A girl, robbed and confused. She awoke to the putrid smell of chitterlings, coming from the gap between the door and the floor. She loved chitterlings. They reminded her of her youth. The days when she sat on the dark grey, moldy carpet in her grandfather's living room. Steve Harvey, familiar with both their voices as they’d shout out answers to The Feud like they were the ones on the screen. It wasn't long after that that old Grandpa Willy tries to finger her through her long-johns. And not long after that that she's seen the look of disappointment from about 60 faces in the church pews as she gave a eulogy at his funeral. "I loved my grandpa with all my heart. So much so that I sometimes think I should've let him experience the depth of my womanhood when he started running his fingers against my clit." This being the final two sentences of an otherwise heartfelt speech, turned even the pastor's tears to burrowed brows and a scrunched lip. She often thought back to the day of his funeral, and the day of his death. Foods like chitterlings, Kool-Aid, and pistachio ice cream; scrolling past Family Feud while searching for something to watch; and making meals for others—all brought back the nostalgia of being comforted by the thought of being Grandpa’s favorite grandchild—a title that once wore the facade of goodness but is now cloaked in shame. Even the assignment to make the sweet potatoes and ham for Thanksgiving dinner was made dreadful as she was repeatedly reminded of the little white crystals she had put in her grandfather's Kool-Aid that day. As she placed the marshmallows onto the mess of sweet potatoes she thought of the soft, white pillow underneath the heavy head in that shiny brown casket. Not sad, nor happy. Not mad, nor dignified, she stood there, looking at him. A girl, robbed and confused.

THE END.