WRITING CONTEST/ESSAY WINNER: LOST NOSE by JoLynne Buehring
“GRANDPA!” Six-year old Brandon shouted as he ran to greet his favorite person. “I’ve missed you, Grandpa Cliff.”
After clutching his grandfather around the legs, the boy leaned back to look up at the man who had been his constant companion, until chemotherapy caused a too-long break in their relationship.
Brandon’s face portrayed a mixture of confusion, shock, and fear. The not-so-old man looked different. Gone were his bushy eyebrows and luxuriant mustache. This wasn’t the dear grandfather he had last seen. This man had no hair and was much thinner. The boy didn’t recoil, but definitely loosened his hold, unable to process these drastic changes.
“It’s okay, my boy. I’ve been in the hospital, but I’m all better now. I get a little more tired, but we can still work in the shop. As I remember, we have a sailboat to finish building. We’ll take a look to see what still needs to be done on ‘er.”
“But Grandpa, what happened to your hair and your cookie duster?” Brandon always giggled when his grandfather called his mustache that name.
Grandpa Cliff filled the horrible gap left when Brandon’s father was killed in combat. The then three-year-old latched onto the older man, and they became inseparable, until that awful disease had taken him away. Brandon’s mother had only told him his grandfather had to go away for a while but would be coming back.
The two males had gone fishing, mowed the lawn, and puttered at the workbench in the garage for hours on end. They shared silly jokes, with Brandon trying out the knock-knock jokes on his mother he learned from his grandfather. Whenever they parted, Grandpa Cliff pretended to take his nose between a thumb and forefinger, saying, “I’ll keep it safe and bring it back when I see you again.” When they were together again, the nose appeared in his grandfather’s fingers to be reattached to Brandon’s face.
This time, his grandfather must have forgotten his nose.
“Grandpa, where is my nose? I want my nose.” Brandon’s voice rose higher, tears threatening.
In the middle of a tight hug, Grandpa Cliff said, “I wouldn’t forget your nose. I didn’t know how long I was going to be gone, so I left it where you could find it. If you go out to the shop, it’ll be there.”
“Mom wouldn’t let me into the garage while you were gone. She was afraid I’d get hurt on the tools.”
“Well, let’s go get it.” He let the boy tug on his hand, leading the way to the garage shop.
Brandon looked all around. He climbed onto the stool his grandfather had made for him so he could reach the workbench. There was no nose on the surface or on the shelves where their projects waited for their return.
“I think it got lost, Grandpa. I can’t find it. I want my nose.” The tears threatened again.
“Now, think, boy. Isn’t a nose a tool, for smelling, just like a hammer is for pounding nails? And where do we keep our tools?”
Brandon scanned the pegboard where an assortment of tools hung on hooks, each neatly in its own place. A bright grin replaced the near-tears. Nestled among the tools was a pair of glasses holding the nose. The boy scrambled up onto the workbench to reach them.
“I found your eyebrows and cookie duster, too, Grandpa,” Brandon shouted in triumph.
