Everyday, everyone learns something new. But that is not the case for my grandfather. He forgets something, maybe even something that is extremely important. It isn't like he is trying to, he was diagnosed with dyslexia, a disease that makes your brain cells die, causing most memories to die out. I visit my grandfather every one to two years, because he lives in India. But when I am with him, I make sure that I make the most of it. We have the most interesting conversations when we talk. One of these conversations I will never forget.
"Gampa, can you tell me a story?" I was all os six years old, rocking on my grandfather's lap.
"I suppose so. Have you been a good girl?" I was immediately ashamed of my voice compared to his. Mine was squeaky and sharp, and his was bold and strong, yet very gentle.
"Oh yes! I even picked up all of my clothes! Tell me about the forest!"
"Forest? Which forest? You have never been to a forest?"
"Of course I have...you took me last time." Why didn't he remember? What was going on? The usual glint in my grandpa's eyes vanished, like the last embers of a dead fire.
"Oh yes. That's right, I took you, didn't I?" He didn't sound so sure. Why was he acting this way?
"C'mon grandpa. Please. Please! I really want to hear the forest story! But you don't have to say the part about the snakes!"
"All right, all right. Here we go..." Soon after these words I felt myself being carried up the stairs. Only because I was dead asleep.
When I woke up, my grandfather was there, with that same confused look plastered on his face. Why was he doing...