A World Without You
“I never really figured out makeup, and I feel most at home in T-shirts and jeans, but I like to look nice. Put together, my grandmother would call it, although she wouldn’t say it about me now. Put together to Grandma was a button-down blouse and a skirt, not a navy blue T-shirt with an elephant on the front and jeans that are ragged at the bottom because my short legs have walked the hem off.
There was always something wrong with me, at least in Grandma’s eyes. It’s not like she hated me. ...But I would sit with my legs too sprawled, or I talked too much, or my hair was too short. Always something little, some point of contention that proved I wasn’t good enough.
Bo, on the other hand, was her golden child. “He needs more love,” she’d say, as if an extra hug and piles of compliments would make him better. Maybe they did. He was always happy around her.
I turn away from the mirror and open my jewelry box.MoreLess
There was always something wrong with me, at least in Grandma’s eyes. It’s not like she hated me. ...But I would sit with my legs too sprawled, or I talked too much, or my hair was too short. Always something little, some point of contention that proved I wasn’t good enough.
Bo, on the other hand, was her golden child. “He needs more love,” she’d say, as if an extra hug and piles of compliments would make him better. Maybe they did. He was always happy around her.
I turn away from the mirror and open my jewelry box.MoreLess
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