Macy VIII

By: Mia Hazlett
4/11/13

My grandmother’s past was becoming my present. I wanted to consume every letter at once as though they were an enticing book, but each letter set heaviness in my heart with each word. It was only curiosity to get to know whom my grandmother was, which pushed me to finish each sentence.

Now I sat in front of her fifth envelope. It’s funny when someone is given so much power in a family, you just believe in their greatness, whether you like them or not. Glancing over her barely legible four letters I had read, I realized my grandmother’s weakness, her education. It never occurred to me she lacked an education. But maybe that is what made the letters so heart wrenching to read. She was so desperate to tell her story but she barely knew the words to express her years of misery.

Wen you wit a babee in you, boy you don’t feel reel nise. You don’t feel nise a tall. Macy, I dun hated dat der babee in me cuz my momma hated me cuz a dat babee in me. Wazn’t nuttin I cud do rite. She jus hated me.

But she dun luvved me sister. Me sister she wuznt like me. Well she didnt look like me. She wuz reel reel witelike. She cudda dun passd fur a wite persun if she want. But jus cuz moma dun hated me, me sister she tuk care ov me reel well. You see she dun new wut had happened in dem woods wit dem boyz dat dun killed our bruthers. She dun got da wurse of wut dem boyz did. Doctur dun sed she wud never have no babees. It wuz weeks befur she cud even walk after it dun happend.

But it don’t matter nun. I iz gonna hav me a babee and my sister, she reel happee fur me, even tho my moma want us to die. Yup, my moma told me she hope us both die fo we bring hur mo bad luk. She don’t want no darkee babee in hur house. She sed I wuz a bad gurl and it wuz my falt that boy dun dis wit me. I wuz alwayz wearin dem tite cloze round him.

Macy, when yur own moma hate you dat much, you lern to hate yurself too. And when you iz only but 12 yeerz old all you want iz yur moma to luv you. So 1 day I dun take a big rock and put it on da ground and dun fell belly furst on it. I dun nocked da air right out ov myself. It dun hurt reel bad. Sister came reel fast, but befor she culd stop me, I dun catched my breath and did it another. Dis 1 hurt me somethin reel bad and I woke up in the house with the docter man there.

Moma dun stud in da door and she dun hated me. I cud see it in her eyez. She dun hated me somthin bad. To dis day Macy I don’t no why. I dun killd my baby so we won’t bring hur no bad luck. Yes Macy, I dun killd my baby fur my moma and she still hated me.

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Filed under daughters, death, fiction, Macy, racism, sisterhood

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