The humidity of the Mississippi Delta has a way of clinging to your skin like a damp wool blanket. It was mid-July, the kind of afternoon where the air feels heavy enough to swallow you whole. I was ten years old, standing on the muddy banks of a creek that fed into the great river, watching the woman who had raised me lose her footing.
My grandmother was afraid of water. But she was more afraid of telling us why. My Grandmother -Grandma- you-re wet- -Final- By...
She didn’t.