Please read: the following contains sensitive subjects such as drinking and abuse. Many people tell me I was a cute kid, and I don't blame them. When you see a smaller version of someone, of course you'd like it more. People tell me I've changed, not for the better. Typically, I tell them I don't care. It's my life, not theirs, right? But then again, when you have to live with someone all your life, you'd want them to be sweet and caring, like I was when I was younger. I don't blame them for complaining. I never liked my personality, but it's a habit to say what I say and do what I do, even if I'm a jerk for doing it, that's me. And besides.. I don't want people to walk all over me. Now, I wasn't always like this. The person who best taught me how to think this way was my grandmother. I loved her with everything I had. She was a great woman, and I don't ever wish I didn't meet her or anything. But, she really was honest with me. Too honest? I mean, who tells a four year old about murders and warfare? Nonetheless, I learned early. I learned self defense. I learned how to be brave. Once my parents were gone, my grandmother took me in. She'd taken care of me, and I trusted her more than anyone. She was funny, smart, and strong, taking on the role as my mom AND dad, and doing a great job at both. Here's a little story I remembered a bit ago. I was about five years old, and this story is something I grow off of. It showed me who I should be one day, who I shouldn't be, and all that stuff.. Out of pure accident, I grew up. •. •. •. •. •. •. "Grocery stores are cooool," I exclaimed to my grandmother. We had just gotten out of the grocery store, and were walking home. "They contain all you need," she told me, "but little one, you must never take what isn't yours. Don't ever steal, alright?" I nodded, of course I wouldn't steal (I ended up stealing items later in life though, oops). She'd unlocked the door and we went inside. I set the groceries down and hung up my coat, wiped off my shoes and put them away; what an obedient child I was, right? Grandma was always strict on that stuff. Suddenly, to our surprise, my grandpa stumbled into the room. Even me, at five years old, could tell he was drunk. My grandfather had left a while back. My grandmother never mourned his disappearence. If anything, she was glad he left. It's amazing how beer may affect a family. Sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. "Baaaby," he'd started to say, leaning forward and looking at my grandmother. She'd taken a step back, and pulled me backward too. It was a little hard, but I don't blame her for wanting to get me away like that. "Get out," said she, with a glare. He'd only chuckled (oh, the sick laugh of the man!). "I'm serious. Get out or else." She'd picked up a baseball bat I'd gotten for my birthday a bit ago and held it up as a warning. This was a hint of what the 'or else' part is, I assumed. He took a step back and pointed at it. "You wouldn't dare use that. You don't have it in you." then, another laugh. I hugged my grandmother's waist, feeling my stomach twist in fear. She didn't crack.
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He'd laughed at me; laughed at my fear. Laughed at my obvious temptation to scream and run away. But I didn't. I was safe, because my grandmother was right there beside me. And if I left, I would no longer be safe. I'd felt like nothing could hurt me while she was there. Typically, that wasn't so. It was a time where women weren't seen as unable to do anything as brave as this. But I'd never thought so. Her husband took a step closer. "I'm scaring the child?" he'd asked. "Yes. You are!" she answered, "Samuel doesn't want you here. Neither do I. You aren't welcome here. Leave before I make you. He'd grabbed my arm and very roughly pulled me closer to him. I didn't weigh enough to have any defense toward it. "He just needs to say hello, he's a boy. He can't be scared." he'd said. I ignored his memo and started crying, as any child would do. My grandmother picked me up quickly and held me so that he wouldn't hurt me in any way. She'd rubbed my head as I cried, and I felt safe again. "You dirty bastard!" she'd yelled. "Relax, will you? Not my fault you're raising a baby," he'd replied. "Get out!" she'd yelled. She'd then held me with one arm, and swung the bat with the other. Oh, grandpa didn't like that. He'd thrown his bottle of beer at her head. She'd held me closer and covered her head with her arm, dropping the bat. She was pissed, very pissed. Both of them were. When grandma was pissed, nobody won except her. She swung her leg at his, making him fall. He was too drunk to have the steadyness of legs. She'd kicked him in the head, yelled at him, all I could do was watch. I wasn't crying anymore. I wasn't scared. I knew he couldn't hurt me now, and Grandma wouldn't hurt me. I wasn't afraid of her. She'd told him once more to get out, this time he complied. He'd wabbled his way out the door, not to come back again. She'd set me down on the couch and brushed the bangs out of my eyes. "Are you okay, little one?" she'd asked. I nodded. She put the bat back and cleaned up the glass. I felt safe.
She was my safe place. She was my home.
One two three four AND NOW WE'RE AT ONE THOUSAND WORDS. I was only four away lmao
Thanks for reading!!
Oh, and to clarify... I am not Samuel. He is my character. These stories are not true in any way, as I make them up.
