ASSIGNMENTS:
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Chen D.
Winnipeg, Manitoba CANADA
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REPORTS:
PREVIOUS NEXT
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in the summer of 2oo5, when i was barely fifteen, i would spend three or four days a week with my grandmother, my lola nenit.
we took slow walks around the neighbourhood, bought trinkets like lamps, pillows, candles and shawls at value village, and waded through piles and piles of books at garage sales. i made her tea and counted out the change that she could no longer see.
we would lie in her bedroom at my aunt's house, and let the audio book run on in the tape player. i buried myself in the dozens of pillows on her bed, and watched as the light on the ceiling changed. i would trace the lines on her face with my eyes as she lay there, listening to a novel by margaret laurence or robert ludlum. i never paid attention to a single word.
whenever i walked back to my own home, in the late summer afternoons, i could feel my heart swelling and breaking all at the same time. me and lola both read too many books. we knew too much about endings.
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