I pull up to the cement parking lot and park my car in one of the few vacant spaces. I open up the trunk, take out the fifty pound bag of rice, close the trunk, and lock the car. I make my way to the old, rusty intercom system and, with some difficulty, press hard on the stubborn buttons. After two rings, I hear the lively voice of my grandmother. With equal enthusiasm, I ask her to buzz me through the gate. I get into the dilapidated elevator fearing its imminent collapse. Fortunately, I make it to the second floor without a scratch. The creaky doors begrudgingly slide open, and I walk out of the elevator just as the doors slam shut behind me. The nauseating smell of medicinal oils fills my nostrils as I make my way towards my grandmother's room. Just as I think that I"m about to pass out from the unbearable smell, I open the door and I am welcomed by her radiant smile and medicinal-oil-free room. Aside from going to the movies and just hanging out with friends, I pay frequent visits to my god-grandmother in her retirement home. Although she is not my biological grandmother, I refer to her as my grandmother because she thinks of me as her grandson.
My grandmother lives by herself in a retirement home and the only company she has are her neighbors. During the early evening all the able bodied retirees come out of their rooms and sit down on the couch and chairs in the hall to gossip. If one of the regulars does not come out for the daily gossip, the others knock on his or her door to see if he or she is ok and not dead. Whenever one of the residents of the retirement home has a visitor, that resident receives praise during the gossip hours. Some of the elderly like to brag about their visitors, especially when the visitors are grandchildren. When people visit them it shows that there are people in the world who actually care about them and take the time to go and visit them. My grandmother receives much praise for my frequent visits.
