Book 4- 1968 (Michael Jackson)

Chapter 19- Fired?

                Chapter 19- Fired?

                Date: Sunday, September 1, 1968

                Time: 1:42PM

                KAYLA'S POV

"Come on, Charles. You know it'll be easier for the both of us if you just work with me and- ugh!" The last Pampers ripped. Charles giggled gaily, not wanting this comedy show to ever end. I grumbled, shoving the now-torn diaper into the trash bin full of other unfortunate ones who had lost their purpose today.

I didn't get it, not at all. I had been telling Grandma for the past two weeks that we needed to get Charles some actual underwear because the baby stuff was getting much too small for him. Besides, if we didn't start weening himself off of it soon, he could become dependent on those bulky, roughly-textured cloths. But hey, who would listen to some senseless nine-year-old?

 "Looks like I'll be heading out soon," I indirectly complained. "You need something to wear, right?"

"Yes!"

"See?" I whispered. "You always agree with me. That's why you're the best-est." I pressed my index finger on the tip of his perked nose. A bubble of laughter erupted from him and filled the air around us, thus causing me to giggle.

Honestly, I liked hanging around Charles when I was at home. He was the only one with even a little bit of sense, and he was two years old. I liked having a conversation with him more so than my own parents, honestly. I'll be honest, it's rather depressing, having to put your thoughts into the mind of a little toddler, but no one at home has really- I mean really listened, word for word on how I feel.

"What about me?" a weak voice cracked. I instantly knew who it was, but I did not feel like responding at the moment. Grandma was actually beginning to tick me off with some of her habits. Whenever I would call someone the best or the kindest, or whatever name of high respect, she would always come back asking what I thought of her. She was just an extremely self-conscious older lady, I supposed.

Hiding a groan, I answered her question. "You too..."

She ambled into the kitchen, a relieved expression creeping upon her face. "Oh, alright. All's good, then."

"Hey, Grandma," I started. I broke away from my half-dressed brother and balanced myself on a chair. "Do you have, I dunno, two dollars you could spare? I'm going to have to head to the store and finally purchase a few... undergarments for Charles." There was no need to motion over to my chortling baby brother.

For a split second, a look of panic spread over Grandma's face. However, she was able to cover it up before I took major notice of it. She shuffled her feet nervously and stared at the ceiling. "Um... Yeah. I'll just borrow some cash from Elijah."

"Ran out of money again?" I questioned. "What did you buy this time?"

"I didn't buy anything," she replied, her voice much more frail than last time.

"What do you mean by that?" I narrowed my eyes, trying to think of all possible reasons why she had no bread to give. "Are they holding off a check?"

Grandma remained silent, not even daring to look my way. She groaned and rubbed her fingers together, which I took note of. If anything, I could possibly use that as a later clue.

"I sorta... kinda..."

A new, very possible idea entered my mind. I didn't want to ask and be right, but by this point, I needed to know. If I was right, everyone would be ticked, but it is better to be safe than sorry. "You didn't quit, did you?"

"Wellllll... not so much "quit" as "got fired"," she explained meekly, her face reddening. "I got fired about two weeks ago."

I frowned. Still, answers were not given away. Why was she being brought into town for the past two weeks, if that was the case? Had she not told Elijah? Was she keeping secrets from the rest of us? "You did tell Elijah, right?" I took a pause before adding, "I'm not the first person you've told... right?"

"Please don't tell him," she begged softly. "He'll be so mad..."

"Wait a moment. Why did you get fired?"

She sighed, knowing that she had been defeated by me. "I got into a fight." I didn't even have to come back with anything before she started describing the event. "Some old lady was trying to buy the last orange juice container, and I fought her for it. I regret doing that now, but-"

"Why couldn't you have waited to just head to another store? There are literally thousands of markets in Chicago!" I couldn't believe how immature she was, picking a fight with another innocent lady. And the brawl was over something so insignificant, as well. It showed her immaturity, her indolence, her lack of effort... I could go on.

"I don't know... just promise that you won't tell anyone. Please?" she plead and begged for the next minute. I was half expecting her to drop down to her knees and begin worshipping me as if I were some being of high authority.

I did not utter a single syllable to my wailing Grandma. Rather, I looked down upon her, almost in pity of her state, and took a moment to reflect on the past five minutes. She was being selfish and childish by acting this way, and I was definitely not going to put up with it, not after months of doing these little favors for her.

I ambled ahead, completely ignoring her. There was no way that she was going to stop me from telling anyone. No work. bribery, flattery, propaganda, or form of persuasion could get me into changing my mind. I was resolute in my ways, and I was sticking to the plan. 

I was most definitely telling Elijah the second he got home. No, the millisecond. the nanosecond. I chuckled at my silly humor, which was most likely not funny in any way.

Turning around he corner of the home, I found myself in the living room. There, I found a comfy place on the couch. It only took some time to fluff the pillows and fold the mini-quilt, and I was set and comfortable. 

It's funny, I thought, situating myself. It seems as though I have more control than my own parents do. I mean, she on almost on her knees, begging for me to stop and cave in to her. Ha, not going to happen. Come to think of it, I guess I really do have more authority over her, and sometimes even Elijah.

I reverted back to my normal thoughts. As I normally did every afternoon before heading to Michael's, I propped myself up with the newly-fluffed pillows, reached for my current book, and flipped to my last page. When I saw the rough, leathery cover of my new favorite book, Sherlock Holmes, I grinned a wider grin than I had all day, even at Kingdom Hall.