Raisin Brain

This one came from Finish That Thought.


Raisin Brain

When we hit the dotted line we cheered.

Ma said I’d never amount to anything. When I was a kid she called me Melon Head (and it’s round but only slightly melon shaped) until that got old, then for the rest of her life she called me Raisin Brain and that was much worse. “Your brain’s as big as a raisin,” she’d say, and she’d pinch her fingers together to show me how tiny that was.

If only Ma could have seen us that day signing for the house. I know she’d have been furious, and that warms my heart.

We were so happy we celebrated too hard too fast. Last night Jenny and I drank way too much in the empty living room. I don’t remember too much of it, except I’m pretty sure I shouted “Suck it, Ma!” at some point because Jenny thought that was hilarious. Ma never liked Jenny, always said she was “pretentious” as if she wasn’t a snob herself. “Don’t call me Ma,” she always said, “It sounds so common.”

So I always called her Ma and she kept calling me Raisin Brain.

This morning when Jenny and I woke up we checked the house. We should have done it sooner because there’s mold in the basement and the plumbing might be done wrong. It’s going to cost a fortune to fix, but hey, we saved money on the building inspection…ugh. Why didn’t we get a building inspection?

I can hear Ma now; “I told you so, Raisin Brain.”

I hate it when Ma’s right, especially now that she’s gone and I can’t fight her about it. I miss her. She’d like it here once she got over herself.

“Don’t worry, Melon Head,” Jenny says, putting her arm around me. I should never have told her about my nicknames. I can’t hate her for using it, though. I love her too much.

“I always worry,” I say.

“We’ll fix this place up and we’ll be happy here,” she says. “I love you.”

And she really does, raisin-sized brain and all.


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