In Memory of Cinnamon

Dear Diary,

Today started like a normal Saturday. I woke up with my tight, kinky hair flying in every direction, my brown skin warm from the heat of the covers, and my sisters just waking up. Normal I would help August tend to the bees, but I had not been up to work this morning. Lily Smith (or whatever her real name is) had squashed my favorite cockroach, Cinnamon, last night. He had wandered over to the honey house and crawled into her bed. She saw him and let out the worst scream I could have possibly imagined. She came in hysterical, complaining to June about how the "Biggest damned bug crawled into her bed." I knew exactly what she had done. August had sent me to the homey house to finish my cry and say goodbye to Cinnamon.

After I had finished wallowing in my sadness I sheepishly walked towards the kitchen, humming "Oh! Suzanna!" in a dreary voice. It was when i saw Lily sitting at the table that my humming grew more frantic and faster. I felt a tear roll down my cheek and onto my chin. It's not her fault. I told myself. She didn't know he'd lived here for longer than she has. She was just scared of him. And he was scared of her. I left and went back to the honey house, and sure enough Cinnamon was still lying there, stiff as a stone.

I lifted Cinnamon;s cold body onto my dry palm, his insides spilled everywhere, but I didn't mind. I took a pink handkerchief out of my pajama pocket and carefully wrapped him in it. I dug him a little hole by his favorite rock and gave him a burial there. I knew it was a minor loss, but sometimes it's all the small hurt in life that make me cry so hard, 'cause it just adds up like drops of water in a river. Eventual you're so deep in your little worries and fears that you can drowned in them...

Diary, I love life so very much, just sometimes I wonder why the good lord gave us such terrible things such as death, and anger and sadness. If God loves us all, why does he put such hard tacks in front of us?

I'll write again tomorrow if all goes well, Diary.

The one and only,
~May Boatwright