Willing Helpers

Willing Helpers

I stood at the screen door watching the two young men approaching: the smell of fresh baked cookies emanating from the kitchen behind me.

The tall one at the age of twenty five was nearly six feet tall, muscular but not bulky. His sun-bleached blond hair was combed back but resisted the best efforts of training and fell over his eyes. A shift of his head brought it back into place. His dark grey eyes shone with happiness.

The little one was a contrast. The seven year old had a tanned complexion and dark brown hair. His large brown eyes were fringed with long black lashes that lay on his cheeks when he slept.

These two are best friends and cousins. Today they are on their weekly trek of volunteering their help for an aged widow.

They turn into my driveway. Young Colin looks up and sees me in the doorway. He lets go of his cousin’s hand and sprints up the steps. Robert has now reached my doorway. Small arms hug my waist. Large strong arms encircle my shoulders.

“What kind of cookies did you make today? Colin asks.

“Chocolate chip – your favourite”, I reply.

“What can we do for you today?" Asks Robert.

“Well, perhaps you can help me hang a picture. But first cookies and milk”.

They follow me into the kitchen. Eager little hands reach for the platter of warm cookies. Larger hands bring milk from the fridge and fill three glasses to brimming.

These are my best friends – these are my grandsons.

Word count: 260