Far away in the distance was a familiar barking. Not that this was a new town, for Mr. Walter Hide had just moved into his Grandmother’s house. She had passed away and left the house to his father who had rented it out for a while. Then his older brother John Hide inherited it. John and he were very close but John had gotten married and the thought of bringing his pretty little wife to live inside Grandmother’s house humiliated him. So, he left the furnishings and sold it to Walter for $10.00.
Walter breathed in satisfactorily of the old rose wallpaper in the dining room. Should he get rid of that? Indeed, he thought as he walked over to the cabinets to look for a frying pan, from a modernist’s perspective there may be a necessity of great renovation coming along. However, he looked around him in comfort, this is Grandmother’s house.
Walter pulled the frying pan across the stove grate and dabbled some oil on it. It was nine-o’clock at night. He cracked himself two eggs and watched them sizzle. As a boy he’d watch Grandmother herself make breakfast eggs in this very same iron skillet. Some things are best as they are, he thought. The egg whites popped in oil. He sprinkled on a little salt and a little pepper. Well, now he needed bread. He wasn’t about to bake a bunch of bread.
Walter turned off the stove, donned his leather coat and went out to buy some bread. Happenchance brought him to a little bagel stand outside the street. He ordered a bagel with cream-cheese and fried egg. It was hot and big in his hands. He got back in his car and drove past the dam to the mountain where he used to roam. It was still there. The night was still black and the stars were just as sparkling white, if not more. He parked his car and hiked to the summit boulder.
Looking out across the horizon of little houses and stores, Walter gulped down his first bite. It was hot! Yet the night mountain air was cool around him and he beathed it into the heat on his tongue. He chewed, swallowed, and took another bite as he sat on the big boulder looking out into the starry distance. Memories and tales of generations swam before his eyes. He swallowed, took his last bite and said, “I’ll take good care of it, Grandma…and Grandpa.”
Walter finished up his sandwich and scrunched up the ball of paper it’d come wrapped in. Mr. Walter Hide took off the mountain in a hurry, and drove off in his car. A proud new owner of a little home in Brookdale, Alabama, U.S.A had never felt a greater pride in ownership of property than Mr. Walter Hide. He understood that Grandmother’s house was a freedom treasure, a timeless prize that was not to be sold off for money but to be kept in his ownership as pricelessly as the diamond sky.