and shout "Author!"
Hoping for a new dream to be revealed. . .
This is the nicest thing I've read in a long time.
I did not stutter anywhere, do to a pacing, a dialogue, a plot, the POV, grammar or spelling issue!
It reads very smooth just as it is, with the believable characters of Brian and Grandad.
And Grandad's dialect adds a nice touch of realness, along with the conversation at breakfast.
This is a perfect little story. I luvved it! And I will seek out some more of your work in the future.
Thank you for sharing this with all of us. 
~Kirsten
AAAAGGGHHH!!! RUN BOYS! YOUR DAD'S GOT A SCREWY NOTION OF AN ACTIVITY...Naw, I'm just kidding. I actually enjoyed the story very much. I think that's just my off the wall childhood humor coming back.
First I want to say that I could see every moment throughout the story. I saw the basement and the toolbox. I could sense the wife and kids upstairs. I could feel the frustration of not wanting to go to the beach and I liked how it was a similar feeling for Brian when he didn't want to go to church that sunday so long ago.
I thought the story was full and well rounded. It took me for a ride that I enjoyed
very well paced
Grandad was a very real character for me. I was impressed by how he came to life through his speech patterns. I thought that was extremely well done. I could actually hear Grandad speaking and felt like I could even see his facial expressions as he spoke.
The dialogue was impressive.
I didn't think there was a need for these lines....because I felt like that these thoughts and emotions were implied through the story and his initial disgust of having to spend time with his family. Leaving it out might allow the reader to determine for themselves what Brian does in the future. Just a thought.