Links in the Chain

A short story about Love and Life as time progresses

When Max was born, Pa delighted in every moment. A bundle of joy. A first word. A first step. Memories that were etched in Pa’s heart. Before long, Max was a toddler, hiding peanuts behind his back with one hand so he could ask for more with the other. “More Pa!” he said.

Pa smiled at Max’s cleverness. “Sure, Max,” he said.

Then Max became a young boy. “Look how fast I can run!” Max said. His father delighted in his speed.

But Max got older. In a short time, he was a teenager.

“Look, Pa!” Max said. “Look at the tricks I can do with my bike.”

Max’s father smiled. “I remember when you were a little boy. You could barely run! Now look at you.”

Max tried another trick. “Check this out, Pa!”. Max did a spin and balanced, just for a moment, the bike on just on the tip of its front tire. “Whadya think of that?”

Pa thought about it for a minute. “I love it.” He said, “I remember when you were hiding peanuts behind your back. Now, look at you!”

“Pa. Why do you always bring that up?” Max’s face changed a little. “I was so little I don’t even remember that.”

“You’ll always be my little boy,” replied Pa. “Even when you’re a grown man.”

“Pa, those are like one-way memories. Only you remember them. It’s like they aren’t real” Max was a little miffed that Pa wasn’t in the present.

“You’ll see one day,” said Pa. Max wasn’t so sure. “And you are getting good at your bike.”

Soon Max was bound for college. The house emptied. Pa settled into his later years.

The sand of time flowed, and soon Max was a father too. Pa delighted in his granddaughters, but his hands were frail now. He could hug them but couldn’t pick them up.

“I remember when you took your first steps, Max,” he said.

Max nodded and watched as they played at Pa’s feet. Max loved every step, every word.

“And I still remember when you hid those peanuts behind your back,” Pa said.

“Pa!” Max said, but with a warm tone, “Only you remember that!”

They both smiled, and Max watched his daughters take their tiny steps and encourage their every adventure.

The sands of time drained further in the hourglass.

The phone rang. It was the hospital.

Max entered the room.

Pa looked up at him with a weak smile.

“Pa? How are you feeling?” Max asked.

“I’m tired,” Pa said.

Max studied the lines in Pa’s expressionless face.

“Can I get you anything?” asked Max.

Pa faintly nodded no.

“Do you want me to read you a book?” asked Max.

Pa faintly nodded no.

“Do you want to see the girls?” asked Max

“Who?” asked Pa

“Your granddaughters, they are waiting outside.”’

Pa looked blankly, and Max looked for the fading connection.

“Do you remember when I’d show you those tricks on my bike?” Max asked.

Pa faintly shrugged no. “Where am I?” he whispered.

“In the hospital,” Max said.

“Do you remember when I switched the peanuts when I was little?” Max asked.

Pa didn’t say anything, but a weak smile spread across his lips.

“I love you, Pa,” Max said.

Pa’s face relaxed as if he looked into some far-off land.

“I get it now, Pa,” Max whispered. “Eventually, everything becomes a one-way memory.”