A granddaughter learns about her grandfather’s past through editing his biography. He was an Armenian writer, publisher, teacher and editor. How ironic.

He sits on her bed, looking at her with a cheeky smile. His hands are interlocked and rest on his lap. His hard-rimmed glasses are quite notable and his eyes are fixated on each sound of the keyboard.

She takes a sip of her coffee and leaves her cigarette to the side.

I wonder what he was like. This thought has been on her mind since her early teenage years.

Her hair is just like my Maria’s… her nose too! Armenian nose!, he thinks proudly.

He once typed away like she is doing now.

He gets up from the bed and nears in.

I wonder what that illuminous square object is, he wonders.

When he gets the chance to visit his people in spirit, he has noticed these funny objects become more abundant and, perhaps, minute?

His hands are rested on each side of his waist as he tilts his head to the left and tries to understand this newfound futuristic item. It even has numbers and words! Oh my.

Anoushig? Can you hear me? He voices introvertly, loud and clear.

Her ear starts to tickle for some odd reason.

Must be the breeze, she thinks.

Hokis, I have something to tell you. You cannot hear me but that is okay. Where to begin..

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