Growing Young (standard:drama, 8737 words)
Author: J F Maschino	Added: Jun 04 2004	Views/Reads: 3316/2270	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Stunned by the sudden death of his Great-Grandfather, Andy Grey is in for the surprise of his life.

Growing Young 

By J F Maschino 

Earl Grey died Saturday afternoon.  He was 115.  It wasn't heart
failure, or a respiratory infection, or any other age related ailment, 
it was just a stupid car accident.  According to a witness trailing 
Earl's red Mustang Convertible along the scenic Kancamagus Highway in 
the White Mountains of New Hampshire, Earl had lost control of his car 
while he and his young female companion attempted to perform an act 
best performed elsewhere.  The Mustang had drifted across the center 
line; side swiped an approaching motor home, and then careened off the 
road down a steep ravine rolling several times before bursting into 
flames. 

I knew Earl very well.  He was my Great-Grandfather, my father's
grandfather. Time didn't seem to affect him they way it affected all of 
us.  From my earliest recollections, Earl always looked like he was in 
his mid-sixties, had the body of a very active 40 year old, and behaved 
like an adolescent.  As the years passed, people who saw us together 
thought Earl was my Grandfather, then my father, and, more recently, my 
younger brother.  While I continued to fall prey to the ravishes of 
time, Earl never changed.  I once asked him how he managed to look and 
act so young.  He replied he had good genes, and then abruptly changed 
the subject. He outlived two wives, seven children, twenty 
Grandchildren, and almost all his great Grandchildren including my 
older brother.  Until the Sheriff's Deputy knocked on my door Saturday 
afternoon, I thought Earl was going to outlive me as well. 

The last time I saw him was on Friday.  We had lunch at Rebecca's, a
local diner here in Augusta, Maine, as we did every Friday.  All the 
waitresses knew us by name and there wasn't one Earl hadn't flirted 
with.  We ordered our usual, fried clam baskets and French fries, not 
the fake ones mind you, but real ones that still had their skins on.  
Nancy, the middle age waitress who usually waited on us, dropped off 
our drinks, diet Pepsi for both, and a small tub of popcorn to munch on 
while we waited for our clams. 

Earl popped a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth.  “Business is going
good.” 

Earl's business, which had become mine as well after doing a three-year
stint in the Army, was stamps and coins.  He had started out small, 
just a little shop on Water Street back in the forties and parlayed it 
into ten shops in three states as well as a booming catalogue  
business.  Two years ago we hired a high school kid who took us onto 
the Internet.  Sales nearly doubled and we gave the kid a good bonus.  
“When isn't it?” I asked 

“Early fifties during that Korean mess and again in the early seventies
when we had to wait in line for gas,” Earl said.  “Mostly it's been 
good, but more so this week.  You want to know why?” 

I unfolded a paper napkin before me on the red and white checkered table
cloth, dumped about a handful of the popcorn onto it, and then salted 
it good.  Earl didn't like salt.  If I salted the popcorn in the 
basket, he'd bother Nancy for his own tub. 

“Do you want to know why?” he asked again snapping his fingers to get my
attention. 

“Why?” 

“Because we sold more stamps and coins this week than we did last week,”
he said.  He leaned back and laughed.  Several people glanced at us 
from nearby tables, but Earl didn't seem to notice or care. 

I smiled weakly and picked at a kernel stuck between my teeth with my
thumbnail. 

He sipped on his straw.  “What's the matter, Andy?  You would've laughed
at that last week.” 

“Same old, same old,” I said. 



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