The Post Office

As Glenda strolled home after dropping the her friend's car off down Willow Lane, her mind raced. Being near her daughter brought about a mix of unwanted feelings that Glenda thought she had erased from her memory. The guilt she felt bubbling in the bottom of her stomach mimicked how she had felt nearly 20 years ago. But this time around, the pain was pure guilt – it wasn't combined with the piercing kicks on the inside of her pregnant stomach – and she couldn't put a finger on why she felt so guilty.

Feeling as if she was going to faint again, Glenda sat on the nearest steps, the steps of the Post Office. They were the exact same steps that Glenda had sat on 17 years before – the summer she lived with her grandmother while she was pregnant – and in that moment, Glenda realized why she felt so guilty.

"Glenda," cried her grandmother. "Come on down for dinner. My salad won't stay cool long in this blasted heat." Mmmm, salad, thought a 19-year-old Glenda. She hoisted herself up from her chair, but with difficulty. She was nearing the end of her pregnancy, and she had gained almost 30 pounds, making it hard for her to do just about anything. Her back ached as she waddled down the stairs, and it took her nearly 3 minutes to descend just 12 steps. When she reached the kitchen, she wished she hadn't put so much effort. On the table was a gleaming bowl of salad. But it wasn't the leafy mixture Glenda had hoped for. It was potato salad. Mayonnaise laden potato salad, just as any traditional southern grandmother made. Glenda almost gagged.

"Ya-Yaaaaa," she groaned. "I really appreciate the effort, but you know I can't eat that. Mayonnaise makes me sick. And all that egg in there can't be good for the baby."

Her "Ya-Ya" chuckled and began dishing a heap of the salad onto Glenda's plate. "How would you know what's good for a baby," asked YaYa. "Honey, you're barely old enough to have done any nannying, let alone old enough to mother a child."

Gee, thought Glenda. Thanks for rubbing it in.


"Now, eat up. Like I said, this is going to get cold real quick." Glenda sat at the table, closed her eyes tightly, and sighed heavily. She then picked up the fork – begrudgingly – and began eating the salad, trying to ignore the awful taste.

As soon as she finished eating, she chugged a big glass of water to wash the taste out of her mouth. She then stood up, slowly, from the table, and began waddling to the front door.

"Where do you think you're going?" asked YaYa.

"YaYa, I'm just going to town for a minute." Glenda needed to get out of the house, away from her grandmother.

"Be home in 20, we've got Wheel of Fortune to watch, and you need rest."

Glenda didn't even nod to acknowledge. She opened the front door, and made sure to slam it on her way out. She walked as fast as she could down the street, headed toward the pawn shop. For some reason, looking at the antiqued rings and necklaces always calmed her. Before she made it to the shop, however, her fast paced walking made her tired (her baby was due in just three short weeks, after all), and she had to sit on the nearest steps, the steps of the Post Office, to take a break. As soon as she sat, she began sobbing. Though it was well past 5 pm, when the post office closed, the postmaster was still inside, sorting mail. He was an older black guy, probably about 65, and he had run the post office for years – his calloused hands and insight into everyone's gossip revealed it.

"That baby's due any day now, huh? You know, you're gonna be a great mom, I can just tell by looking at you," he said, trying to bring a smile back to Glenda's face. But the gesture only made Glenda cry more. "Aw, honey, what's wrong?"

"Sh-sh-she can make me eat nasty potato salad," Glenda sputtered, "and make me watch Wheel of Fortune, and give me a stupid curfew, but she cannot take my baby!" The postmaster had sat down next to Glenda at this point. "B-b-but I know, deep down, that she's not going to let me keep her ... she always gets her way. I see her eyeing that orphanage every day when we go walking."

And Glenda was right. Before she had even had the chance to see her beautiful baby girl, YaYa had taken her to the orphanage. "Trust me," she had said. "You're life will be better without a child to raise."

But as Glenda sat on those same post office steps nearly 17 years later, she knew that her grandmother had been wrong. She may have been able to hide her guilt by doing as many acts of service as possible – she married a rich man in order to throw charity galas with his money, after all – but she would never be able to erase her guilt entirely. And now, her daughter was nearing the age that Glenda was when she was pregnant, and she didn't even know her own mom's name. She didn't know any mom's name. She lived in an orphanage with no mom and no love, and it was Glenda's fault for not fighting harder to keep her.

Glenda stood up from the steps. I should just go, she thought to herself. March myself right into that orphanage and adopt her right now. But who was she kidding. She hadn't fought her grandmother hard enough 17 years ago, and she couldn't fight her own fears today.