Yesterday my grandma almost choked me to death. The reason is beyond me. For the most part, I do what I’m told, but I admit that I’m a thirteen-year-old girl who just wants to have fun with my friends. Grandma has been under a lot of stress lately so she says or rather yells while directing me to pick up my coat off the floor. It’s never my intention to carelessly throw my coat on the floor, which I usually do after arriving from school. Grandma’s stress is mostly tied to my Dad’s infatuation with work. He’s also under a lot of stress since my mom left us a year ago. Working calms his nerves, and fills the void of single parenthood. The hours that Daddy work are so weird; how can he leave for work before I have to be at school, and not return home until I’m in bed for the night? All these hours worked, and he still doesn’t help Grandma with half the rent.

Its chore day Saturday! Yippy. Well. . .not yippy to chore day Saturday, but Mrs. Chisel who lives down the street promised to give out free vanilla cupcakes, and strawberry milk to the kids on the street who shows her a good report card. She’s an old lady who loves children, although she doesn’t have any of her own. Every year, she does something special for us, but this has got to be her best reward yet. Report cards were sent out last week; three A’s and four B’s for me. I’m going to get my snack! I can do my chores later. Besides, it’s only sweeping, and mopping the kitchen. It’s pretty early, so Grandma’s still sleeping. I need to make sure I don’t disturb her. She’s pretty keen on people NOT waking her up, and the security alarm makes an annoying beeping sound when decoded. I’ll just leave out the window.

My next door neighbor Charlie is pretty smart too. I’m sure he has a good report card, so I’ll remind him of Mrs. Chisel’s reward. Charlie, and I aren’t really close friends, but what kids doesn’t deserve goodies for hard work? As I’m walking around Charlie’s house, I see a big window inner-trimmed in blue, with a sticker of our school’s Tiger mascot on it. Yeah, this is Charlie’s window. He plays basketball for our school. I knock at the window a couple times but no one opens the shades. Please let this be Charlie’s window. I sure hope this isn’t his mom’s window. She’s light weight mean like Grandma. It could be though. Maybe she has a thing for blue mascots. Oh great, it’s Charlie!

“Hey Jewel! What’s wrong?” “Nothing. I was hoping this was your window.” “Yeah it is.” “Did you know Mrs. Chisel is giving out goodies to. . .. “Yep, and I’m cool.” “Your cool?” “I don’t do sugar that much.” “Charlie, who doesn’t eat cupcakes?” “Me.” “Ok then, see you around then Charles.” “It’s Charlie”. “Okay, later Chuck.”

What a waste of time I can’t get back. Who doesn’t eat sugar? Why was he looking at me up and down like a weirdo? The worst part is I totally looked like a stalker trying to be cool. It’s not warm out here. These pajamas are super thin. I should’ve grabbed my windbreaker.

Wow, I can see more people down there than I thought it would be. Its not even 10 o’clock yet. Ok, let me make a run for it. Mmm, she must’ve just pulled those cupcakes out of the oven. The smell is getting stronger as I get closer.

This line is too long, and half these kids in it never get good grades. This is so whack, please hurry – I need to get back home.

Finally, mmm. Yes, these were worth the wait. . . a 20-minute wait. Mrs. Chisel didn’t say they were going to have sprinkles on them. Double plus! Oh. . . oh my! These cupcakes are so good, walking is difficult.

Grandma? Why is she on the porch?

Grandma was on the porch with her hands on her full curvy hips, watching me as I walked up the stairs. She looked so mad; it appeared as if her wrinkles in her face were pumping with blood. Why were we just standing there looking at one another? The answer was beyond me. I would’ve said something but. . . I was afraid of what she might say back. As she turned to walk in the house, I knew immediately to follow her lead. The door was already open, but for some reason, she felt the urge to give it a push, Beowulf style; so forceful, its impact left a door knob hole in the wall behind it.

As I began to get my other foot in the door, she grabbed me behind my head, and took advantage of my 90-pound 5’0 frame with a push-slam combination on my body. After landing on the living room floor, she latched her thick fingers around my short, coarse ponytail, and dragged me towards the kitchen. I tried to fight back by kicking, punching with my strawberry milk, and scratching the life out of her. I even spat in her face a few times. Grandma’s strength overpowered me. Once we got to the kitchen, and the dragging stopped, I knew why she was so angry. Grandma let me head go so hard, my forehead bounced off the dirty floor, causing a quick massive headache, adding to the pain I was already feeling from her pulling my hair.

“You gonna clean this kitchen you black hefa. You hear me? You hear me hefa?”

The pain was so excruciating; I couldn’t even get up. Raising my nose off the floor seemed like a challenge that Grandma didn’t take lightly. She knelt down. Turned my head towards her foot, and leaned her head to the side in order to make eye contact.

“What’s today Jewel?” “Saturday?” “What are you suppose to do on Saturday’s Jewel?” “Clean the kitchen?” “Then why isn’t my kitchen clean? It is after all Saturday.” Right?

It was so hard for me to get my thoughts together. Pain, fear, and the after- taste of cupcakes over conquered Grandma’s interrogation. There was no answering her questions. She must have taken this as an insult, as she turned over my whole body by my left arm. There was no idea of what she would do next, anything was definitely possible.

Grandma, who was probably 3 times my size, sat on top of me, and put her hands on her hips. She continued to ask questions like why I undermine her, and where is my disrespect coming from. Simply, there was no answer. Not that I was being ignorant, I could’ve told her that I had only stepped out for for a moment to get my reward from Mrs. Chisel, and that I was going to clean the kitchen once I got back, but now, a lack of inhalation added to the headache. Grandma had wrapped her hands around my small neck and began to choke me.

The room filled with a sudden silence, and slowly I began to become a part of this peace. Numbness was setting in, starting with my lower body. The feeling was strange. At one point, my legs were kicking as I tried to fight the choke, then unwillingly, they gave up. My stomach, Grandma’s resting place, became immune to her stockiness. Once my chest began to feel caved in, the fear was calm. It was over for me. I knew this, so I accepted. The last memory of this horrible ordeal, in which I actually enjoyed, was the blurring of sight; with each level of blur, Grandma disappeared, creating a sense of assurance that my next life would be free of her.

Where am I? This pain. At least I can stand up. The sun is down. Where’s a light? Dizziness. Holding my head makes it better. I should probably lie down. Not the couch. Grandma’s there sleeping. I’ll just sit at the kitchen table, and drink my strawberry milk. The microwave. Its’ 9:47. Daddy will be home soon.