“That last hour after Sacramento flew by,” I hear my mom whispering as the car comes to a gradual stop. I stretch out and roll over with my eyes squinting. It’s dark outside, but the yellow glow of the street lamp on the sidewalk still causes me to hesitate opening my eyes too quickly. I’m half in a daze, trying to remember where we were and why I was asleep and tangled between my brothers in the back of the car. Another second goes by until I finally shoot up and shout with delight, “We’re here! We made it to grandma’s!”
I crawl over Adam’s boney knees and quickly open the door. I love California. It’s so much warmer outside of the car, even though it’s late at night. As I fill my lungs with fresh air, I catch the scent of Manteca. I always think to myself, it’s the smell of palm trees, but looking back, I don’t think palm trees actually have a smell.
Grandma’s house always looks the same. The border of pebble rocks align the driveway, and the fence separating us from the neighbors is still waist high. And that’s child size waist, not adult height.
Before I can make it to the porch, the door has already been opened, and they’re waiting. I always run to grandma first because we’re both girls. Grandma’s smile is like a perfect picture. I’ve always thought she was so beautiful. If I could have anything in this world, I would choose grandma’s smile and her laugh. As I go in for a hug she wraps her arms all the way around me and pulls me in close, still smiling and laughing.
In the corner of my eye I see grandpa dancing towards me. He always dances when he walks. His arms go back and forth like he’s running in slow motion, and his feet shuffle to his own beat as he creeps toward you. I’ve always wished I could hear the music he’s listening to in his head as he walks. He gently grabs my head with both hands and kisses me.
This has always been my best moment. Of all moments and events in my lifetime, going to grandma and grandpa’s house is my favorite.
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