When mom woke me up this morning and dragged me out of bed, the only thing in the entire world I wanted to do was crawl back under the covers. When she, along with my dad and two brothers, crammed into the family sedan and hit the highway to visit our grandparents for Easter, all I wanted to do was open the door and leap to freedom. Instead, all I did was stare groggily out the window for three hours, imagining myself running along the countryside at seventy miles an hour, arms pumping, hair flying crazy in the wind, basking in rare April sunshine.

When we got to my grandparents’ house and everyone went inside, all I wanted to do was go back to the car and drive home. My grandparents cooked us lunch, however, so I relented and went inside.

While we sat around the table and ate, I noticed how old people talk funny. They’re always going on about things they used to do or people they used to see or what they think about things going on right now. I don’t really know what’s going on right now. None of that bothers me.

When the meal was over, the only thing in the entire world I wanted to do was anything else. My grandpa, who I think likes me more than my other brothers but won’t say it out loud (mom says it’s bad to hurt peoples’ feelings like that), noticed me squirming in my seat and asked me if I wanted to go outside and take a walk. My parents agreed. So out I went.

The suburb had only a few spread-out houses in it, with lots of empty lots and tall old trees. There was nothing much to look at. I imagined myself trying to run across the landscape like I did during the car ride, but it didn’t work so well at a walking pace.

Grandpa pulle a mint from his pocket and offered it to me. While I gnawed on the edges, he told me these kinds of visits were precious, and he appreciated how much suffering I was willing to endure to make him happy. 

“What did I do to make you happy?” I asked.

“Just being here,” he said with a smile. 

We kept on walking. Grandpa told me that life moves awfully fast when you see a lot of it, and sometimes it’s tough to hang onto things as long as you’d like. I guess that makes sense. 

When we got back to the house, my legs felt kinda tired. Grandpa said I could sit in his big reclining easy chair in the living room. Normally he didn’t like us crawling on it, but he lifted me up and I sunk in like it was made for me.

Soon I was rocking back and forth, laughing for no reason. Sitting in a big easy chair was perfect. I could move around and sit down at the same time. I just can’t contain myself.

Grandpa joined in the laughter, and soon the both of us were in hysterics. Mom and dad looked confused. Grandma looked concerned. I couldn’t care less. 

When my parents said it was time to leave, the only thing in the entire world I wanted to do was stay.