To Keep You

To Be A Child Is To Be A Flower

I could never figure out why she didn't like Arnold. He was considered a nerd at school and didn't have many friends. He gets bullied for his dark skin and glasses. But that's what I like about him, he wears glasses and so do I. Everyone calls us 'four-eyes', but at last, when we're together and get called 'four-eyes,' we have each other to comfort. We have each other to share the pain of rejection from our peers, and when we're together, the world doesn't feel so scary or lonely anymore. It just feels right.

It feels normal...

Plus, he loves books, and so do I. He knows a fact about everything, and he never gets angry when I ask too many questions. Even at times, he seems happy when I ask them. However, he never answers my questions about why sometimes he shows up to school with blue and green spots on his skin or red water running from his nose or lips, sometimes even both. He always brushes me off and simply says he tripped or fell down the stairs. But when he speaks, his eyes never meet mine, and his words are always so sad, like he was lying to me and hated himself for it.

"Auntie, why don't you like Arnold?" The question was honest and asked with puppy dog eyes as she ushered me towards the kitchen.

Without missing a beat, she spoke, "Because his mama is as nutty as a fruitcake."

My eyebrows raised, and my lips curled in confusion, so I asked, "And?" Cake is really good, so she doesn't like Arnold's mama because she's like cake? That doesn't make sense.

Adults are weird.

"His mama gets her mashed potatoes from a box, and not even the expensive kind, the cheap knock-off brand." She frowned as if his mama had done something terrible that is worthy of the time-out bench at school. But the real question is, how do you get mashed potatoes from a box?

As I take my seat at the table set for two, I ask again, "And?"

She begins to fill my plate, "His daddy's a Yankee from Boston." She shudders as if being a Yankee is to be like gum when it gets stuck in your hair on a hot as hades day.

As I open my mouth to protest, she holds her hand up to shush me, "Daring, in life we can't go barking up every tree, because it won't always be a cat that we're barking at." 

Her words didn't make sense to my mind, and as I chewed my dinner slowly, I wondered what value they held. I was more than used to Auntie Joe's strange words, but tonight, her words seemed to strike me dumb. For there was a mystery laced throughout her words, yet for the life of me, I could not solve it.

We ate in comfortable silence with Auntie Joe only asking me here and there about school and if I liked dinner. She expressed that she had added more pepper to the chicken and less salt to the green beans. I couldn't taste the difference for the green beans were still disgusting no matter what she did with them.

Later that night, I found myself lying in bed with Auntie Joe after watching an episode of Golden Girls with her. She always says that I'm the only golden girl in her life and she wouldn't change it for the world.

"Auntie Joe, why do we share a bed?" I had my own room but there was no bed in there, only my clothes and toys. There weren't any windows either, but Auntie Joe always said it was the builder's fault, and they simply forgot to put windows in.

Placing her Bible down in her lap in which she was previous reading aloud for me and my teddy bear to hear, she frowns and stares at me with sad eyes, "You don't like to share a bed with me?"

I shake my head roughly, "It's not that, it's just the other kids at school say they have their own beds, and I wonder why I don't, that's all."

She seems to deflate at my words, but I notice she appears to be scared, "You're scared of the dark and so is teddy, so it just makes sense that you sleep in here where I can protect you both." She smiles and leans over to kiss my forehead gingery before pulling the covers up to my chin.

 That made sense, "Night, love you, Auntie Joe." I whispered as my eyes grew heavy, and I sank down into my pillow. It was nearly as big as me.

She offered me a kind smile, but it didn't reach her eyes, "I love you too, honey drops."

 If I only knew then what kinds of dangers Auntie Joe was protecting me from, I would've hugged her a little tighter...

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Southern: Ustacould.

Meaning: I used to could.