The Great Grabowski Garage Sale

The Morning Before

Long summer days begin early in northern Michigan, and Simon Grabowski had been posting flyers on the stop signs and telephone poles in his grandmother's neighborhood since 6 a.m. While it was still dark out, he slipped out of his pajamas and into his shorts, t-shirt, and sneakers. Tip-toeing down the stairs, he carefully avoided the creaky spots. He grabbed the flyers and the tape from the kitchen table and made for the door, careful not to wake the rest of the family. As he gently pulled the front door closed, he promised himself he'd brush and floss that night to make up for skipping it this morning. Once he was out of danger of waking everyone, he ran, feet hitting the sidewalk that was wet with dew. He had 50 flyers to put up and wanted to make it back before everyone woke.

Simon walked the six blocks back from the last flyer's location, feeling confident about his triumph. He had run in a spiral pattern extending from the house, each loop going a block further so that the walk back was a victory lap of sorts, passing all his posted signs. He was proud of the hand-drawn signs he had copied before he and his parents left home. He wrote "YARD SALE!" in large block letters at the top with "This Saturday July 14th, 628 16th St." below. Simon was sure there was no way anyone driving, running, or walking their dog through the neighborhood could miss the signs. They would all want to come to his yard sale.

This was just like when he and his best friend Josh had a lemonade stand in front of Josh's house last summer. At dinner time, he and Josh excitedly counted the money they made and split it down the middle just like they'd agreed. $8.50 was enough for them to ask Josh's mom if they could do it again tomorrow.

"I think you might need to find a bigger market," Josh's Dad responded from the couch, not moving the Sunday paper.

"And more lemons," added Josh's Mom.

Lemonade Stand Part Two never happened, but he and Josh still talked about it from time to time.

Simon reached the front door and carefully pushed the door open. From the smell of bacon, he knew Gran was up making breakfast. No longer worried about waking anyone, he bounded into the kitchen.

"Hi Gran!" Gran was leaning over the griddle.

"Smells good! Need any help?"

She hunched slightly from back pain. Simon didn't have to bounce higher than his tip-toes to kiss her cheek.

Simon was a precocious and sensitive child. His father felt the dolls Simon still occasionally played with made him soft. His mother attributed his sweetness to the waning twilight of his boyhood. Simon's grandmother had always recognized his empathetic nature. He wasn't sure what an 'old soul' was, but he felt proud every time she called him that.

"I'm fine sweetie. You just sit there and talk to me." Simon sat down in the rocking chair in the corner of the kitchen.

"How'd ya sleep, Gran?"

"I slept alright. What about you?"

"Like a rock."

This was a lie, but a small one. He didn't want her to worry. Simon's imagination had mapped constellations from the cracks in the plaster ceiling for what felt like forever until he fell asleep. He woke at every noise. Gran's house made different sounds than his house. They weren't bad sounds; he just wasn't used to Aunt Nancy's trips to the bathroom, the cars outside, or the wind knocking the tree branches. Plus, he was excited about the yard sale.

It was his idea to host one to help Gran clear out the house. In recent years, her stature had shrunk from osteoporosis, exaggerating the size disparity between the stooped octogenarian and the large family home.