Bar Tack

Grandma always told us to never put anything in our left hip pocket.

“That’s where you carry Jesus,” she’d say.

I was always afraid that when I sat down too suddenly, I’d crush Him. My brother would fill his with dead flies and frogs and hope for their resurrection. I know because I did the laundry. Grandma couldn’t get back up the basement stairs anymore.

We were only supposed to spend the summer with her, but Mom called in the first week of September and said she couldn’t come take us home just yet. That was just fine by us.

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