The graveyard was a source of embarrassment, and no amount of pleading to move it had helped. The solution was to pretend it didn’t exist.
Her greatest fear was that one of her grandchildren would wander into it and get hurt. So when young A.J. strode through the living room wearing one of his grandpa’s old military pith helmets, it raised concerns.
“Where’ya going boy?” She hoped levity would get a straight answer from the pre-schooler.
“I’m goin’ huntin’ for dinosaurs,” his response filled with disdain for such a silly question.
“There aren’t any dinosaurs around here,” she said pulling the boy into a bear hug.
“Are too,” A.J. struggled to break free, but allowed his gram to plant a wet kiss on his cheek.
“Where?” She laughed as the boy wiped at the red lipstick residue she left.
“Out in the graveyard.” She couldn’t help but smile at how he stood, feet apart, fists on his hips, nodding his head to emphasize each word.
“You know you’re not supposed to go out there, it’s dangerous.” Turning serious, she used her “no-nonsense” voice.
“But, that’s where the dinosaurs are.” A.J.’s pout reminded her of his father, a tactic he used on her when he was younger.
“I tell you what,” she got down on the floor so she was eye level with A.J. “We can go to the Natural History Museum this afternoon. You can see real dinosaurs there, how’s that?”
“Can I still wear my helmet?”
“Sure you can,” she assured him. “Go wash up and we’ll have lunch first.”
The boy whooped his approval and ran off to get ready.
She walked out to the garage to bring her husband in for lunch.
“Hey, old man,” she called. “This is the last time I’ll say anything about that dinosaur junkyard. Either you get rid of all those rusted out ol’ cars or I will. Now, come in and eat.”
Trifecta, a weekly one-word prompt, challenges writers to use that word in its third definition form, telling a story using no less than 33 words or no more than 333. The week’s prompt is: Dinosaur [noun \ˈdahy-nuh-sawr\] 3: one that is impractically large, out-of-date, or obsolete
Thin spiral notebook 
This is a great story. I didn’t pay much attention to the picture before reading it, so I was thinking of dinosaurs as bodies. I liked how it ended up being cars and her orders to get rid of them was so believable!
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So cute =]
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I could see my youngest joining in on the expedition 🙂 Great story Tara
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Love it! Them bones, them bones, them car bones…
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Lovely writing. As I read the scene, it takes form and that is its beauty.
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love this. You’re a good fiction writer!
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Yes! Grandma just saved a disaster. Can you imagine if the little boy got trapped in the back of one of those things? And it makes me think he heard them call the cars dinosaurs and took it literally. I was a literal minded kid, and my kids are much more so. I can totally see this happening.
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This brought back memories of my childhood when my self-employed used car dealer father, his dad, and his father-in-law – my two grandfathers, sold and bought cars together. Some of them were in abd shape and needed repair. There was a dinosaur graveyard of cars at my grandparents houses and carlots.
vivid imagery and very good dialogue
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These old Willys jeeps belong to my FIL, and are only a few of the half dozen or more he has parked in their side yard. I can imagine they would be fascinating to a kid, a temptation for exploration.
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It was a pretty neat childhood. I can tell you a lot about muscle cars
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Tara, I literally heard Gio’s voice in my head, reading this. He is so imaginative lately that he would believe there were dinasours in that junkyard and would allow that kiss, and then wipe it off. Boys of 4 years of age are fascinating and you captured that sooooo well. thanks for the smile. 🙂
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It’s been a long while since my son was that small. I’m glad I could still capture that little boy wonder.
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“If you mowed the lawn and you found cars, you might be a Redneck”, said Jeff Foxworthy.
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No truer words.
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oh Lou, (and Tara) you both crack me up!!!!
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LOL! Perfect response.
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