Page 34 of I Can't Even Think Straight

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isn’t Granny’s fault.

Granny is worth more

than a million dads.

My anger turns to tears

that silently spill and slick my cheeks.

T scrunches his face,

confused or disgusted by me.

Or both.

Granny rips off

a square of paper towel

and hands it to me:

“Hush now, baby.”

“You juss too wicked, Tafari,”

Granny laughs, her golden laugh,

as she lightly raps T on his head.

“You made your cousin cry.”

“They’re happy tears,” I lie.

“They’re tears of gratitude,”

I say as I wipe them away.

I scrunch the wet tissue

and toss it at T’s chest.

It drops onto his lap.

He looks down at it

and back up at me.

T shakes his head,

confused or amused by me.

Or both.

I stand and hug Granny.

“Thank you for paying for my holiday,”

I sniffle into her soft shoulder.

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