E.M. Keeton

When I woke up this morning, Mama showed me a picture of Grandma to memorize. I knew my mother would have kept me if she could; she had recently lost her job and the apartment we lived in. But Mama assured me it would be alright.

She told me, “Tell her your name is Jackson Jacob Henry Brown, III.” Then she handed me a Walmart bag full of my good clothes with my grandma’s picture in it, and a sack lunch Mama packed before we left. “You wait right here until your grandmother comes home and don’t let her go inside without.”

Those were the last words Mama told me before she walked around the hedges and out of my life. I wanted to chase her down, grab her legs and beg her to keep me; but once my mother made up her mind about something, nothing would change it.

I waited hungry and lonely; desperately hoping a woman I never met would have pity on me and keep me when no one else did.