I was born in a thunderstorm. Momma woke up at the beginning of it, clutching her bulging torso, and by the end, there I was.
“Came into this world screaming like the devil himself was after her,” she liked to say. “My first glimpse of my baby girl was during a flash of lightning. Everything was black and white, ‘cept for her. She was a red, glistening thing. So I named her Ruby.”
Momma thought this was poetic. She didn’t realize it made her sound simple. I lived with her for twenty years, and all that time, I thought she was simple. It was only after she died that I realized how smart she was.
“Don’t ever fuck a man prettier than you are,” she had once told me.
I should have listened to her…
Copyright © 2018 by Navessa Allen
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.