Novels (Will Announce Soon)
Short Stories (“The Girl with the Red Ribbon”)
Poems (Will Announce Soon)
Essays (Will Announce Soon)
“The Girl with the Red Ribbon”
Beatrice Johnson hates red ribbons.
Not the color red. Red ribbons.
At the age of five, she sensed that red ribbons would become an omen.
She wishes she knew why.
***
Tasha winces as Beatrice—known to her simply as Nana—twists her hair from the top of her scalp to the middle of her back. Nana’s hands are like lightning, grabbing the strands of her granddaughter’s hair without mercy.
When she finishes the last twist, she asks the little girl, “Where’s your blue barrett?”
Tasha groans in annoyance. “Why can’t I just wear—”
“No,” Nana says coldly. “You are never to wear red ribbons. We’ve gone over this.”
“Yeah, but you won’t tell me why.”
Nana dismisses her granddaughter by gathering up the hair supplies—the coconut oil, the edge control, and the vitamin-infused mousse. Tasha pouts. She has an image of pulling her twists to spite the older woman. Tasha stomps back to her room, sticking her tongue out behind the shut door. She then lies on her bed, staring at the ceiling filled with the goofy faces of Spongebob Squarepants and Teen Titans Go! characters. Tasha’s friends say that you can only watch Nickelodeon or Cartoon Network. Tasha disagrees. She watches both.
Why doesn’t Nana like red ribbons? The little girl thinks to herself. Mama would’ve let me wear ‘em. I miss Mama. I hope someday she’ll come back.
Tasha decides she’s gonna find a red ribbon without telling her Nana. Her plan is to trek on an adventure during recess. She’ll sneak off before the yard monitors spot her. As long as Nana sees her enter the school building, it’ll be fine.
***
Beatrice has been able to sense things since her first episodic memory. She remembers when an elderly neighbor complimented her smile and patted her shoulder. Just from that simple touch, Beatrice knew that the woman was gonna die. That same night, lights illuminated her room, causing her to peer out of her bedroom window. Police vehicles and an ambulance were parked across the street. Their sirens shrilled to a volume beyond a falsetto. None of the adults talked about that night when she was around, but Beatrice still heard them whispering about the neighbor.
She passed in her sleep, they said.
***
While driving her granddaughter to school, Beatrice bumps the car’s left tire against the concrete, leaving a curb rash. The heat from outside has Beatrice’s shirt sticking to her back. She feels an itch at the nape of her neck. She ignores it.
The older woman looks at Tasha through the rearview mirror. She smiles when the girl turns her head, inadvertently showing the blue barrett.
Beatrice says, “I’ll be right here after school.”
Tasha nods her head, grabbing her backpack and scurrying away. Beatrice watches her until she sees her mingling with her friends before they all walk past the opened entrance. Satisfied, she drives back home.
***
Beatrice is walking back and forth in the kitchen. The stainless steel refrigerator and counters are gleaming, having been cleaned an hour ago. She has a pot of coffee near the toaster oven, its Hazelnut aroma tickling her nose. The spotlessness and smell aren’t enough to distract her. The same itch from before heightens to discomfort. She scratches it this time, but the itch remains. Beatrice then has an urge to call Tasha’s school. Taking her iPhone out of her bag, her cell rings as she looks at the screen. It’s the school. The color drains from Beatrice’s face.
She answers with a quiver in her voice, “H-Hello?”
“Is this Mrs. Johnson?” It’s the Principal. Oh God!
Without confirming who she is, Beatrice asks, “Where’s my Tasha?”
***
The bell rings for recess. Tasha puts her notepad into her desk, wanting to keep her secret doodles from prying eyes. Joining her group of friends, she points to a corner where they can chat privately. Tasha tells them that she’s gonna find a red ribbon to wear with her twists.
“I’ll be back before Ms. Gardner calls us in,” she promises. She takes out the blue barrett in her hair and hands it to one of her friends for safekeeping.
“Be careful,” the one holding the blue barrett says.
“I will.”
She’ll show Nana that red ribbons look good on her too.
***
Beatrice is beside herself with terror and grief. This is even worse than the time her alcoholic daughter dropped Tasha off and never came back to get her. At least her daughter calls every once in a while. Not to talk to Tasha. Not even to check on her mother. But for money.
Twenty days pass before Beatrice receives an update about her missing granddaughter. The police department informs her that they found her backpack in a desert city. Inside the backpack are the desert’s fine-grained sand, several granite rocks, and a single red ribbon.
Beatrice falls to her knees and weeps.
Durena Burns 