As a kid, I got a kick out of Nanny reprimanding Papa whenever he got too mischievous. He'd do or say something out of line and she'd scold him and reel him back in. It wasn't until recently that I discovered that a lot of those times were just an act. Mom pulled back the curtains and revealed that Nanny would find reasons to scold him because she noticed how amused my brother and I would get every time he got in trouble with her. Although it was at his expense, Papa was a good sport about it. I imagine he played along for our sake.

It was like having a free, front row seat to a two-man improv comedy show. Papa would play the funny man, grappling with flimsy excuses to justify his behavior. Nanny would play the straight man or rather, woman, combating him with sound reasoning and ultimately putting him in his place. Together, they worked as a team in order to make my brother and I laugh.

This was just one of the many ways they made us happy.

As much as I enjoyed playing Rummikub, my favorite game to play with my grandparents was Uno. If it was a nice day out, we'd play out in the sunroom. If not, we'd play in the kitchen. Whenever it rained at the community pool, we'd play at a plastic table underneath an awning as a means of passing the time until the storm passed.

Both of them cut, shuffled, and dealt the cards with the finesse of professional card dealers.

Whenever Papa put down the first card or changed the color, he said a catchphrase for each one. For blue, he'd sing, "The sky is blue. How old are you?" For green, he'd say, "Green-go." For red, he'd say, "Red dead." And for yellow, he'd say, "Mellow yellow."

Nanny and Papa both had a different approach to playing the game with my older brother and I. Nanny went easy on us. She didn't have it in her to use any of the Draw Two or Draw Four cards against us. Papa, on the other hand, didn't have such qualms. He showed us no mercy. He'd slap those cards down onto the pile with a flourish and gave a mischievous chuckle as we drew two or four cards from the deck.

The more I played the game, the more I followed his lead. After winning a lot of games, he dubbed me the Uno Queen.

What can I say? I learned from the best.

In loving memory of my grandparents, Nanny and Papa.

Originally, this was going to be one long post, but after giving it some thought, I've decided that it'd be best to break everything down into smaller parts. That way, I don't get overwhelmed and lose focus. There's a lot I want to say about my grandparents and there are so many memories that I've made with them. I feel like the most productive approach to this would be to share my memories of them piece by piece, in a much more organized, focused manner.

With that said, I want to preface all of this by establishing my grandparents in the family tree as well as my relationship with them.

Their names are Dorothy and Joe. They're the parents of three children. My uncle Joey, named after Papa, is the oldest. My late aunt and godmother, Patricia, is the middle child. My mom is the youngest.

Ever since I was born, Nanny and Papa have been a huge, constant part of my life. There are plenty of pictures and videos of me with them as a baby, as a toddler, a prepubescent, and a teenager. Every summer, Mom would take my older brother Eric and I down to Florida to go visit them. At first, we'd stay with them for a week. That week became several before we finally settled on spending a month with them.

These summer vacations were the highlight of my childhood. We did so much together. We played games, two of the main ones being Uno and Rummikub. We lounged at the community pool. Whenever we had it to ourselves, we'd jump into the water and race each other on inflatable tubes. Papa would buy us week-long passes to theme parks. Nanny and Papa even took us on some cruises.

Throughout the years, we've made many memories together. Sure, I've had some rough patches with them, but those were very few and far between. I've had so much fun with them. We've shared many laughs and smiles. They've given me so much love and joy. They opened up the world to me and gave me an annual escape from my daily struggles. I'll always be grateful to them for everything aforementioned.

Now, I'm going to take a bunch of trips down memory lane. If this piques your interest somehow, you're more than welcome to join me. I'll do my best to allow you glimpses into my life with them. I'll paint small pictures so that you'll get a sense of the bigger picture. I do hope you enjoy this passion project of mine. Thank you for reading.

On any other day, Emma Sheldon would be rushing out the door, but one look outside gave her pause. A thick fog covered the parking lot, obscuring everything else from view. It was eerie, haunting, the perfect cover for creeps and predators. On more than one occasion, she had been catcalled and honked at by adult men back when she had been underage. Even her creepy old neighbor, Mr. Klossner had eyed her, damn near abducted her one time, but she didn't want to think about that.

She rummaged through her purse for her keys. They clinked and clanked together against all of her keychains as she sought and grabbed ahold of her pepper spray. She pocketed it in her light Autumn jacket, digging both of her hands into her pockets. Her shoulders tensed as she broke into a stiff stride, passing through the automatic doors.

The cold air felt refreshing against her warm face. Although she had been working at this Best Buy since the beginning of summer, she still found herself getting flustered by her managers and customers. Granted, she was fresh out of high school and this was her very first job. That didn't make it any less embarrassing.

Emma had broken out into a nervous sweat and now her shirt clung uncomfortably to her armpits. She couldn't wait to go home, wash off all of this flith, and change into some comfortable clothes.

With a watchful eye, she navigated throught the parking lot, wary of cars and strangers alike. She reached the sidewalk on the other side and then crossed the wide stretch of street towards the bus stop where a few people were already gathered.

There were two women. One looked around her age. Tall, slim, pretty. She had long, dark hair and wore light makeup. She held and scrolled through her bedazzled phone with bright blue nails. The other was short, stout, middle-aged. She had short, curly dark hair and wore heavy makeup. Both were in uniforms, just like her, but she couldn't tell where they worked. Their jackets covered their shirts.

Then, there was the elderly man beside them. He was short, but big. Was that her neighbor, Mr. Klossner? She felt a jolt of panic and averted her gaze. What was he doing here? He hardly left his house.

The last time she saw him was back in middle school. He had been waiting for his granddaughter, her classmate Marianne, at the bus stop on the corner of her block, the same way he did when they were in grade school. From Emma's seat on the bus, he'd be the first person she spotted among the parents and guardians. He stood in front of the crowd. He wasn't tall. He was one of the shortest grown-ups there, but he was big, stocky. He had big, hairy arms and a big, beer gut.

Whenever Emma made her way off the bus, she'd meet his eye and he'd stare back at her with blank, blue eyes. That cold, dead look never failed in making her uncomfortable. Just thinking about it gave her the creeps.

As she had stepped off the bus and onto the grass, she'd scrunch her nose at the strong smell of cigarette smoke clinging to him. She'd scurry onto the sidewalk, past him and towards her mom, who'd take her by the hand and lead her back home. All the while, she felt his eyes on her.

Was he really here right now? Emma snuck a peek at him to see him looking back at her. She startled, but she was quick to recover when she didn't see those cold, dead blue eyes staring back at her. This elderly man's eyes were warm, hazel. They creased at the corners as he gave her a friendly smile. It wasn't Mr. Klossner, after all. Her shoulders sagged in relief. She managed a small smile in return.

If she was still on the floor and he was a customer, Emma would've given him her best customer service smile, asked him how he was doing, and if there was anything she could help him with, despite feeling less than capable. But she wasn't. She was done for the day. She had a headache. She was tired, hungry. She just wanted to go home.

The bus turned onto the street and pulled over. She stood back as the two women and elderly man approached the door, allowing them to board first before she quickly followed after them.

A tall guy seated in the front rose to his feet so that the elderly man could sit down. The elderly man thanked the guy as he lowered himself down onto the seat. The guy himself squeezed through the cluster of people in the front, making his way to the back. Emma paid her toll and did the same, murmuring "excuse me" a few times before she found a spot by the back door. She held onto a yellow pole to keep herself steady so that she didn't bump into anybody.

There wasn't really a need to do so, not when the bus moved at a snail's pace, caught in rush hour traffic. She noticed an empty Snapple bottle rolling back and forth underneath the seats. Every time it rolled into a corner or wall, it made a sharp, loud clank, which made her cringe. She grew anxious, fearing that it might break with enough force and shatter at everyone's feet. It was a hazard in plain sight. No one seemed the least bit concerned about it, too busy talking to their friends, listening to music, or texting on their phones.

Emma wished she remembered her own headphones so that she could listen to her Spotify, drown out all of the chatter and that sharp, loud clank.

As she gazed out of the window, her mind drifted back to a foggy day, just like this one, back when she was in grade school.

Marianne was absent that day, but Mr. Klossner still showed up at the bus stop.

Emma's mom was nowhere in sight. Maybe she was in the bathroom or something. Whatever. It wasn't like her house was that far away. It was just across the street. She could get home by herself.

She did her best to ignore those cold, dead eyes and the strong smell of smoke that hit her when she stepped off the bus. She was about to walk the short distance home when he lunged forward and snatched her hand.

"Come on, sweetheart." He urged, gently. His voice was deep, gravelly. "Your mom told me to take you home."

It happened so fast. He took her off guard. Weird as it was, she was just a child at the time. She was too naive. She took everything at face value. She figured that this was just the way Mr. Klossner was.

She remembered the leathery feel of his hand and just how strong his grip was. She couldn't pull away, even if she wanted to. She had yet to find her voice so she didn't even think to scream, not until years later. He took long strides and she struggled to keep up as he pulled her across the steet.

Their neighborhood had semi-detached houses. He lived in the second house, right door. She lived in the fourth, left door.

Mom emerged from the house, hurried down the stoop, and jogged over to them. "Henry," she addressed him, slightly winded. She was tall and skinny, but she carried a lot of weight in her stomach. Mom was subconscious about it, but she hid it well underneath her black top and jeans. "What are you doing with Emma?"

"Emma?" Mr. Klossner echoed, confused. He squinted at her, then plucked a pair of glasses from his breast pocket, sliding them onto his face. His eyes widened and he jerked his hand away. "Oh!" He exclaimed once he realized. "Emma, it IS you." He turned to address Mom. "I must apologize. I should've put these on sooner." He tapped the bridge of his glasses with a self-deprecating chuckle. "My eyes don't work like they used to. Looks like I mistook Emma here for my granddaughter, Marianne. Without any glasses on, they look alike. They're about the same size and they both have long, blonde hair and blue eyes. They're such beautiful girls."

Emma didn't like how Mr. Glossner grinned at her, then. She hid behind her mom's leg.

Mr. Glossner chuckled, amused. "Timid, is she?"

"Yeah." Mom agreed, goodnaturedly. She always saw the best in people, even when they were waving red flags in her face. She laid a hand on Emma's shoulder. "She's like this with everyone."

"Marianne is the same way," he replied.

"Speaking of," Mom segued, looking around. "Where is Marianne?"

"She wasn't in school today," Emma piped up.

"That's right!" Mr. Klossner exclaimed, as if he just remembered. "She was out sick today. Poor thing is in bed with a fever. Silly me." He gave his forehead a light smack. "My mind must be going if I can't remember that much."

Mom frowned. "I hope not," she sympathsized.

"Yeah, me too," he responded with a worried frown. Just as fast, he mustered a smile. "Well, I better get back to her. It was nice seeing you ladies."

"Nice to see you, too, Henry." Mom returned the sentiment. "Hope Marianne feels better soon."

"Don't you worry now. I'll take good care of her."

With that, Mr. Klossner climbed the steps, fumbled with his keys, and turned it in the lock, opening and disappearing behind the closed door.

Mom made sure he got in okay before she finally took Emma by the hand and led her back home.

Emma squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, slightly. Stupid anxiety. The last thing she wanted to do was think, obsess about this. It was just one incident. Nothing happened. He didn't do anything to her. He was just a creep. One who used to stare at her all of the time. One who lived rent-free in her head way more than he should.

He wasn't here. He wasn't going to be waiting at her stop, staring at her with those dead, cold blue eyes. He was in his house, all alone, probably drinking all of his sorrows away.

She was okay. Well, she wasn't okay-okay, but she was fine. She was going to be okay.

On the way back, the bus emptied little by little until it was just her and a couple of others. The bus driver took this chance to pick up the bottle and threw it in a trash can at one stop. At this point, she had taken a single seat by the back door. It didn't feel nearly as claustrophobic and she was glad she didn't have to hear that clanking noise again. She could breathe a bit easier.

It felt like forever before the bus finally reached her stop. Just as she thought, Mr. Klossner wasn't there. She sighed in relief.

She pushed open the back doors and stepped onto the sidewalk, dragging her feet towards her block. As she turned the corner, she saw the flashing red lights and cop car in the distance. Was that by her house?

Emma quickened her step. There were more neighbors closer to the scene. Some were on their stoop. Others stood in front of their driveway. Her tall, big, muscly dad was one such person. Dad was across the street, speaking with their neighbor, his close friend Tony, who looked small beside him. He appeared to be engrossed in a serious conversation. Emma didn't have it in her to interrupt.

"He was such a quiet man," she heard one of the neighbors say. "I thought he was just shy, reserved. He never came out of his house. I knew he had issues, but nothing like this..."

Emma looked both ways before crossing the street, spotting her mom looking outside through the screen door window. When she reached the other side, Emma followed her gaze and saw him. His back was to her, but Emma knew it was him. Mr. Klossner. He was handcuffed. A police officer was detaining him, pushing his white head of hair down as he ducked and settled into the back of the squad car.

This didn't surprise her. Emma knew he was a creep. She didn't know to what extent, though. Not until her parents broke the news to her later that evening.

Turned out Tony was friends with Mr. Klossner's son, Marianne's dad, who filled him in on what happened. Tony relayed what was told to him to Dad.

That night, Emma laid wide awake underneath the covers, staring at the ceiling. She couldn't believe it. She was in shock. All of this time, Mr. Klossner had been molesting, raping his own granddaughter.

He only got caught because Marianne returned home that morning with a black eye and swollen cheek. It took some prodding, but her parents managed to get an answer out of her. Marianne broke down and told them about all of the abuse she suffered at the hands of her own grandfather. Mr. Klossner had threatened her into silence, told her that he'd kill her if she spoke up. He isolated her, kept her for days, even weeks at a time. He had convinced her that she was nothing but a burden to her parents, that nobody would care about or love her as much as he did.

Both of her parents worked. One of them could drop her off at school, but they couldn't pick her up or watch her in the afternoon. Sometimes they worked overtime so they couldn't get to her until later in the evening. Mr. Klossner had offered to watch and take care of her. He fooled her parents into thinking that they were close. Even as she got older, Marianne still went to go see him.

Emma felt sick. She turned onto her side and curled up into a ball, hugging her stomach.

She remembered seeing Marianne in school. Like her, Marianne was always alone, separated from the crowd. She'd sit by herself at lunch and outside during recess. Even at a distance, Emma felt a kinship with her. Emma would feel the urge to approach her and talk to her sometimes. But Emma had no idea what to say. Just walk up to her, say hi, how are you? It seemed so random, so weird to do that out of nowhere when they had been in the same class for so long. Emma had been so stuck in her head back then. She still was at times. While she struggled with her own anxiety and insecurities, Marianne had suffered in silence all by herself.

Emma couldn't help but wonder. If she had mustered up the courage, would Emma have helped Marianne feel any less alone? Would Emma have been able to be a friend to her, someone she could lean on and confide in? Maybe Emma would've been able to help her break free from the abuse much sooner.

Maybe that was arrogant of her. She had only been a child herself. What could she have possibly done? She didn't do anything when Mr. Klossner had taken her by the hand and dragged her off. If Mom hadn't shown up when she did, Emma doubted he would've taken her home. Mr. Klossner had looked at her so often, he could've very well been targetting her. If Mom hadn't shown up, Emma could've become his victim, too.

Her stomach churned and she covered her mouth as tears stung her eyes.

These thoughts spun around and around in her head all night long and into the early hours of the morning.

The reality of the situation, the fact that it happened so close to home, made her that much more afraid of the world.

Amy unfolds the note, revealing big, bubbly handwriting.

'Prom? Y/N'

She smiles and scribbles down her answer.

"Amy," Ms. Peters calls.

She jumps.

"Would you care to share with the rest of the class?"

"Yes." Slowly, she stands and faces her girlfriend, who sits across the room. "I'll go to prom with you."

His parents' eyes are on him.

His heartrate spikes. His thoughts race, his gaze downcast. Sweaty palms are clasped together on his lap. Fingers fidget.

Face them or hide. Put on an act. Deny himself. Hurt alone. His vision waters. He's fifteen, but he's done this since he was seven. He can't take it anymore.

"I-I'm gay," he confesses.

Mom scoots on the couch to his side. "We know," she soothes.

"It's okay," Dad assures, moving to sit beside him.

Built-up tension leaves him. He cries, hard.

His parents embrace him.

His head hurts, but he feels lighter, more free.

Hello, everyone! Hope you're all well. While I do plan on finishing and posting an entry for the current Challenge of the Week, I also plan on writing a piece dedicated to my grandpa. He passed away at the end of last week. I think writing about him will help me through the grieving process. I'm still very much in the denial stage. His health had deteriorated so quickly. His wake will be held tomorrow and his funeral the day after. I think the next two days will be challenging for me, but I'm going to do my best to grieve and cope in healthy ways that'll be a benefit to me as opposed to relying on unhealthy coping mechanisms, like self-harm. So I won't be too active this week, but I intend on being more active next week. Thank you for taking the time to read this. I appreciate this community and I want very much to continue being apart of it. Can't wait to read more of your work! Be well. Happy writing!

I took the dog. Yeah, that's right. I dognapped Bear. Tied him up, muzzled him, threw him into the back of my Jeep and as you're reading this, I'm holding him captive in a cabin in the woods that's smack dab in the middle of nowhere. If you want him (and all of his belongings) to be returned safely, leave a duffle bag or several (however many it takes) containing one billion dollars in cash to the specified address. Nah, I'm just joshin' ya. You seriously didn't think that I dognapped Bear, did you? He's named Bear for a reason. For those of you who are unaware (all two of you), Bear is a 150 pound Saint Bernard. He's not going anywhere unless he wants to. As for the money, I know that we're well off, but we're not THAT well off. I hope you didn't call the cops. Please, don't call the cops. This isn't me being reckless or spontaneous, either. If it was, I wouldn't have involved Bear in any way. So, there's no need to send a search party out for me. And yes, Mom, I remembered my meds. I'll be having phone sessions with my therapist and psychiatrist for the next year and I'll make sure Dr. Brooks sends the prescription for my medication to whatever pharmacy is closest to our place up in the Catskills. Yes, that's where we'll be for the next year. It's not in the middle of nowhere so you don't need to worry, although you'll probably worry anyway. That's just the way you guys are and that's fine and all, but I just had to get away. There's this idea for a book that I've had for the longest time. I just haven't gotten around to it because of all of the distractions at home: TV, video games (As much as I love playing CoD with you bros, it's become an addiction and I need to step away from it for a while. Here's to hoping we'll still be best buds next year so that we could play more and I could play less. A hell of a lot less.), the internet, my parents. No offense. You guys have a tendency to hover and I get why you do it, but to be honest, it's kind of annoying and as implied, it's really distracting, too. I need my own space to focus and give this story the attention it needs. (As an aside, this will be good practice for me. This will give me more of a sense of what it's like to live on my own, so I'll be better prepared for the day when I finally move out.) This story will be about a kid and his dog. Sound familiar? What sets our old dog, Max, and I apart from the main character and his dog is that they solve a series of murders by communicating with the spirits of those who have been murdered. Dark, I know, but I think the subject matter suits the main character's struggles with mental illness, if that makes sense. As you might have already guessed, the main character will struggle with his bipolar depression, same as me. The dog is there as emotional support and a protector of sorts, like Max was to me growing up and how Bear is with me now. I think spending time in the mountains with Bear will serve as a great source of inspiration for me. I hope you all will understand. I wish you all the best. See you next May.

From Your Boys,

Aaron and Bear

PS. In the event of an emergency, please don't hesitate to call. If not, and I say this in the nicest way possible, leave me alone.

(This is for my own best friend for life and my first fan. I love you, Dan. <3)

It's the Spring of Brooke's last year of high school. It's a nice day out. Not too hot, not too cold. The sun is high in the sky. There's not a cloud to be seen.

Brooke spends her lunch break out on the quad with her best friend, Skye, who sits by her side on a bench. Skye has such good vibes. She's bright and full of joy, much like a dog.

She has a short bob of blonde hair and bangs. Her eyes are a light blue, like the sky. Hence her name. She has a cute gold star look that day. Two are in her ears. One hangs off her neck. More shoot through the dark blue night sky on her shirt. She wears a jean skirt, black tights with half moons and blue flats to match.

Next to Skye, Brooke feels like such a slob in her PINK sweats and white tank top. Her long black hair is tied up in a bun that is a huge mess on top of her head. It looks like a rat's nest. Skye is not one to judge, though.

Brooke's crush, Jay, is the same as Skye in that way. He stands with a group of his friends on the other side of the quad. Jay is on the tall side. He has short, brown hair and light brown eyes. He has a cool look of his own. He wears a black and white skull tee. His black jeans are ripped, his black boots worn. At a glance, he may look cold, but that is just a front to keep those who might pick on him at bay. When Brooke got to know him, she saw that he was a warm, kind guy.

"So," Brooke starts. She drags out the O. Her gaze drifts from Jay back to Skye. "I think I will tell him how I feel."

"Yay!" Skye cheers. She hops in her seat and claps her hands.

"And then, I will ask him if he wants to go to prom with me." Brooke says.

"That's great!" Skye says. "You two would make such a cute pair."

"You think so?" Brookes asks, her face warm with a blush.

"I know so." Skye grins. "I thought of a good ship name for you guys: Bay. You know, like a sea bay, 'cept you will be his bae and he will be your bae. Get it?"

Brooke laughs and nods. "I got it, Skye." She eyes Jay. "You think I should tell him now?"

Skye shrugs. "If you want."

Brooke stands. "I think I will."

"Sweet! Go for it, girl. I will be right here."

If she knew she would do this, Brooke would have worn her hair down. She would have worn that cute jean dress she wore last week. "Nice dress," Jay told her then. "Looks good on you." But it was too late for that. She does not have to tell him now, but she wants to. Prom is at the end of the month and if he does say yes, she wants his suit to match her dress.

Brooke takes the tie out of her hair. She combs her hands through the knots and mess and then ties her hair back in a neat tail. "Does this look good?" she asks. "Do I look good?"

"You look great, Brooke." Skye rolls her eyes. "Now go get 'im." Skye gives her a light push, not to shove, but to coax.

Brooke takes a deep breath in, then a deep breath out. "Here I go." With her heart in her throat, Brooke walks to him. His back is to her. "Hey, Jay," she greets.

Jay turns to her.

Her heart twirls with joy.

"Hey, Brooke," he greets in his deep, smooth voice. "What's up?"

"Is it cool if I talk to you for a sec?" she asks, then eyes his friends. "Just you?"

"Sure," he says. "Be right back, guys." He waves a hand at them.

Some wave back. Some nod.

Brooke leads him off to the side.

"So, what did you want to say?" he asks.

Brooke can't quite meet his eye. She wrings her hands. "Well, I, uh..." When did her throat get so dry? She gulps. "I know it might not be your thing, so feel free to say no, but I just thought I would ask...I mean, prom is soon and...I like you, Jay. Like, I like like you. Would you like to go to prom with me?"

"Oh," he says.

That is not a good 'oh'. Brooke's heart drops. She looks at him at last. He frowns. His eyes are wide. He shifts from his right foot to his left and back once more. His right hand rubs his neck. The thumb of his left is hooked through one of his belt loops.

"Look, Brooke," he starts. "I think you're cool and all, but I don't think of you that way." Her heart breaks. Her eyes fill with tears. She blinks them back. "I just see you as a friend. I hope we could still be, you know, friends." He laughs. The sound is full of nerves. "My bad. I'm so cringe."

Brooke does not know what to say. Her mind is blank.

The bell rings.

She jumps.

"I will text you," Jay tells her, then jogs to meet up with his friends.

Skye sees this and skips to her side. "How did it go?"

Brooke cries.

"Oh, Brooke." Skye frowns and moves to hug her. Brooke hugs her back. "I feel so bad. I should not have pushed you to tell him."

Brooke shakes her head. "Don't feel bad," she says through her tears. "I told him for me. It's not like you made me tell him."

"I know, but still..." Skye trails off, but rubs Brooke's back.

They're late for their next class.

Jay texts her when she gets home. Skye is with her. They go to her room and Brooke works it out with Jay through text. Skye helps her through her tears.

'do u think we could still be friends?' he asks once more.

As much as it hurts, Brooke knows that it would hurt that much more if he was not in her life at all. So, she texts back, 'yeah.'

'cool c u @ school.'

Jay turns her down in a soft, kind way. It still hurts, though.

Skye is there to hug her once more. She stays to eat. They watch a fun chick flick when they're done. They eat ice cream. They laugh and joke and get brain freeze.

When it's time for Skye to leave, Brooke hugs her and says. "Thank you. You cheered me up big time."

"You don't need to thank me," Skye says. "That's what friends are for."

"Best friends," Brooke adds.

"For life," Skye says.

This will not be the first time a guy turns Brooke down. She will date young men in the next stage of her life. They will come and go. But through it all, Brooke knows that Skye will stay. Skye will be there for her. Brooke will be there for her, too. That is what it means to be best friends for life.