An Old Friend
Another trickle of sweat rolled down my neck. It was, yet again, another blistering day in Moosehorn, Manitoba. It was Bright and early Saturday morning ,but still it was hot. The sun was burning like a ball of fluorescent fire and the rays were cancerous reflecting off the earths surface. I turned my face from the sun in hope to shade the smoldering heat. As I approached the rotting stairs that lead to the vacant market an unfamiliar face appeared. I could not help but look into the weathered blue eyes of a petite old man. You could tell that he'd seen it all; The ins and outs of the world. The once eyebrows on his forehead had withered to nothing and disappeared into the folds of skin surrounding his eyes. His wrinkles were deep and aged. They folded like mountain ranges. He was sitting on an old rustic barrel with a rather large cigar in his mouth. I continued to walk closer to him. The closer I got the stronger the scent of smoke was. I could also smell a hint of peppermint. The smell made me smile. My own grandfather had smelled identical to the aroma in the air. I craved the scent since age eight. That was unfortunately the last time I'd seen my "Pa." I didn't even know if he was alive. I was surprised when his hand waved me to his spot. He pointed to the barrel beside him with his free hand. His hands were purple with veins and his nails were dirty like a farmers after a straining day of work. "My darlin you've turned into a beautiful lady," he announced, "but I guess its been 16 years after all." I looked up and stared deep into the mans face. "Pa?" I whispered.
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