Hattie didn’t like the back seat. She had always gotten sick in her tummy enough so that Aunt Pearl would never feed her anything with grease. But Aunt Pearl had forgotten today was the trip to visit cousin Louie.

Hattie burped. She could taste the sausage she’d eaten for breakfast. Aunt Pearl eyed her like a black crow at a roadkill. “Hold it child, just one more mile.”

The sun beamed out after weeks of rain. The cotton fields all in fancy rows, with full blooms spreading pollen throughout the community—causing havoc on running noses with nowhere to go.

Hattie burped again. She scooted near the side door and rolled the window down, slow and easy, so not to disturb Uncle Howard’s driving. The hot wind set cool on her face.

This week’s trip, much like last weeks had Billie and Jesse Mae kissing and smooching, sucking on each other’s earlobe every chance they can get.

Watching them was enough to make Hattie ill. She hates where she is, but at ten-years-old there isn’t much she can do to change the situation.

Someday—someday, soon.

She burped, feeling the grease crawling up trying to escape.

She swallowed. Oh, Lordy, give me  . . . one more mile. 

__ Suzie Hagen