Page 8 of I Can’t Even Think Straight
The Favorite—After School—Granny’s Kitchen
Granny gives me two pieces of chicken
with my rice and peas and plantain.
“Excuse me, Granny,”
says T indignantly,
“why do I only have
one small piece?
You don’t have to
make it so obvious
Kai’s your favorite grandson.”
Granny laughs
with a flash of her gold tooth.
“You know im vegan mother
don’t feed im properly.
You get my food daily,
but I don’t see Malachi
as much as you.
I muss feed im up
as much as possible.”
“Nah, I don’t care,
it’s not fair,” says T.
“The Twins prefer him to me
because you get so excited
when Kai comes round,
and The Twins copy you.”
Olivia and Sophia are out of earshot
in the living room,
watching cartoons
with their food on trays on the floor.
T has always been
in competition with me,
but this is the first time
he’s brought The Twins into it.
“You’re soft on Kai:
you give him extra food
and extra money and
you never tell him off.”
“Tell im off for what?” asks Granny.
T sucks his teeth.
Granny continues:
“And if I’m soft on Malachi,
it’s because he doesn’t vex me like you.
Malachi’s never had police
knock pon my door for im.
You know what
the people dem round here
call you? T for Trouble.”
I should keep my mouth shut now,
but I feel compelled to correct T:
“Granny doesn’t give me money.”
“Granny paid for you
to go to Cyprus this summer.”
This is news to me.
I look at Granny quizzically.
“Hush now, Tafari.
Mind your business.”
Granny laughs again
but her gold tooth
and bombastic side-eye
flash a warning at T.
I know Yiayia and Bapou
help Mum financially,
but I had no idea
Mum took money from Granny.
I feel a surge of anger at my dad,
who doesn’t help Mum,
and has next to nothing to do
with me.
My rage rises,
but I do my best
to suppress it.
My devil tells me to throw
my plate across the kitchen,
turn over the table, and
storm out of the house.
My angel reminds me
The Twins are here,
and my dad’s neglect
isn’t Granny’s fault.
Granny is worth more
than a million dads.
My anger turns to tears
that silently spill and slick my cheeks.
T scrunches his face,
confused or disgusted by me.
Or both.
Granny rips off
a square of paper towel
and hands it to me:
“Hush now, baby.”
“You juss too wicked, Tafari,”
Granny laughs, her golden laugh,
as she lightly raps T on his head.
“You made your cousin cry.”
“They’re happy tears,” I lie.
“They’re tears of gratitude,”
I say as I wipe them away.
I scrunch the wet tissue
and toss it at T’s chest.
It drops onto his lap.
He looks down at it
and back up at me.
T shakes his head,
confused or amused by me.
Or both.
I stand and hug Granny.
“Thank you for paying for my holiday,”
I sniffle into her soft shoulder.