Italy '21

“Grandpa! Grandpa!”, the kids yelled in unison as they ran through the front door of the family house. Grandpa Milo was sitting in the same place he always was in: directly in front of the fireplace in the living room. He didn’t move an inch in his recliner at the sound of his name being called out, just stared at the open flame. This was his typical behavior as of recently ever since the news came out that a past friend of his had died a few weeks ago. Apparently, they were very close. 

“Have you talked to your father?” the son’s wife asked. 

“I tried but you know him, he’s as stubborn as ever. Doesn’t wanna talk about it. Says ‘I wouldn’t understand.’” the son replied. The son was obviously very hurt by that. “I mean, we talk about everything together,” he continued, “when mom died, who was always by his side? He was very open about that but for some reason, he won’t say anything about this. And clearly, his friend meant a lot to him.” 

“Maybe give some more space. He’ll come around eventually,” the wife reassured. “Yeah…sure,” the son sighed. 

The family had come over to clean out the attic; the only room that’s left before Grandpa leaves for a retirement home. The decision was made against his approval so Grandpa made certain that he would not help out in any way— not that he could anyhow. 

“Alright kids, to the attic!”, the son commanded. The two boys, as rowdy as ever, tackled their way up the stairs to the second floor, banging against every square inch of the aged house. Making it to where you ascend, the son pulls down the latch releasing a ladder. The steps ached

as the family pressed against them, but they were still up to the task that was about to be given to them. One by one, boxes were being passed down like an assembly line at a factory. From the father to mother, and then to the boys, from the attic to the second floor and then the living room, that is the order in which the task was being done. 

“These boxes are so dusty!”, the boy coughed. 

“They're so old!”, the other one shouted pointing to a small little box that had signs of weathering. It was about the size of a shoebox and there was a label on it that read ‘Italy ‘21’. That was fifty years ago from today and to a nine-year-old, that was ancient history. 

“Just put it downstairs and keep moving, please,” the mother requested. The boys followed swiftly, only moving the boxes that nine-year-olds can carry. One of the boys placed the ‘Italy ‘21’ on the coffee table behind Grandpa Milo and read the label out loud enough to get Grandpa's attention. He figured that this was something that Grandpa Milo would have an interest in. And he was right. Grandpa shifted a little in his chair. The son walked back up the stairs with a smirk feeling proud of what he had done. Grandpa Milo waited till he heard no more footsteps and turned around towards the coffee table. There he was met with the small little box. He hesitated before proceeding to grab it. He removed the label sealing the box closed and still there as he had put them years ago, were the pictures. The pictures of his time studying abroad, Italy ‘21. 

He stared at the photos. They were from a disposable camera that he had bought abroad. Some pictures had water markings on them, others were scratched, but most still held up— at least the important ones to Grandpa Milo did. The camera was in the box too and it still had his signature on it. Grandpa Milo ran his fingers across the name. THEO, it read. One picture had that signature on it too. Grandpa only took that photo out of the box.

There were two people in that photo, a younger Grandpa Milo and a young man that looked to be about the same age as him. That was Theo. They looked like they were on a beach somewhere off the coast of Italy. The sky was as clear as it can be and reflected the prominent blue color of the sea. The sand they were sitting on looked to be as soft and smooth as the finest silk. They were close together. They both were facing the camera but only Theo was looking directly at it. Milo was looking at Theo with smiles on both their faces. At the very bottom of the photo, you could see they were holding hands. 

Grandpa Milo studied Theo very intensely. He was a handsome man. Lean but muscular, tall with deep black hair, and beautiful golden coffee skin. The tattoo on his upper arm proudly displayed his Polynesian heritage. With the sun being so mighty that day, Theo’s smile in the photo was combined with an accompanying squint. 

“...very handsome indeed,” whispered Grandpa. 

Grandpa then observed himself. He chuckled a bit. Compared to Theo, Milo was a shrimp. Tall and skinny with soft bouncy brown curls. The smile on Milo’s face was far more passionate. It must have been what he was looking at that made him so happy. Grandpa Milo had a delicate smile on his face and placed the photo close to his heart. It's almost as if a memory that has been locked away has been brought to light again. Grandpa Milo closed his eyes and remained still. 

“What’s that?” one of the boys asked. He dropped off another box into the living room. Grandpa was startled. He quickly but carefully placed the photo back into the box and resealed the lid. He grabbed the box and sat it right next to him. 

“A photo,” Grandpa Milo answered, “of my time in Italy back in ‘21.”

About the Author

Jasmine Cubbage is a 3rd year majoring in Creative Writing and minoring in International Studies. She loves traveling and films, much of which is reflected in her writing. She mostly writes short novels and is always looking for inspiration, so if you have any book recommendations, let her know!