Chapter one-
The house is… a bit different than I remembered it. A little bit bigger, and dustier, with almost all of my Grammy’s things taken out of it. Poor Grammy… she just passed away from heart failure. She was a pretty phenomenal woman, when given the chance. Kind of redneck, and stuck in the way of when she was younger how her parents treated her (in other words, she was fond on whooping us with paddles until our behinds were a very unnatural color red).
I was the good one though, and had only gotten lightly scolded by her. I’m quiet, polite, courteous, little Kayla. When I was younger I’d rather have my nose in a good book than in the mud, unlike most of my cousins and other relatives when they’d come with me to Grammy’s. I’d always be with her to help her cook, help her clean, help her knit. And, when I needed her, she’d always be there for me, too. When I needed help with my homework, help with reading a book, anything. Even if I was away we’d both do our best to help each other out on the phone (she could hardly figure out how to use it, poor thing).
Her life was ended in the beginning of summer. She braced me for this, though. She’d always talk about how things would be when she was gone, and I almost got used to it. I couldn’t have thanked her enough for that. Without that small, little favor she did for me, I probably would still be balling over the loss.
Although I was rather depressed for a long few months (the loss of my life in New York not helping to ease my sadness), I felt more comfort in knowing that I’d get to live in her house.
She was the only source of my self esteem and now without her, I feel… somewhat useless. It’s not like I can help my mom out with anything. She’s hardly ever home anyways.
I mean, of course I have Frank. He compliments me (quite often) but his kind words and advice just feel so… empty. My Grammy had something in her eyes that made me feel like she thought I was actually something. Like she thought I was actually worth her time.
Now my mother…? Wow. Don’t get me started.
That girl is a piece of work. I’ll tell you.
First off, she’s insane. She’s clinically Bipolar (bi·po·lar dis·or·der: a mental disorder marked by alternating periods of elation and depression.) and she sells her meds black market, along with other, quite illegal pills and various methods of getting high.
She didn’t want to move away from New York either, just simply because that’s a damn big city. What’s the chances of her getting caught out there? Here, it’s a little bitty Momma and Pappa town, where everyone knows everyone. All the druggies are already in jail. Who’s gunna buy from her now?
She’s afraid she might have to get- oh no!- a real job! Yeah, I’m not sure if that’s going to happen. I can’t even get a good paying job myself because of school. Whether mother likes it or not, though, we had to move. We kept getting evicted from our apartments in New York.
My brother? He was pretty amazing. His name is Jacob and he’s three years older than me, and he pretty much raised me. He was my Grammy during the school year (I stayed with Grammy over the summer, but during the year I was forced to stay with my mother). He was always there to teach me life lessons, and come and pick me up from a party if they were getting out of control. I could always count on him.
That is… until he turned 18. He took the first road out, by going into the Marine Core. So I was just kind of stuck. I couldn’t even go to Grammy’s the last summer of her existence because my brother ditched and I couldn’t afford a plane ticket by myself. I’d never bought one on my own before.
So when the news of her death reached me, I didn’t know how to believe it. My brother said that it was more of a blessing than a curse that I wasn’t there, because… well, he didn’t think I could have handled seeing her. I don’t think I could’ve either, but I don’t like to accept the fact that my brother was, in fact, correct.
