Chapter 5: Sisterhood in the Wild

Tina stuffed the candy back into my hand: "You keep it."

She barely glanced at the lollipop, eyes flickering away. Her jaw clenched, as if she was forcing herself not to care.

"It's okay, you eat it." I lowered my voice. "She was lying to me."

That candy was just a trick to coax a kid.

Unfortunately, I suddenly grew up and couldn't fool myself anymore.

The wrappers lost their magic, and every piece I ate tasted more like goodbye.

Tina tore off the candy wrapper and bit down hard.

She said loudly, "Whether they come back or not doesn't matter. We can live on our own."

Her voice was rough, but there was a spark in it. I felt it light something inside me, too.

From then on, she would share with me the biggest baked sweet potato, the tenderest rosebuds, the biggest wild apples, the sweetest wild grapes.

We became a team—Tina always saving the best of everything for me. She'd pull me away from fights, show me how to spot wild berries that wouldn't make you sick, and teach me how to bandage scrapes with moss and leaves.

Winter passed, spring came. I went with Tina up the hill to cut grass for the neighbor's goats.

The grass was sharp and green, the sun warm on our backs. We worked in silence, the rhythm of scythes and laughter filling the air.

We saw, on the barren stone wall, a clump of lush, unknown wild grass.

There were no flowers or trees around them.

Just swaying alone in the wind.

I pointed at them and said, "That grass is like us—growing wild where nobody bothers to mow."

No love from father or mother, lacking everything.

Tina looked for a few seconds, then smiled: "But they're so green, living so well."

"The grass under the trees doesn't even grow as well as them."

Yeah.

Even in barren land, they were still full of life.

A few months later, my mom had a baby boy.

She brought him back to town, so proud she couldn't hide her smile.

"Your dad always said I couldn't have a son. Now I'll let everyone see—the problem was with him, not me."

Oh.

So she came back to show off, not to see me.

Dad wasn't about to be outdone.

He came home for Labor Day, bringing explosive news: he was getting remarried, and marrying a woman from the city.

That woman had never been married, and after the wedding, Dad could live in the city with her.

The men in town were envious.

"Carl's ancestors must be blessing him."

"Who knows what kind of luck he ran into."

"That woman's eyes must be shut tight. Why would she want him?"

The women, while eating sunflower seeds, teased me: "Jenny, you'll be a city girl in the future. Are you happy?"

They nudged each other, sly grins on their faces, not really expecting an answer.

Actually, I was a little hopeful.

After going home, I quietly asked Dad: "Will you take me to the city too?"