The liquid splashed around the cup as Georgia struggled to put her coffee back on the table without spilling it. Other people had already ruined the linoleum on her plastic dining-room table and it was covered in scratches and peeling around the edges. The table had been white at some point but was now yellowed from years of use. Two ashtrays on the table were overflowing with ash and cigarette butts. The entire room smelled musty, courtesy of a combination of Florida humidity and a busted air conditioning unit, plus years of stale cigarette smoke. It wasn’t any use to open the windows to let in fresh air. The window screens were all broken and Georgia didn’t feel like replacing them. She also didn’t feel like letting in a bunch of mosquitoes into her home.

Georgia scratched her pale leathery cheek with a yellow and nubby index finger. Flakes of dead skin scratched from an old scab floated down onto an ash tray. Georgia stared at the black girl sitting at the other side of the table. She could barely see her through her glasses foggy from never being cleaned and getting multiple scratches on the lenses. The girl was younger than Georgia had expected when her daughter told her she’d hired a house cleaner for her. She also hadn’t said the girl was black. The girl’s hair was a mess, curled into dirty dreadlocks. Georgia restrained herself from grabbing the kitchen scissors, rusty and lying on the table next to cut up bills, and cutting the girl’s hair off. Georgia knew their hair did different things from hers, but she also knew that dreadlocks came about because someone didn’t brush their hair. Georgia always took good care of her hair. Her arthritic fingers may hurt now with the effort but she still brushed her hair one-hundred times at night and put it in curlers before going to bed just like she’d done for the past seventy years. Arnold, her husband, had loved her hair. She missed Arnold. She didn’t understand why God had taken him away from her. Or why her daughter thought she needed a housemaid. It was funny that her daughter pretended their ancestors had never owned slaves, and now she was giving Georgia the gift of a black girl to clean up after her.

It pissed Georgia off when people whined about those who glorified the South. They seemed to forget that the South had helped America to get to where it was today. Georgia knew it wasn’t right to treat people like property, but they weren’t treated like that anymore. The South had learned from its mistakes. No one seemed to do that today. Georgia’s granddaughter, Lisa, loved telling her off and blaming her for everything bad that had happened in the past, but when it came to taking responsibility for her own life, what did she do? Lisa blamed Georgia’s generation for everything while she herself lived on her parents’ income and went to a college paid by her father’s parents. They paid for a useless art degree instead of forcing Lisa to get a job and take care of her own life. That was the problem of that generation. They complained and blamed the wrong people instead of taking responsibility for their own lives. Georgia couldn’t have afforded to do that when she was Lisa’s age. She started working at sixteen to help her mom raise the money needed to take care of five kids because her father had died for his country that now spit on her.

The black girl in front of Georgia didn’t look older than sixteen but apparently was twenty like Lisa and needed money to help pay for college. She didn’t have rich grandparents to spoil her. From what Georgia knew of black families, this girl had been raised by a single mother because the father ran off or was too lazy to find a decent job. Or maybe he was in jail. Georgia still remembered how terrified she had been after David was mugged in a parking lot. It didn’t surprise her that he never fully trusted black people afterwards if they were off mugging people. Georgia saw enough stuff on the news to know that more blacks were jailed for stealing than whites. That couldn’t just be bias as Lisa kept telling Georgia while eating the food her parents paid for. What about the time that poor woman had been attacked by a black man while running in the woods near the city’s country club? Lisa could be as righteous as she wanted to be, but Georgia knew that she stopped going for runs after that attack. And now her daughter, Lisa’s mother, wanted her to hire a black housekeeper.

The girl hadn’t said anything yet. She shifted in her seat occasionally but resolutely looked directly at Georgia or glanced over the house. Georgia wondered if she was looking for something to steal. She made a quick scan. They were in the kitchen. From there, Georgia could look into the living room that was just big enough for a couch and Arnold’s threadbare armchair. There was nothing valuable in the kitchen. The original gas stove was now covered in burn marks. The old white cupboards were covered in scratches and dirt. A plastic tiled floor with paintings of faded flower bouquets had missing tiles because the glue had worn off and Georgia didn’t feel like replacing them.

Georgia took a drag from her cigarette and stared at the girl. The girl stared straight back. Georgia didn’t like that.

“My daughter said you’ve cleaned houses before,” Georgia said. The girl blinked but kept looking straight at her as she spoke.

“Yes ma’am. I started cleaning houses last summer. I can show you my references if you’d like to see them.”

Georgia barely listened as the girl talked. She was distracted by the girl’s nose ring. Her daughter had told her they were a new trend and she called them septic rings or something like that. She couldn’t see any, but Georgia was sure the girl had tattoos. Georgia took a deep drag from her cigarette. It was disgusting what people did to their bodies now. When she was twenty, Georgia ironed her clothes and kept her hair in neat curls. This girl was wearing a tank top with a marijuana leaf on it. It looked it had been dug up from the bottom of a pile of dirty laundry. She didn’t have a handbag, just a faded wallet and a cell phone that she had put on the table, far away from the ashtray.

Georgia looked away from the girl who was staring at her and took another drag from her cigarette. Nothing happened. She stuffed the new nub into an ash tray and took a new cigarette out of the can she bought from Sam’s Club when her daughter had taken her there for some shopping. It was convenient that she didn’t have to rely on those puny packs that barely got her through a day. Georgia lit the cigarette with the last lighter Arnold had bought for her. He had smoked cigars. She still had the last one he had smoked on when he had had his heart attack. It was stored in an old cigar humidor along with the letters he had written to her from Vietnam and the picture of him in his uniform.

“Excuse me, ma’am, do you have any other questions for me? I’m getting picked up by someone in ten minutes.” The girl spoke suddenly and it startled Georgia. She dropped her cigarette on the table. It made a new burn mark on the linoleum before going out. She had forgotten about the girl who had just interrupted a memory of Arnold and made her waste a cigarette.

“Yes, I do have more questions for you,” Georgia told the girl. “If you’ve been cleaning for other people, why’s my daughter telling me we need to hire you because you need the money? I’d think that if you’ve been working you don’t need to be asking anyone any favors.” Georgia didn’t like how the girl was now looking at her, with hate in those eyes framed by dirty dreadlocks.

“I did not ask for anyone’s charity, ma’am. I was offered the job because Mrs. Lars told me she was looking for a housekeeper to help you out.” Georgia didn’t like this backtalk, especially by someone asking to work for her.

“Listen up, Miss.” She couldn’t remember what her daughter had told her this girl’s name was. “I don’t want a housekeeper. I can clean my own house. When I was your age, I didn’t ask for handouts. That’s because I’d already been working since I was sixteen and helped my mother raise four children. What’d you do?” Georgia was so aggravated she rasped the table with her knuckles, sending ash from the trays to sprinkle over the table. The girl kept looking at her with an insolent gaze and then had the nerve to stand up.

“I apologize for wasting your time, ma’am. I’ll let Mrs. Lars know my services aren’t required by you.”

Georgia sat in shock as the girl left her kitchen without waiting for her to say something back. She lit another cigarette and went to the kitchen window to see the girl hurriedly walk to a car parked in front of her house.

Georgia watched the girl from the kitchen window, but made sure to stand to the side far away enough so she wouldn’t be seen by her nosy neighbors who were outside mowing their lawns. She recognized the car. It was her daughter’s hybrid. She saw Lisa, her granddaughter, stepping out of the car. Georgia took a quick drag from her cigarette. The nicotine warmed her and she relaxed. Lisa was finally visiting her. She knew her ultimatum at Thanksgiving of never seeing Georgia again, after she made made a random remark about the two women who lived next door to her, had been a bluff. Maybe Lisa was here to help her clean. Georgia watched with surprise as the girl walked towards Lisa. They talked but she couldn’t tell what they were saying. Lisa glanced at the kitchen window and Georgia took two quick drags from her cigarette. Lisa was frowning. Then she smiled and said something to the girl who laughed. Her dreadlocks shook while she laughed. Georgia took another drag on the cigarette but her heart was beating fast. With a quick second glance at the window, Lisa grabbed the girls’ face in her hands and kissed her.

Georgia dropped the cigarette. Ash was knocked off onto the floor but the cigarette stayed lit. It dropped close to the lace curtains at the kitchen window. If Georgia nudged her foot slightly, the curtains would go up in flames. She didn’t notice the danger. Her attention was fixed to watching pale skin on black. Georgia watched helplessly as her granddaughter and the black girl kissed on her front lawn. She kept watching as they walked, laughing and kissing each other, to her daughter’s car. Georgia stepped numbly back from the window as they drove off, and with her step, kicked the lit cigarette towards the lace curtains. Georgia watched numbly as flames slowly licked their way up the curtains. She couldn’t feel the heat from the fire, not even as the flames wafted higher and higher up the curtains.

Cindy smelled the bitter sweet roses before she saw them on the kitchen counter. They were in a bundle wrapped in green paper. Her boyfriend, Jason, was at the kitchen table writing a document on his laptop. They had been going out for four years and had lived together for the last two. She knew he had heard her come home because her high heels were clacking loudly on the kitchen floor’s ceramic tiles, but he didn’t turn his head and kept working. He was nervous and didn’t know how she was going to react. She wasn’t sure yet either.

Cindy put her leather purse and trench coat on the kitchen counter and picked up the roses. They were beginning to welt and were as red as the blood that had dripped from her lip when Jason had slapped her last night and his college ring cut her lip open. She hadn’t felt any pain when Jason hit her because she had been in shock. He had never hit her before. After hitting her, Jason had stared blankly at her panting hard, then pulled her into a strong hug and started crying.

“I’m sorry, Cindy. Cindy, I’m sorry. Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” Jason had kept saying over and over again while he cried. She had felt the tears fall down her naked shoulder. She had only been wearing a bath towel. He had hit her after she got out of the shower. She had showered longer than ten minutes, the amount of the time she had promised him she would shower from now on after he had yelled at her about the high cost of the water bill. He had been so upset that she had broken her promise to him that he hit her. That’s what Jason kept frantically telling her as Cindy cleaned up the blood and put on clothes. He didn’t stop crying while he apologized to her.

Cindy knew Jason was an emotional person. He wasn’t like other guys and cried when he needed to. He was passionate about life, his work, and her. She had fallen in love with him when he cried after telling her, for the first time, he loved her. Cindy had battled with depression all of her life and it had been a relief to meet someone like Jason who made her happy. That morning, she kept telling herself that she loved Jason because he was passionate. She said it to herself when she woke up and again when she saw the red welt and dried blood on her swollen lip in the bathroom mirror. She couldn’t be surprised he would lash out when he was angry. She had knowingly broken a promise to him. She had ignored the timer last night while taking her shower and spent ten extra minutes shaving her legs. Jason worked hard and had done a lot for her. He had paid off half of her student debt and took care of their rent after she had temporarily lost her job. She mentally repeated these arguments to herself as she told people at work that she had accidentally walked into a pole the night before. She was again reminded how much Jason loved her when she saw the roses he had bought her lying on the kitchen counter.

The flowers smelled sickly sweet and the strong scent was starting to give her a headache. She  filled up a vase with water to put the flowers in. They looked beautiful but she had to throw away two because they had dark spots on their petals. The thorns on their stems pricked her hand and a small dot of blood welled from her index finger. She watched the blood trickle down her finger and onto her palm before running her hand under cold water in the kitchen sink. She quickly turned the water off when Jason closed his laptop and turned around to look at her. His eyes were red from crying.

“How was work?” he asked her.

“Fine. Did you finish your report?” She asked him back. Jason sighed. Her finger still stung with pain.

“The client wants more changes to the house design but I need to take a break. I’ve ordered sushi for dinner.” Cindy loved sushi but it was too expensive to eat all the time and Jason only bought it for her birthday and Valentine’s Day.

“That’s perfect.” Cindy smiled at Jason. He looked relieved and smiled back at her. Without thinking she said, “I’ll just take a shower before it arrives.”

She froze and looked at Jason for his reaction. Her swollen lip and finger were now both throbbing painfully. He strode over to her and pulled her into a tight hug. She felt choked by his wool sweater pressing on her neck.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered to her. He was hugging her too tightly and she felt suffocated. “I’ll come in after ten minutes and turn the water off myself. This time nothing will go wrong.” He let go of her but grabbed her shoulders, looked in her eyes, and smiled. The smile was too big for his face. 

Cindy nodded and walked to the bathroom. On her way, she passed the roses. Now in a vase, it was clear that all the flowers were wilting. Cindy thought it looked like they were crying. She wasn't sure if they were crying for her or Jason.

I’m Anxious and Depressed! What about you?

Are you also – Anxious and Depressed – too?

Then we both are!

Don’t text anyone! They won’t believe us – you know that!

How boring – to actually be – Mentally Healthy!

How out there – like a Rat –

That steals his Pizza – dirty Subway Pizza –

To an admiring New York!

(Modern Interpretation of Emily Dickinson's "I'm Nobody! Who are you?")

Leanne poked the lumps in her mashed potatoes with a fork. She didn’t understand how Aunt Patty could never manage to remove them even though she used a hand-held mixer to mash potatoes. Leanne grabbed a forkful of potatoes sans lumps and swallowed the creamy starch. She glanced around the table. Aunt Patty ignored her food and kept refilling her glass, which was strange. She usually never shut up about how good her food was during dinner. Uncle Roger was concentrating on eating everything on his plate. Leanne’s four cousins whispered to each other and giggled at Leanne when they thought she couldn’t see them. She was used to being made fun of by them by now. Leanne’s mom was fixing her blouse for the thousandth time since sitting down, trying to get the worn out material to stop sliding off her shoulders.

Every Thanksgiving was celebrated the same way. Leanne and her mom went to Aunt Patty’s house. Aunt Patty bossed Leanne’s mom around and Leanne’s mom never complained. Without Aunt Patty and Uncle Roger, instead of a Thanksgiving feast, Leanne and her mom would be eating TV dinners they bought on sale from Wal-Mart. Leanne knew nothing about her dad and her mom changed the subject if she asked about him. Aunt Patty always gave Leanne a present when she came over on Thanksgiving as if to make up for his absence. Last year it had been a rosary. This year it was a cross necklace. Leanne gave these presents to her mom when Aunt Patty’s back was turned. Leanne’s mom rolled her eyes at the gifts and donated them to Goodwill.

Leanne started sawing the slice of turkey on her plate. The plate was cleared enough that she could read the words, Blessed Day, that had been painted on the plate. Leanne’s cousin, Mary, had decorated the plate at a youth group event at church. Leanne had been staying with Aunt Patty at the time, because her mom was at a work conference, and had been forced to go with Mary. Leanne accidentally-on-purpose broke her own plate. Leanne was still sawing at the same slice of Turkey and her fingers were starting to cramp from the effort.

“Leanne, stop messing around with that turkey!” Aunt Patty yelled.

The room grew silent. Leanne had never heard Aunt Patty yell. Her cousins tried to hide their grins by hurriedly stuffing their mouths with mashed potatoes. Uncle Roger was frozen in place. A forkful of turkey drowned in gravy had halted halfway to his mouth. Leanne’s mom looked nervous and she was gripping her fork so tight Leanne could see the outline of the bones in her knuckles. Aunt Patty’s face was red and she took a deep gulp from her glass that Leanne guessed wasn’t cranberry juice. Leanne had been born after Aunt Patty became sober and had never seen her drunk. Leanne’s mom rose halfway up from her seat, still gripping onto her fork, before Aunt Patty yelled at her to sit down.

“Don’t you dare try to calm me down, Stacy!” Aunt Patty yelled at her. She pointed her glass to Leanne and red liquid swished dangerously from side to side. “I saw you give the necklace to your mom!” Red liquid sloshed around as the glass was pointed to Leanne’s mom, who now looked like a deer caught in headlights. “I saw you roll your eyes at me, Stacy! How dare you? I’m trying to help your daughter! She needs as much help as she can get to get into heaven after being born in prison!”

Leanne’s cousins stared at their mom. Mashed potato brew dripped from their mouths that were open from shock. Uncle Roger’s fork slipped from his grasp and fell on his plate. Gravy splashed all over his shirt. Leanne’s mom cradled her head in her hands and her blouse slipped halfway off her shoulders. Aunt Patty took another gulp from her drink and let out a giant burp.

Leanne stared at her plate. She wished she hadn’t eaten the mashed potatoes. The words, Blessed Day, looked up at her. They were soon covered up as Leanne threw up on her plate. That was the last time she was invited to celebrate Thanksgiving at Aunt Patty’s house.

#itslit #getlit #prosechallenge

Lie down on the cold wax paper,

Legs open wide.

Metal sticks inserted and moved around.

Check for diseases, for what’s been shared.

If it stings, hold your tongue,

You’ve been taught not to make a sound.

Swallow the blue pill three weeks,

Gulp down the green pill for one.

Make sure there isn’t a baby’s cry.

Be told the pills are forbidden

By men who don’t feel a baby’s body

Rips its way free from yours.

Watch blood stain clean water.

Keel over in pain.

Block your groans with a fist in mouth.

Let slip a sign of frustration.

Be told you don’t have an excuse.

It’s divine punishment, a woman’s role.

Find someone and exchange consent.

Share bodies, pant, desperate for a pleasing scream.

Be found without consent.

Legs ripped wide open.

Cry, breathe hard, and desperate for it to end.

Be told it’s your fault.

Your body, their rules.

Broken system, broken woman.

I’ve won and still must Fight.

I’ve punched that glass Ceiling

My knuckles keep Bleeding

But that won’t keep me from Leading.

“What the heck?!?!”

“Heather, will you calm down?”

“How the hell am I supposed to calm down Brittany? My leg is stuck in a freaking fence!”

I look at my sister with eyes opened wide and filled with panic. I’m breathing so hard I’m practically panting. My left leg is in an odd angle and my foot is stuck at the bottom of a ripped out hole in a chain-link fence that’s large enough for someone to go through if they duck. Brittany crouches down and looks at the cuff of my jeans which has been caught by the sharp barbs of the chain-link fence. I start feeling claustrophobic and whip my head back and forth between trying to see what she’s doing and looking back at the river behind me that’s coursing down so loudly it sounds like a thunderstorm is happening.

“Will you stay still?” Brittany mutters at me. Brittany has always been more level-headed than me, even though I’m older than her by two years. It’s weird that someone’s who’s just fourteen is much more mature than me.

I didn’t realize how worn down my jeans were. From what I can see, the cuffs are more string than jean and the string has become entangled with the chain-link. It’s like trying to unknot necklaces after transporting them together in a bag: a pain-in-the-ass. Her impatience isn’t helping.

After five minutes, at least I think it’s that long, could be shorter for all I know since I’m not timing her, Brittany’s able to untangle my jeans by ripping off the strands connected to the fence. I’m not overly concerned over the damage. It’s long past their time to be thrown out.

“There you go!” Brittany springs up and bows at me. She straightens up and gives me a goofy smile. I’m not in such a good mood.

“What the hell took you so long?” I gingerly move my foot away from the fence and step on it warily. Did I twist it?

“You’re very welcome. Pleased to be of service”

“Stop being such a smarty pants. Let’s get out of here.”

We start running but we don’t go as fast as we hope, or at least as fast as Brittany wants judging from her whispers at me to hurry up. My legs feel stiff and I’m limping; I think I really did twist my foot.

“Remind me again why we’re in a hurry?” I gasp out at her, holding onto my side that feels like it’s on fire.

“Because if you don’t get back home before mom comes you’re going to get caught for skinny dipping in the river and get into so much trouble you’ll forget what sunlight feels like.” Even though she’s running faster than me she isn’t out of breath or clutching her side. In fact, she’s holding herself up pretty well. I, on the other hand, think I’m going to pass out if I don’t get to take a break soon.

“Right. And why did we go skinny dipping again?”

“Because mom forbid you from going to the river and since we never agree with her, your first instinct was to do what we knew would piss her off the most,” Brittany’s face is now positioned in what I affectionately refer to as her bitch-face. I laugh at how serious she is but have to quickly stop because I don’t have enough oxygen to laugh and breathe.

We soon arrive in front of our white-picket fence with the red mailbox standing guard in front of the gate. I pat the mailbox affectionately and go ahead in front of Brittany to enter our home first. In the front hallway I hear an excited bark and our golden-retriever Max runs up to me, his tongue lagging out and his tail wagging. I hug him tightly and look up at Brittany who’s smiling at Max, her eyes gleaming. When he looks at her he suddenly starts growling and bares his teeth at her. Brittany’s face falls and she steps back when he starts barking at her. The last time he barked like that was when someone was trying to break into the house.

“Stop it Max! What’s wrong with you?” I try to pull him away from Brittany but he won’t budge. Every muscle is on high alert and he looks more like a wolf than dog right now. Brittany’s now glaring at Max but her lips are curled in a half-smile. She walks towards him and laughs when he starts whimpering and runs away.

“What the heck was his problem?” I ask and look at Brittany helplessly. She always has the answers. She just shrugs and heads towards the staircase.

“Ignore him. He probably ate something weird outside.”

We both walk up to the bedroom we’ve shared since Brittany was born. My side is covered in posters of Lana del Rey and Ellie Goulding and my clothes, makeup, and books are scattered everywhere. Brittany’s side is completely clean. Nothing hangs on the walls and her possessions are all hidden in drawers; even her bed is plain, just a white sheet and pillow cover it.

“You should really spice up your side,” I remark at her, “Why did you take down your drawings?”

Brittany briefly glances at her bed and shrugs, “I like your stuff better. I feel like you have more than we need to decorate this room.” She stops talking and whips her head towards the door. I also heard the front door open and mom’s greeting.

“Heather, where are you?”

“In my room, mom!” I yell back at her. I furtively glance at Brittany. “Do you think she knows about the skinny dipping?” I’m suddenly nervous. I know we should have never gone down to the river after that time Brittany and I almost drowned in it last summer during the hurricane, but I couldn’t help it. Brittany was so excited about the idea and her excitement is infectious. Now that we’re home though and I’m about to face my mom, I don’t want to get into trouble. I look at Brittany in panic and she smiles at me.

“Stop freaking out! You’ll be fine. I doubt she’ll know what you did.”

We hear footsteps on the landing and soon my mom walks in. I can tell she’s had a long day. Her hair is limp and there are bags under her eyes. She hasn’t been feeling that well. Actually, she hasn’t been doing well ever since last summer. That’s why she’s made me come to therapy with her, so that I can understand what she’s going through. I don’t like her therapist. He never makes a lot of sense and says ridiculous things so I’ve learned to just tune him out and use the forty-five minutes to plan what I’ll do with Brittany later.

Mom walks over to me and gives me a wan smile.

“Hi honey. I got dinner from KFC. If you set the table we can eat.”

I grin. KFC is our favorite fast food. Something about heaps of fried chicken is like an art form for us. I turn to share my excitement with Brittany but mom interrupts me before I can speak.

“Honey, what are you looking at?”

Brittany glares at her and gives her the same half smile she gave Max. I look at mom in surprise.

“Brittany,” I tell her confused. I don’t know how I didn’t notice before but my mom’s eyes are red and now they’re slowly filling up with tears. Completely ignoring Brittany she walks to the plain nightstand Brittany’s standing in front of and picks up a framed photo of the two of us that we took last summer, two weeks before the hurricane. Its Brittany’s favorite because her blond hair is glowing in the sun and her blue eyes are shining. I look almost muted in comparison with my black pixie cut and pale face. Mom puts down the frame and I hear her take a big sniff.

“Okay. Well honey, come when you’re ready then,” She turns back to me and gives me a watery attempt at a smile. She touches my arm lightly, and still completely ignoring Brittany, walks out of the room.

I look at Brittany, “What was that about?” I ask, “Do you think working long hours has finally gotten to her?”

Brittany doesn’t say anything and just continues to look at the door where our mom left. I wonder what she’s thinking. I shrug and follow my mom out to set the table. I turn to look behind me but Brittany doesn’t move, just glares at me while giving me a half-smile.