Life on Earth Isn't Always Fair

I was fifteen years old when Mama asked for my help. It seemed only fair that I do since Grandma had saved me from numerous whipping, a leg broken by a dare jump off of our back shed, and running away from home. I told Mama, it was only just.

I wasn’t sure why I seemed to be her favorite granddaughter. It’s not like I was pretty or talented like my other cousins. My hands were too small to play any instrument. My attention span was too short to excel at school. I just couldn’t do the girly things that my cousins could. For that, I was bullied day in and day out. I began keeping rocks that I would find on my way home from school in my pockets to bash my cousins or anyone else who bullied me. Once, while we were walking home from school, I hit Eloise in the eye and she ran to Mama with her hands over her eye, blood dripping from her manicured fingers. I was used to the pain from the whippings by then. It barely even hurt.

Every afternoon Mama would hand me gloves and a bucket and tell me to go to Grandma’s. This was to avoid another argument which was following by a whipping. I gladly went to help Grandma plant her pansies and petunias in her garden just inside the gates. Grandma would wait for me at the top of the steps. Always with a welcoming smile. Although we barely talked, barely even looked at each other, I felt safe, for once, not alone. I felt like I had a purpose. Like God was supposed to make me feel.

My job was to dig up holes the size of coffee cans. I would stick the coffee can into the dirt, lift it back up, and dig a hole the size of the imprint. Grandma would then place a seed into the hole and I would fill it back up with soil. Grandma was always happiest planting the seeds. She said it was as if she was giv...

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...butter, and orange juice (it was Grandma’s favorite). At first the cashier got upset because he thought I had forgotten the money it was always in my back pocket.

When I walked into Grandma’s house I could hear Mama crying. I walked into the kitchen to see her sprawled out on the floor, sobbing hopelessly. I patted her on the back for comfort, “why me?” she asked in a whisper and then proceeded to cry into my shoulder.

Grandma forgot who I was twice yesterday, she even threatened to call the police on me if I didn’t leave, I said. Knowing that it would make Mama cry even harder. I guess I just got tired of the beatings, the arguments, and unanswered prayers. Mama looked at me again, angry, eyes filled with regret. I went outside and sat on the porch steps and watched the people pass. I sat there until Mama left. The sun was setting, and I knew Grandma was hungry.