time I started seeing marijuana plants next to my spider plant and cactus, I went to open the door and it was locked. We had a big fight when he finally did open it. I try not to think about the way his eyes looked, all bloodshot and dilated. He came at me with a knife, said he’d kill me. The next morning the metal door with the bars went in. And it’s been this way ever since. As the summer air blows through the window, I gather a pen and an old book and I write, like I’m writing a letter to someone, like I’m doing now. I was always good at telling a story. I have lots of stories to tell. Like the day the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, I was getting my hair curled. The girl only had time to finish one side, before they closed shop on me. For two whole days I walked around with a hat, one side curly, one side straight. Or the time I saw my father wrestle a shark when we were at the Cape one summer. Or the time my Grandmother Lucy cooked up snake and told us kids it was chicken. Boy, those were good times. I don’t know why I write. I think maybe it’s like having a friend. Someone to talk to. Maybe I hope someone will see it. But I don’t know what good that’ll do. The other day, when the mailman was walking near the driveway, I called to him and tossed him a folded note. It was risky, I know. If Sonny found it, he’d come up here with that mouth of his, swearing like a sailor. “I take good care of you and this is what you do behind my back.” Always with an almost Hispanic accent. “Grans, come on now. Why you doing this to me?” I only wrote in the note, have a nice day. My mother always said you get more with honey than vinegar. The note was a failure, anyway. I didn’t throw it very far. It landed in the puddle of pee and yellowed. No one touched it. No one but me knows it’s there. When the sun starts to set, I get a little chilly. The shadows on the room remind me of a fun house or a carnival. It makes me nervous. I get lonely and sad. I’m not sure how I go on. I pray every night that God takes me. Make it when I’m sleeping, I say. No one will notice.
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Elder Leah