In the Forest of Light and Dark Read Free

thousand pound weight bearing down on my chest—as if a force was trying to burrow its way deep inside of me eager to rip out my heart.
     ( A little about my Grandma Singer. She’s the coolest, toughest; four-foot six-inch old broad you’ll ever meet. She loves to gamble, smoke, drink, swear, hunt, fish, race cars, make moonshine, and she cooks with tons-and-tons of butter. And I swear… given the chance, she’d be a Madam running her own burlesque house. My Grandma Singer is everything I inspire to be one day.)
     The news of Grandma Singer dying had hit me like a punch to the gut and I quickly became so wrought up that I hadn’t even noticed when my mama began consoling me when she’d wrapped her arms tightly around me. At that moment it was as if I was a million miles away and all I could feel was this impenetrable wall of sadness welling up inside of me. Looking back at that moment, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more abject in my entire life than I did right then, curled up in my mama’s arms crying like a baby. But then my mama had said something to my step daddy that had changed everything, she said, “So, what do you think is going to happen with her house up in New York now?”
     WHAT? Was all I can remember that was going through my mind the instant my mama had finished speaking that sentence.
     You see, Grandma Singer was my Step Daddy Cade’s mama. My step daddy had been born and raised right here in Alabama along with the rest of his family. He had never even left the state except for a brief time when he had attended college in New Orleans. And, from what I had heard of that, I guess college hadn’t worked out all-too-well for him. (You could say my Step Daddy Cade isn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. In fact, I’d say he’s so dim-witted that he couldn’t pour water out of a boot with instructions printed on the bottom.)
     Well, during my step daddy’s brief time in school books had quickly and thoroughly kicked his ass, so he had spent most of his time getting high and drunk down in the French Quarter before eventually returning home.
     But, what I was getting at was, Grandma Singer didn’t have a house in New York. She had always lived right here in Saraland with us. So, of course, I was a bit confused.
     After having wiped away my tears with the palms of my hands, I’d asked my mama, “What do you mean? You said Grandma Singer is dead.” I say this to her as my chest continues to hitch and I do my best at keeping another sob from creeping up into my throat. At the time I remembered having felt a little embarrassed over my sobbing. Not that it wasn’t okay to cry when somebody dies, of course. It’s just that… I’m no wimp, and I have never liked letting people see me cry, not even my parents.
     “No, Cera.” my mama, then says to me in a soft tone. “Grandma Singer’s just fine. It’s my mother, your Grandma Barrett, who has died.”
     Now, I don’t want to sound like I’m coming off as a cold-hearted bitch here, but Wahoo! Grandma Barrett… Who-the - hell cares, I had never even met the old buzzard. I had only seen one wallet-sized picture of her, and the photo’s quality was sketchy at best. As far as I’d been concerned, this wasn’t even going to put the slightest of dents in my weekend plans at all.
     But at this point before we move on I should probably tell you a little more about my Grandma Lyanna Barrett. She was my mama’s mama obviously, and she had lived up in a place called Mount Harrison, New York. That was where my mama and the rest of her family (whatever’s left of it) are originally from. I had never even met my Grandmother Lyanna, let alone have been up to her place in New York because my mama had ditched her hometown and skinned-out back when she was just eighteen. Yeah, she just grabbed her cigar box of running away money and took off for the South.