Imperfect

T W E N T Y - N I N E - A M A R A M U L L I N S

"Blow out the candles," grandma told me, "make your wish..."

I took six seconds, thinking—then blowing out the six candles.

My grandparents clapped for me as the candles were completely blown out. They were happy for me. I am finally six years old.

"We have a surprise for you." my grandpa told me.

Grandma Terri and Grandpa Darrell wanted me to wait downstairs as they went upstairs to get my present. I wanted to wait for them but noise from the living room window quickly got my attention.

I ran from the kitchen, going into the living room to look out the window.

There were children my age—plenty, who were outside enjoying themselves in the hot sun. It looked like it was someone else's birthday across the street.

The party seemed so much fun than what I was having as a party.

  I was alone, I didn't have any friends, but I desperately wanted to make friends.

  My grandparents were strict on me. They didn't want me to talk to anyone—it was one of their rules.

  I didn't know why, but sometimes I thought that some rules should be broken.

I quickly ran to the door, hurrying to the door, opening it, and quickly rushing out.

I ran out of my grandparents' yard, rushing across the street wanting to join in on the fun.

  I thought I was going to make it, but I didn't pay attention to any of my surroundings—I bumped into a man while trying to run over across the street.

Falling on the sidewalk, hitting my back—I ached in pain.

"Are you alright sweetheart?" the man asked while reaching and giving me a hand.

I touched his hand; he pulled me up as he continued to watch me.

"Thank you sir..." I told him.

"Wow," he said looking at me, "you look so familiar—who's your mother?"

"I don't know my mama," I told him as I looked up at him, who stood very tall, "she died when she had me, so I didn't get to meet her."

"You look just like your father," he told me, "just know that he still loves you—despite the choices that he made in his life. He loves you very much."

He rubbed my head softly and walked off without saying goodbye or introducing himself to me. I didn't know who the man was, but he knew exactly who I was.

"Amara," my grandma yelled from inside the house, "Amara!"

I was going to be in big trouble—ON MY BIRTHDAY.

I ran back into the house, before it got worse for me.

Making it back into the house, my grandma had her hands on her hips, disappointed in the decision that I made.

"Where were you?" she asked me, pissed at my terrible actions.

"I was just going outside to see about that party..." I told her, with my small, innocent voice.

"Don't scare me like that again," she warned me, panicking slightly, "I don't want anything horrible to happen to you."

"Yes ma'am," I told her, "I'm sorry grandma."

My grandpa's loud footsteps echoed through the house as I saw him came downstairs with a huge treasure chest in his hand.

I was so excited. I jumped up and down with joy in my little heart.

"You bought me treasure for my birthday," I screamed, "I love you Grandma Terri and Grandpa Darrell!"

They dropped it on the floor and let me open it. I was wondering what kind of treasure it could've been.

When I opened it, I was sadly disappointed at what I got for my birthday.

"A book," I said with disappointment in my voice, "I only got a book for my birthday?"

"It's not a book sweetheart," my grandma told me, "it's a journal—written by your mother, when she was carrying you inside of her belly."

"She wrote it for me?" I asked them, feeling special, feeling closer to my mama than ever.

"Yes, she wrote it for you," Grandpa Darrell explained to me, "but before, you read it—we know everything in that book, and we think it's the right age for you to read it now..."

My grandma went towards the living room door, locking it as she kept an eye on me tightly.

"Me and Grandpa Darrell will be upstairs while you're reading Mama Abby's journal... okay?"

"Okay..." I told them as I held onto my mama's journal rightly.

"We love you sweetheart..." my grandpa told me as he and Grandma Terri was heading upstairs.

"I love you guys too..." I told them, feeling the care and joy that they brought to me ever since I was a baby.

As they were completely gone, I looked at the diary.

  At first, I was a little afraid to open the diary. I thought it was going to have big words and information that I wouldn't understand, but my grandparents wouldn't give me something that I couldn't read yet. So, I went ahead and opened it, preparing myself for what my little mind was about to read.

The journal read:

This is for the love of my life, the second love of my life—Amara Dilly Mullins. I'm writing this journal for you. I want you to know all the things that your mama did, things that she didn't mean to do; all of these things that I regret. I don't want to keep secrets from my daughter as you grow older and I die, I want you to know the whole truth.

There were things that I did that I wasn't too proud of. I did them out of hatred and I regret doing them. You were my second child—I didn't know the gender to my first child. I lost him or her after my first husband's mother poisoned me with tea. I was devastated; I had hatred in my blood. I disliked the woman so much that when she got sick and down, I did the same to her.

The same way that my first child died was the same way that my past-mother-in-law died. I gave her tea, poisoning her the same way that she did me. I wrote a suicide note, making it seem like she did it on her own.

My first husband was hurt, he was sad—he barely wanted to do anything with me after his mother died. And I came to realize that it was my fault. I hated what I did because it made me feel like I was a horrible person, which I really wasn't. Hate made me do this, but I regret it—I really do...

I did wrong during my marriage as well. An affair happened, which involved a pregnancy—which then you will be born. Honestly, I don't want you to be angry at me, but there are two options. I'm not for sure who your father is, but it's only between two people. Lawrence Mullins could be an option, or Clarence Ottom could be an option. I am disappointed at my actions, but I don't regret caring you inside of me. You are a beautiful angel, despite the horrible things that I've done in my life.

What I'm really trying to say is that you will make mistakes; you will soon learn from them. I want you to try not to make any mistakes—learn from your mama. Mistakes have serious consequences, just like mine. If you're reading this, I want you to know that I love you. Grow up independent, honest, smart, and imperfect—never perfect, because that doesn't exists in this world.

Love, Mom.

This made me come closer to my mother, even though I didn't physically know her. She told her whole life story to me, hoping that I would've understood her more better; and I did.

If it wasn't for this little journal that she left me, I probably would've grown up hating her guts, hating her for what she did if I ever heard it from someone who wasn't her. It would've made me hate her for life, not looking up to her.

She told me the truth, even through death. She was an imperfect human being who made mistakes that she regretted; she wanted me to do different than her. Make no mistakes and be like no one—be imperfect...

T H E  E N D