Chapter Text
When I signed up for the adopt a grandparent program, I didn't think much of it. I signed up because the school was looking for kids to do it and I've always been a fan of community service and giving back. My own grandparents died when I was pretty young, so I didn't have any expectations going in.
My only previous interactions with old people had been at church. The old folks there were always nice to me, although they did chastise or scold me for reading books during the service or fidgeting with the rope around my robe when I sat up at the front by the altar. My parents told me to just smile and nod. They weren't my parents so I should take their words with a grain of salt, but they were old so I should be polite about it.
We carpooled after school to the old folks home. Sorry, the senior assisted living facility. It was called the Golden Leaf Living Facility. The name reminded me of that poem from The Outsiders. Stay golden, Ponyboy. A little ironic in the naming since most of the people here were past their golden days. The name seemed almost mean in that sense.
I had driven two other students to the facility, and we met up with a few other cars and faculty members. There were twelve of us total, and only nine of us were students.
We went in and met with a lady I think was a nurse. She talked with Mrs. Lain, the sponsor of this whole volunteer opportunity. She led us into this room with large windows that looked out into a garden with lots of flowers and bird feeders. It looked like there were a few games set up on the lawn. There was a batchi ball set, I could see a few croquet mallets and corn hole. The room was spacious and had lots of sitting area. There were plenty of tables, but also couches and chairs. There was a coffee station in the far corner and we were told we were welcome to it, and that it was decaf.
The room had old people in it. That might not sound nice, but it was the truth. We were led to different parts of the room to different old folks by various employees of Golden Leaf.
I was brought over to a little couch where an old man sat.
He had white hair and wore a long sleeve shirt that was solid blue. He was reading a book. I couldn't tell what it was, but he was about halfway through. The nurse led me over.
"Mr. Grant, this is Holly. She's part of the adopt a grandparent program."
"It's nice to meet you," I said, sticking out my hand to shake his.
"Likewise." He had a strong grip for a man his age. "Please, sit." He gestured to the seat across from him and folded down the corner of the page he was on in his book. It looked like it was a biography on someone, but I couldn't make out who.
I didn't know what to say. They had promoted us on questions before we drove over. I hadn't really paid attention. I didn't think it would be so hard to think of things to talk about. What do you say to someone that lived through the great depression, the moon landing, and Vietnam? How do you bridge that generational gap? It hit me-small talk. It had been the same since the dawn of time.
"How are you?" I asked.
"I'm doing well," he chuckled, "but you look very nervous."
I blushed. "Sorry, I was just trying to think of something more interesting than small talk."
"We can start with some getting to know you. Maybe we have something in common to talk about."
"Okay, yeah. Yeah, we might. Uh, have you always lived in New York?" I asked.
"I grew up here. Brooklyn. And then I enlisted in the army, fought in World War II. Lived in D.C for awhile. Then New York." He smiled like he had just heard something funny, or a secret that only he knew, "then I suppose I technically went back to D.C and then New York again."
"Wow. Lotta back and forth. We lived in Staten Island when I was little, but I've mostly been in Brooklyn. I guess we have that in common."
He nodded with a smile.
"So you served in World War II?"
"I did, but so did most men old enough in that time. Your grandpa probably served."
I frowned a little, trying to remember.
"I don't think so. I didn't really know him, but I don't think he did. He was a chemist or biologist or something. I think my dad once mentioned he worked for some scientific research program. The SSR maybe? But he was fresh out of college so he just kinda ran copies and took notes."
I looked at Mr. Grant. His eyes had widened and his jaw slacked a bit as if he was surprised by what I have said.
"Your grandfather worked for the Strategic Scientific Reserves?"
"I think so, yeah."
"I owe a lot to the SSR. The people there sort of made me who I am today. Because of their program, I went on to meet my wife, I rescued my best friend, and I was able to experience life with much more in it than I thought I would get to have."
"I always assumed it was just weapons research and statistics. You made it sound a lot more heroic," I said.
He was quiet for a moment. He fidgeted with the gold band on his ring finger. He sighed and then looked up at me.
"Holly, why did you sign up for the adopt a grandparent program?"
I thought it was an odd question, especially considering the way the conversation had been heading.
"I don't know. I like being involved in the community. It seemed like a good way to meet someone with different and interesting life experiences and hear about them."
He nodded.
"I signed up to be a part of this program because I haven't had anyone to tell the truth to. My wife passed a few years back, and she was my one and only confidant. And it's too soon to tell the other people that could relate. I suppose the optimist in me thought that maybe whatever teenager signed up to spend their afternoons with old people would be willing to hear me out."
I didn't know what to say. I was confused and scared that he was going to reveal information that could be dangerous. Like he was going to admit to a crime or something and get me involved.
"I'm not sure I know what you mean, Mr. Grant."
"Please, call me Steven. And I think you're the kind of person who'll be interested in my story. Even if you don't believe me."
I still didn't fully understand him, but the way he spoke had such honesty in it. He wasn't trying to pull one over on new, he was being genuine. And I wanted to hear what he had to say.
"I've never been one to say no to a good story," I said.
He smiled and then folded his hands on the table.
"What I'm going to tell you is going to sound fake. It's going to sound like the ravings of an old man, and I should know. I was born in 1918, but I've technically been alive for almost 200 years. Although, I technically spent a good amount of that time on ice." He looked at me to see how I reacted. I was intrigued by his claim and wanted to hear more. He could see in my eyes that I was waiting for the story to continue.
"Have you heard of Captain America?" he asked me.
"Yeah. Everyone has."
"What do you know about him?"
"He was this soldier in WWII that got injected with a serum that enhanced his abilities. It affected muscle mass, metabolism, it essentially turned him into a super soldier. He fought Nazis. He had a team, the Howling Commandos. And then he crashed a plane into the ocean to prevent the weapons in it detonating at major cities. He sacrificed himself to save hundreds if not thousands. The plane and his body were never found."
"Good. You know the basics."
"There was a traveling exhibit about him at the museum once when I was a kid. I was in awe. I kinda went through a Captain America phase."
"I knew you would be able to appreciate my story. Holly, I'm going to tell you something very few people know. In fact, I sadly think that there might not be any living people with this information. My name isn't Steven Grant, it's Steve Rogers. I am Captain America."