The streets of this podunk town smelled of hot garbage and broken dreams. Beer cans and cigarette butts befriended one another amongst Snickers wrappers and potato chip bags. The sweltering Kansas air made a ham-handed effort to cop a feel up my black skirt. The sight of the hearse and the blubbering that followed inspired a roll of my eyes heavenward, where the preacher had assured me Granny P was now. Doubt clouded my mind. In Granny P’s life, heaven was a place she visited after passing out on the floor of her double-wide. She muttered her prayers to a Lord named Jim Beam. Her monthly tithe was paid to the town liquor mart. But beauty is in the eye of the beholder, maybe heaven is that way, too. I used the funeral program to fan my face and marched to my car, leaving the clumsy wind and sobs behind. Air conditioning caressed me with experienced fingertips. Jazz music spilled from the speakers, quenching my thirst to leave this wretched place behind. I pulled onto the only street in and out of town. The highway crooked its finger, beckoning me back to my real home. Maybe I would stop at the next town over and get a sandwich. Maybe it would fill the void where love for Granny P was supposed to be.
Author Bio:
Jessica was born in Dodge City, Kansas to a rural farming family. Although she spent many seasons in Kansas, she moved to Colorado in the 90s and has remained there ever since. She has been passionate about books and the craft of storytelling ever since she first learned how to read. Her future plans are to travel and gain life experiences she can use for story fodder.
Author Bio:
Jessica was born in Dodge City, Kansas to a rural farming family. Although she spent many seasons in Kansas, she moved to Colorado in the 90s and has remained there ever since. She has been passionate about books and the craft of storytelling ever since she first learned how to read. Her future plans are to travel and gain life experiences she can use for story fodder.
RSS Feed