Paw-Paw

What she really wanted.

Mom got what she wanted most. (Photo by author.)

A little girl sits on a porch holding something precious in her hands.

The year he passed, Paw-paw (the good one, not the other) gave her a cotton comb for her birthday. Short stiff bristles and a wooden handle worn smooth from years of use. Paw-Paw's father gave it to him when Paw-Paw was a boy.

One day, Mom takes it, takes it and sells it to a neighbor, an acquaintance, somebody she just met.

Said they were broke. Needed money. Hurried off when she got it. A while later the screen door slams. The girl hears Mom opening drawers and cupboards in the kitchen.

"No god-damned matches." Mom's voice trails off.

For the price of an old cotton comb, a birthday gift from a man who left and won't be back, Mom got what she wanted most.

She had been to the store. Her purchases lay on the counter.

Beer and cigarettes.

A while later the screen door slams. (Photo by author.)