To Love and To Hate

Chapter Three

Laineville NY, Saturday June 11th, 1994

"Hidden images, worlds in my mind, can't tell you one of them even though they reside. Clawing to get out with fists against bars, silent Munch's screaming desires!"

"Eat your breakfast Miranda". 

I hate oatmeal. Mom knows this. I stirred the spoon in the bowl of yucky, gloopy, sticky, oatmeal. It had gotten cold, so it sort of stuck to the spoon as I stirred it. I let go when it was centered and, yup, it stuck straight up. I giggled. Mom glared. Sigh.

"Don't play with your food. Eat it. It's good for you".

It is NOT good for me and I'm sure that it would kill me. I pushed the disgusting bowl away and dropped my head on the table, forehead thumping on the surface. Yup, I knew it, the glop had killed me. Maybe now Mom will feel bad for making me eat it, and she will regret ever making me. Now that I was dead. I stared at my bare feet, swinging underneath the table above the dirty tile floor, and pouted.

"Pick your head up off the table young lady. Where are your manners? I am sure that is not how a lady acts at the table. I cannot believe your mother allows such behavior. I am entirely sure that I raised her better than that. Hurrumph... and I am quite  sure that she should have raised YOU better than that. you ought to be grateful you even have breakfast to eat in the morning. Why, back in my day, a child was appreciative for anything that was given to them." The disapproval in Grandma's voice was as thick as the oatmeal in my bowl. I didn't lift my head up right away cause I knew what I would see. But, I did as she said, and I lifted my head slowly up from the table. 

Mom was still moving around the kitchen. She had to be to work soon, so she was dressed in her work wear: skirt, jacket, and stocking feet that would slip into her heels just before walking out of the door. The smell of her coffee was strong, and I had to admit, it smelled kind of yummy. Maybe I would drink coffee when I was old enough; it sure smells good, and mom liked it. Daddy had already left for work. He had to be there really early, so he wasn't usually around in the morning, but that was okay. So, it was only Grandma and mom and me; just like always.

"Sorry Grandma" I mumbled under my breath, pulling the bowl close again. NOT that I was going to eat it, no way, but I also didn't want to get in any more trouble. I moved the contents around with my spoon, trying to shift it in a way that might make it look like I had eaten some of it. I looked out of the corner of my eye up at Grandma, who was sitting at the table to see if she noticed what I was doing, but she was too busy staring at what mom did; which is how she often spent her time. 

Grandma was wearing what she always wore, and I mean always. The same long black skirt, the same deep red shirt with the tiny black flowers all over it, and the same clunky, ugly, black shoes. Her long grey hair was pulled back in the same low bun, and she had the same deep wrinkles lining her face. I think mom said that Grandma was in her mid-eighties, and that was when she died, so she must be really old now. I guess Grandma had been nice enough to me, but I didn't remember much of when I was very little. I did remember when she died though. I got a brand-new black dress and shiny new black shoes. I was really happy to get them, and wear them, except when I found out I had to be really quiet for a long time. I don't like to be quiet. Mom was really sad too, which I didn't like either. She said Grandma went to be with Grandpa in Heaven. But, later that night when I went to bed, Grandma tucked me in, so I guess Mom was wrong and Grandma was not in Heaven like she said. Which made me mad, because that meant I was quiet for nothing all that time. 

The next morning at breakfast I asked Mom why she had lied to me, and made me be quiet for nothing, that Grandma wasn't dead, that she tucked me in the night before. She told me I had been dreaming, and I almost believed her, until Grandma walked into the kitchen. I stood up, stamped my feet, and pointed at Grandma telling mom that she was right there. Mom burst into tears and ran from the room. Dad told me later that I should stop saying that stuff because it made mom sad. So I did. I never told her about seeing Grandma ever again. That was when I realized that maybe I was the only one that could see her, which scared me a lot at first, but Grandma just sat around and sometimes yelled at me, so I figured she was okay. I really only remember Grandma from how I knew her now. Mostly silent, mostly just watching Mom, mostly a presence in the house. Like the "Others". Like Johnathan.