Twisted Creek

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If rotten luck were a man, I’d have a stalker. In college I used to wait for just one of those “many blessings” my grandmother promised would fall down on me. All I got was a string of loser boyfriends and part-time jobs going nowhere. But that didn’t stop me from rounding every corner, hoping luck would be waiting with open arms.

During my junior year, about the time I thought my goal of teaching art might come true, my grandfather died, pulling any hope of finishing college out from under me. Since then, I’ve been tap dancing on the bones of dreams thinking I could make it rain.

Autumn in Memphis made me believe nothing would ever change. It had been almost five years since I’d left school and moved back in with Nana. We were no better off than we’d been that day when we’d returned home after my grandfather’s funeral to find the eviction notice. But we were together and for Nana that was enough. She was a solid in my life, always there, always caring.

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