Under the Peach Tree Read Free Page A

she would say because it’s boring and her momma used to make her go to church as a little girl. She told me I better be thankful that I didn’t have to sit there and listen to an old man talk about a God who she never heard nor saw. She said that maybe when she got old and had no choice she would finally set foot back in church.
    No church attendance: it’s something both me and my momma had in common.
    â€œFaith, do you think that God knows who I am?”
    She smiled. “He knows all His children. At least that’s what the preacher said.”
    â€œSo, God and Momma was together?”
    Faith laughed. “No! God is Momma’s father too!”
    â€œI don’t get it,” I stated, confused.
    â€œMe either, but I’ll ask the preacher next Sunday and tell you.”
    I lowered my head. “Faith, do you think Momma will start letting me go to church?”
    â€œAsk her.”
    A week later, I finally worked up enough nerve to ask my mother. She was cooking breakfast Sunday morning, singing an Earth, Wind & Fire song. She was in a very good mood, probably because she no longer had to worry about doing our hair; Faith did both of ours. She didn’t have to worry about picking out our clothes or getting us dressed. All she did on Sunday was cook and watch TV.
    Being twelve years old also meant that I no longer got whooped. Instead, she’d just smack me upside my head and send me to my room with no dinner. I preferred the beatings. I also felt like my mother never took the time to even see if I was in the wrong whenever she accused me of doing something. She never heard my side of the story. To her, I was guilty with no chance of being proven innocent. I was the bad twin, the fat twin, the nappy-haired twin, the devil twin. Faith was the good twin, the sweet twin, the pretty twin, the polite twin, the angel. Momma said we were like night and day, but Faith and I knew better. We were just alike. We were twins. The thing I loved most about Faith was that she never saw herself as better than me. We were equals, the same on the inside, just different on the outside.
    I never understood why Momma treated us differently. I used to lie up at night praying for God to make me a good girl so that Momma would love me more. No matter how hard I tried, she still found something to pick at. Eventually I accepted my fate, but it didn’t make it less hurtful.
    I used to leave Momma drawings with hearts and kisses all over them to show her how much I loved her, but she always regarded them as trash, and I’d find them lying in the garbage hours later. Faith got to keep her drawings on the refrigerator. Momma said it was because she was good at drawing and her pictures should be shown off, but I didn’t believe that.
    â€œMomma, can I start going to church?”
    â€œNo, and don’t ask again.” Her tone of voice was final. I decided to direct the conversation elsewhere.
    â€œHey, Momma, what are you cooking?”
    â€œI’m cooking some breakfast for Faith before she goes to church.”
    I frowned. “What about my breakfast?”
    â€œI only have enough to make Faith breakfast. She’s the one who gotta go to church. Don’t want her around them church folk hungry. There’s some crackers in the cabinet, eat them!”
    I turned around and saw Faith standing in the doorway, watching. Her expression was impassive, but I know she felt what I felt. Momma had bought Faith a new dress and that’s why she didn’t have any money to put groceries in the house. Knowing Faith, she’d think it was her fault that I didn’t get any breakfast.
    I decided not to argue about it, and walked over to the cabinet to get the crackers, but the cabinet was empty.
    â€œAin’t no crackers,” I said, turning around to Momma with a frown.
    She sighed. “Oh, that’s right. I gave them to Jordan’s mom so that they could eat them with