A H.E.R.O.S PROJECT 12

3. Bully

We arrive at Grandpa's two-story house surrounded by old oak, pine, and redwood trees. I would love to see Grandpa's place featured in one of those fancy home magazines. Mom uses it as decoration on her coffee table. Grandpa is big on upgrading his home, obsessed with buying the latest home security systems and décor to capture that new modern rusted iron, brass, and dark home look. Black barnyard doors, one that opens to the kitchen and the other to the garage attached to the house. A tinted glass pivot front door. Hand-picked white and black stones surround the polished pine porch that flows to a black gate that circles his place. The bottom half of his house is all long tinted windows. Light wood panels plate the upper half; windows lined in black accentuate each room upstairs gorgeously. A work of art that will never meet Grandpa's standards. But, Grandpa's house is beautiful. Sadly, there are no nearby neighbors or visitors to appreciate his home as much as I do.

Grandpa proudly guards his home. A tall and thick black metal gate protects what's his. This same gate and chicken barb wire are vastly utilized on his property, surrounding the over forty acres of woods he owns. This property was an inheritance gift from his mother, her mother, and so on. My property to be, once Grandpa is gone, Grandpa told me. He said this land would be my responsibility and all that came with it. He's so dramatic.

Grandpa lounges outside on his porch, entranced in a book bound in shiny black leather he's reading, his best friend Lou, a not-so-friendly golden retriever with sad eyes, at his side. His massive head rises as Mom's car goes through the open gate that closes once she's inside. Grandpa stands, blocking the six-foot-six door behind him, smiling and waving. That's how tall he is.

Lou notices us as well and barks, testing her vocals for Richie.

Which Lou always does.

Grandpa Solomon has short, thick snowy hair, tan skin, and bright blue eyes. And he's a little edgy, which I like because he has these incredible red, blue, and yellow military tattoos on his arms and chest. Grandpa got them in the military, and each tattoo represents a mission he won't let himself forget. There's a tattoo "I LOVE MY MOM" stamped on his arm, a caduceus on his right breast, a Japanese tiger on his back, phrases in Greek on his arms and legs, Mnemosyne astrology symbol on the right side of his neck, crows and flowers over his heart. Then there's his southern drawl that seeps out when Grandpa talks for too long. Grandpa was born in California, so I'm not sure why he has a southern accent. I asked Grandpa about it, and he said he got it from his mother's side of the family. That doesn't make any sense, but whatever.

Running to my door before Mom parks, "My little Anaya!" Grandpa unbuckles my seatbelt and yanks me out. He crushes me in an unbreakable hug, cracking my back and neck. I forget how strong he is sometimes. "Look at you! Have you grown?"

I smell him, noting the sweet lemonade tang on his breath. So he has been good. He'd been sober for a year, but now and again, I check to make sure he kept his promise.

"Grandpa, you saw me two days ago." Literally. He sat front row at my track meet, yelling at the opposing team's coach. My teammate told me my old man threatened somebody's mom after the accident. He ignited the brawl.

"I know, I know, it's just every time I see you, you're taller. You get that from my side of the family, you know," I'm reminded. Everything good I get from his side of the family, a family I've never met. Grandpa says we have relatives scattered to the four winds. He says he knows them when he meets them.

"How's the leg, kid? Can you move it or anything?" Grandpa roughly taps my walking boot. His taps are merciless, squeezing my big toe, and I almost lose it, but I know better than to tell him to stop. I can't show any signs of weakness in front of him. So I bite my lip to keep from squealing like a little girl, shrugging like I don't feel anything. As Grandpa Solomon told me, "Us Matthews don't cry, so you better tell them, people, those tears are sweat, and you got a bad cough."