The Traiteur's Ring
“He realized he had known he would see her today. Perhaps a normal person would feel fear at the sight of a living ghost, creaking in her chair on a warped porch in the woods, but he was a child of the bayou – grandson of a Traiteur (Sho’ ‘neff true dat). Gammy sipped the warm glass of iceless lemonade and flashed again the smile his memory told him meant everything was alright (Awright nah, chile).
Ben approached her and felt a smile creep across his face. This wasn’t the Gammy of his nightmare...s – the Gammy with the long curved knife, dripping blood from her naked body in the moonlight. This was grandma Gammy. The Gammy of bedtime stories and soft songs when he had a bellyache. The Gammy of warm smiles and warm potions on scraped knees and elbows – always with a kiss to “seal dat medicine in yo’ knee and heart.” The Gammy that somewhere found Christmas presents every year for her dirt poor grandson in the woods.
Just his grandma.
She rose from her rocker with a grunt to meet him.MoreLess
Ben approached her and felt a smile creep across his face. This wasn’t the Gammy of his nightmare...s – the Gammy with the long curved knife, dripping blood from her naked body in the moonlight. This was grandma Gammy. The Gammy of bedtime stories and soft songs when he had a bellyache. The Gammy of warm smiles and warm potions on scraped knees and elbows – always with a kiss to “seal dat medicine in yo’ knee and heart.” The Gammy that somewhere found Christmas presents every year for her dirt poor grandson in the woods.
Just his grandma.
She rose from her rocker with a grunt to meet him.MoreLess
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