Writer Wednesday 1.15

My grandpa called me a wordsmith as I grew up. And recently, someone said that and it reminded me of that moment felt infinite with him. I was proud and honored and loved. Recently, I decided to write my grandpa's story. Here's a first draft excerpt. Any and all critiques would be much appreciated!

He sat there, his chair pushed back from the table, still able to reach his steaming cup of black coffee in the cardboard cup. The cup he had been carrying around since yesterday. Why waste another cup if this one was still good. He still had remnants of whiskey in the bottom, so each sip was a little extra kick that morning. Not enough to get bad, but enough to cut the edge.

No one can remember how these meetings started, not for lack of trying though. They just appeared once. A group of retired men, meeting in the early hours of the morning, papers folded to the Sports Section, or half started crossword puzzles. They all took turns as they charmed the baristas, asking for some outrageous drink and then settling for black coffee, the thing they wanted all along.

Always four of them, never more, never less, they were a selective group. They didn’t really care though. They enjoyed the company. Wrinkles may have been added from year to year, but only because of the laughter. And the same stories told week after week, but that was ok, they enjoyed them anyways. One man always stuck out from them though. When he stood, he was near four or five inches taller than the others. His eyes changed in the sunshine, and his smile rarely left, only when he was telling a really good tale and had to add it for effect. His clothes were normally tattered. His favorite brown cardigan, eaten with holes in the elbows, and a button dangerously close to losing its last string. Some weeks it would change though. He would wear his deep green Highlands golf jacket, with the embroidery over the left chest pocket. The deep pockets carrying the mound of change that may normally way down his standard khaki attire; he could buy coffee for weeks with that change. His shoes would no longer be scuffed, but his church shoes worn. He was going to see his grandkids that afternoon. Taking them to lunch, and hopefully a bucket of golf balls at their local driving range. He loved them so, leaving his home an hour before necessary, just to sneak a few extra minutes. His granddaughter was starting high school in the fall, and his grandson was still in his awkward stage, but he brought them books and lessons of time.

The guys always noticed those days, and he would tell the same stories he had before, and they smiled and laughed along with every funny moment, seeing the love twinkling in his eyes. They knew theirs sparkled just the same on other days.