“…to my only grandchild, Kingsley, I bequeath my camera and the sum of…” as the attorney read the last will and testament of his late grandpa, Kingsley could vividly hear his Grandfathers’ strong alto voice as if he was there in the oval office. His eyes misted over as he listened.

They were gathered in the attorney’s office downtown to hear the reading of Greg seniors’ will. Kingsley’s parent sat beside him.

Defeated by this gesture because he didn’t really expect such obvious support for his dreams from Grandpa Greg especially at death, he sat there as a statue and stared hard at the film in his hand; the half-opened camera along with a black pouch and case lay beside him on the mahogany desk.

His parents and the attorney had left the office and gone to the outer office to talk about probate papers and other stuffs. He insisted he wanted to sit there for a while; he knew once he walked out of the office, the realization that his grandpa was gone would kick in; from now on, he was on his own.

He scrutinize the items on the table, totally ignoring the check made out in his name for the sum bequeathed him. Money was the last thing on his mind. He loved Grandpa Greg so much that he felt like an orphan though his parents were both alive.

The camera was a black Kodak camera with heavy lens for zooming and detachable flash. He ran his finger gingerly through the spelt out word ‘Kodak’.

He knew this gift was Greg senior final act of defiance; his last chance to liberate Kingsley from his parents and help him follow his dreams.

For the next forty minutes, he tapped the film with his forefinger, deep in thought; once in a while, he would lift it towards the light to scrutinize the negatives that came along with the camera, smile briefly, wink or squint. There were some landscape pictures and portraits of persons he couldn’t tell who they were; until the film was developed. His heart gave a kick as he remembered Grandpa won’t be seeing the printed pictures when they were ready; whatever he snapped in these films are solely his now.

He heaved a sigh and struggled to control his emotions.

He was unaware of time and seems not to be in a hurry. He didn’t know whether he should be happy or sad.

Dressed in a tweed coat and matching pants, he wore a cream coloured turtle neck sweater and cap. His hair, dark-brown in colour, stuck out on both sides of his ears. His chin was wrapped in stubs and a week old beards. He purposely refused to shave.

When he got the call that his grandfather was passing, he rushed to be with him at the hospital, praying and hoping his health will improve.

At twenty-four, he looked fifty; he has always dressed way above his age because Grandpa Greg Snr. mentored him. It was him who thought Kinsley how to swim, fish and do everything he did.

It was also Grandpa who knew exactly what he liked and supported him.

His father, Greg Jnr., a retired cop, had a whole different set of things he expected of him.

Only Grandpa understood the difficulty of growing up with parents who wanted an unattainable expectation of their son. He always came to Kingsley rescue when his parents were leaning too hard on him.

“You’re going to be a doctor…paediatrician.” Kingsleys’dad informed him one sunny day.

He hated hospitals and syringes, but he was too scared to object. His mother preferred him to study veterinary medicine and sometimes made it look like a better option to paediatric medicine. Both parents tried to live through their only son by wanting him to fulfil their unrealized dreams not knowing it was a dicey position to place the young boy.

Right from when he was five, he was drawn to pictures and paintings. The few times he attended picnics, he usually sit still and watch the scenery with rapt attention and sometimes tries to draw pictures of what he saw in napkins.

Once, he did ask Santa to make him become a good art painter. Another time, he asked for plenty pictures as Christmas gifts.

His parents didn’t want to think of the idea of their son becoming a painter or photographer; that was why they seized the first set of coloured paintings Grandpa bought for him. They felt it was all a waste of time for a man to doodle with colours or collect pictures of landscapes and flowers.

The dim glow from the lamp in the attorneys’ office highlighted the right side of his face, showing half high forehead, pinched pointed nose with crooked nose bridge, thin lips tightly closed and a sharp jutted jaw. His profile covered a part of the law books arranged in the left hand side of the office.

About an hour ago, Kingsley got the answer to all the questions he has been asking in his life; with one kind quirky gesture, his grandfather answered him in the simplest of language by bequeathing him with the gift.

He had died of lung cancer five months ago at eighty-four; Kinglsey’father, Greg, along with his only sister, Margaret didn’t spend time mourning; their fathers’ death gave them long enough warning. Having gone through several chemos, they were secretly happy for the deceased that it was over.

As sole survivor, Greg senior left all his belonging to his favourite charity organization and a meagre monthly income for both of his children; his only grandchild, Kingsley got his ten years old Kodak camera.

It was Greg senior way of telling his only grandson he cared even when he knew the gift might offend his father.