The next morning she’d try to make up, but I wanted no part of it.  She’d greet us with a big smile and a warm breakfast hug.  “Well, good morning Ma Bel!” she’d say to me.  Then she’d go into the backyard and pick one of those sugar-sweet Georgia peaches off the tree.  My mouth would start to water as soon as I could see it, but I would turn my eyes away knowing how bad I wanted it.  I loved those peaches more than anything in the world, but I couldn’t give in to her, not while my behind still hurt.  I’d purse my lips shut, refusing her offer of peace. 

“I don’t want it,” I’d say, with my lips pouting.  She’d press the ripe fruit to my lips until the juice ran down my chin.  She warned me that I’d better eat the peach.  Right Now!  Soon enough I’d be devouring the sweet peach and getting it all over my dress.  Grandma was happy.  And I had temporarily forgotten that she had whipped my butt real good.  But not for a moment did I fool myself into believing that the scenario would not repeat itself each and every weekend of my childhood.  So each Friday I would stay in the park as long as possible.

        If she felt that I was really hurt, Big Momma would let us go out and play.  I loved being outside where I might find a new pet and where we played all kinds of games as grandma worked her artistry in the kitchen.  My brother, Bubba knew I hated crawly things.  Little animals I loved, but anything that crawled was not for me.  Bubba made a habit of digging up worms and chasing me with them.  I was terrified but loved the attention.  When you’re a little kid with a big brother you adore, he can do anything he wants to you, just as long as he doesn’t ignore you.  When Bubba couldn’t find worms or was too lazy to bother, he’d hang around the kitchen, take the pieces of leftover dough, roll them into shape, and rub them in dirt.  They looked exactly like worms.  The better to chase me with.  He chased, and I ran screaming, with a smile on my face as wide as one of the boulevards.