58 59 THE CEDARVILLE REVIEW my hand, she sniffs it, begins to purr, and circles me just out of arm’s reach. It’s her version of jumping into my arms to welcome me. In another moment, Kirsten will see me through the windows on the long front porch. The moment after that, each of my siblings will jump out the front door and bounce towards me to give me hugs. Right now I can hear shrieks of laughter and Thaddeus’ booming voice through the open windows. I reach to stroke the purring cat and savor this moment, anticipating their joy and mine. As a kid, when we visited my dad’s parents, we always left with a lingering goodbye. Several hours used to pass between the moment my dad stood up from the couch to the moment he pulled out of the driveway. Leftovers must be split, duffels must be packed, toys must be stacked back on closet shelves. Another meal needs planned, a soda for the road needs found. As we walk out the door, there’s one more thing to tell Gramma and Grampa about. It’s as if we panic at the last second. After a day spent together with food and cards and crafts and movies, this is our chance to make sure they know that we enjoyed the company. Eventually my siblings and I would be squished between carseats in the back of our minivan, wiggling for elbow room. Mom would take off her shoes and roll down the passenger seat window to call “goodbye!” Behind us, Gramma and Grampa would stand in their open garage door. It’d be dark, too dark to see words on the pages of my book. We could hear crickets through Mom’s open window and smell night on the chilly air. At the end of the driveway Dad would glance up at the rearview mirror and honk, twice. When I craned my neck to look back, over the duffel bags and coolers piled high in the trunk, I would see Gramma and Grampa silhouetted against warm yellow light, waving, waving, calling goodbyes. Dad would wave once more at his parents’ reflection. Until they were out of sight, the silhouettes waved.
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