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Dec. 21st, 2015

"Ring aroun' the rosie."

Her hands feel like crepe paper in my mine.  I want to hold them tight, but I am terrified they'll shatter into dust in my grasp.

She reaches out to touch my hair, pushing it behind my left ear.  "Margaret, why did you do that?  Only whores dye their hair like that.  I like your hair better as a brunette."

I swallow hard.  I'm not Margaret.

"I'm sorry, Granma.  Maybe we can pick some color and make it better."

Her hands are last years leaves in my hands.  I don't dare grasp too hard.

"Ring aroun' the rosie.  Do you wanna play, Margaret?"

I do.

It's too much.  The sanitized "living."  The scent of everything calm and healthy and just as it should be.  And now I'm Margaret, the sister that died on my seventh birthday.

I trip over my aunt on the way out.

I fled.

And I will never forgive myself.


( 10 comments — Leave a comment )
Dec. 21st, 2015 05:53 pm (UTC)
The descriptions of the grandma's hands are amazing! Wow!

Dec. 21st, 2015 06:00 pm (UTC)


Dec. 21st, 2015 06:12 pm (UTC)
The closer I get the Christmas, the harder it gets.
Dec. 21st, 2015 06:31 pm (UTC)
Beautifully written.
Dec. 21st, 2015 07:06 pm (UTC)
This hurts my heart a little. I can't imagine how your heart feels just writing this.
Dec. 21st, 2015 08:52 pm (UTC)
that just grabbed hold of my heart and squoze the tears out.

I know that feeling though, the fleeing.
Dec. 21st, 2015 09:14 pm (UTC)
This was beautifully written, but it brought me to tears - because I know that sooner rather than later there will be a day when my mum does not know who I am.
Dec. 21st, 2015 10:13 pm (UTC)
Dec. 21st, 2015 10:13 pm (UTC)
Dec. 22nd, 2015 10:10 am (UTC)
This is wonderful
( 10 comments — Leave a comment )