Flash Fiction by Sierra D. Hill
Every summer we were shipped off to Grandmother’s to give Mom a break. Little Tim would ask what from, and Grandmother would say, “Mom’s need, a break, from time to time.” We didn’t like it there—too many rules. Shoes off in the house. Lights off at eight. Don’t go in muh deep freezer, ya’ hear? The old off-white freezer had a heavy chain and lock, so even if we tried, we couldn’t. We didn’t ask questions, except once when Tim asked why. Grandmother told him not to question grown folk. So, we stayed away. I asked Mom once about the freezer. She said she was never allowed in it either.
I never saw it used—only saw her change the tablecloth on top. Red, white, and blue on the Fourth. Santa on Christmas. A pumpkin on Halloween. One day in June it’d be baby blue, and we’d get vanilla cupcakes with confetti sprinkles.
Grandmother would tell stories—sometimes speeches, sometimes just lessons. On those nights, we stayed up past eight and fell asleep in the living room.
When Tim and I broke the neighbor’s window with my new baseball, Grandmother told us to keep it secret—no one saw. When I asked why it was okay to lie, she said it wasn’t. But some secrets must go to the grave. Then she shook her head and said secrets can have souls, and they’ll haunt long after you die. Or someone else carries them.
Grandmother got sick and wore the freezer key around her neck, beside her crucifix. When she passed, I was the one there. I lifted the Easter cloth, unlocked the freezer, and looked inside.
There was a letter: “I fell asleep with baby Jo’ against my chest. I needed a break.” Wrapped in a quilt was a box holding a baby’s remains.
I left carrying baby Jo on my back.
Text © Sierra D. Hill
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It’s the guilt, that we must carry, that haunts us our, whole, lives…simple story, with an, immense, effect!