The Moons of Jupiter by Espen S.

After spending some time in Mexico, I felt the bitter feeling again. Not to my mother for once, but to my grandfather. He was the one that told me that mom did not love me anymore, that I always was the black sheep of the family. That I should not speak because of my dreadful voice. When I was a kid he was always making jokes about my voice. He told people that I had a voice from the dark side, and that probably my father was The Beast himself. I was crying until I had no more tears, then I started tearing up the buttons from my shirt. Mum was always complaining about the buttons. I did not tell. I chose to stay incommunicado. That was a sacrifice, but I had to.

I knew my grandfather was ill; he probably didn’t have much time left. I felt nothing other than relief. My sister Judith was my only friend. She and her husband will come to visit me soon here in Mexico. Mum doesn’t know. I told Judith to make up an excuse, to say that they were going on holiday or something like that. This is my holiday, and I choose who will be invited or not.

Judith said that I should come back with her, she would take me back to their house. I said nothing, stared at her for a sec and put up a grin. I put a record on and gave Judith and her husband a drink, took up my guitar and started playing and singing along.

“Ah, I just want to run away, I’m done with this, just take me back to your house, I’m lonely, I’m lonely, can I come home with you?”

He took up his harmonica and stated playing along as well. We all started dancing and talked for hours. The next morning I received a phone call. It was mum. She told me that grandpa had been under the knife, and he did not survive. She wasn’t crying and neither was I. I told her that I would come home for the funeral.

(In response to "The Moons of Jupiter" by Alice Munro.)