ALMOST

“I’m not gonna wear that stupid dress. You can’t make me.” Raylene locked pencil-thin arms across her chest. Five years old and as bull headed as my grandmother at her eightieth birthday party.

The entire family had gathered for that event. Grammy didn’t care if they came from Timbuctoo, she refused to make an appearance. Shuffling her walker amongst the greedy cake eaters was not on her list of priorities.

Raylene stomped a foot and shimmied into her favorite jean jacket. She crammed her hands into her pockets and glared at me. Obviously being the belle of the Christmas pageant was not on her list of priorities.

Trying to change Raylene’s mind today was as pointless as negotiating with her great-grandmother. I rubbed the fluttering pulse in my temples. Today it’s red satin versus faded denim. In the too near future, it’ll be phone time and curfew and boys. In sixty years, she’ll be baulking at…

Wait! In sixty years, it’ll be me refusing to shuffle my walker in front of the whole family. Raylene will be the one rubbing her temples.

I almost felt sorry for her.