Zoe Haight

Nana's Story

“Emma, darling,” my grandmother calls from her study down the hall, “I have something for you.” I hear a slight grunt and I’m off the crocheted-lace doily laden settee in her living room, dust motes rising in furious coral clouds, reflecting the light from the orange and pink stained-glass windows above the couches. I walk quickly down the hallway, Nana was very stubborn when it came to asking for help and I didn’t want her hurting herself, as her back had been giving her issues lately. We almost collide in the doorway, something sharp knocking into my shin.