The Forgotten Son

Despite my flesh rotting away, my soul did not dissipate.

I experimented a bit and found that my soul could only stick close to my mother, Jean, or my brother, Tanner.

The sight of my body didn’t draw tears out of Jean Blue. Instead, she froze for a moment before giving Tanner a call. Like a child who did something wrong, she was eager to find someone to lean on.

“Graham’s dead.

“His belly had sunk in. I locked him in the cellar and forgot to bring him food. He starved to death.

“Do you think Graham hated me during his last moments?”

Did I hate Mom?

After my father’s untimely death, Jean, just a woman living in the village, struggled to raise Tanner and me.

From a single bowl of oatmeal, Tanner got the thickest oats, I got the running portion, while Jean made do with whatever was left.

I resented her favoritism, but I could never hate her, seeing that she raised me all these years.

“Mom, you don’t have to feel bad for Graham. I bet he starved himself out of retaliation. Don’t we keep sweet potatoes in the cellar? We have more than enough there to last for a month. There’s no way he could’ve died of starvation.

“Besides, a sunken belly doesn’t mean he starved to death. Maybe he did it to get back at you. He staged his suicide to look like starvation, just to make you feel guilty.

“He’s so petty.”

Tanner’s assurance lifted a weight off Jean’s shoulders.

“You have a point. Graham must be refusing to eat out of spite or pretending to be dead to trick me. For such a foolish boy, his dying is hardly a loss.”

Bitterness washed over me. A belly that deflated could only be from starvation, a terminal illness, or some divine retribution.

It seemed to slip Jean’s mind that I had a severe allergy to sweet potatoes. Consuming them would only hasten my death.

Tanner and I had bigger appetites once we hit middle school.

To ensure there was enough to go around, the family devoted all acres of farmland to growing sweet potatoes.

When I took my first bite of sweet potato, my throat and nasal passages felt constricted. I couldn’t breathe, my face turning purple.

If a physician hadn’t wandered to these parts of the land, I would’ve died.

However, Jean always believed that I had been faking my allergy, all just to make her life difficult.

With no money at home and sweet potatoes off limits to me, I was in constant starvation.

I talked to Jean about switching one acre over to potatoes.

She shot down my proposal, saying, “Allergy, my foot! You’re just being dramatic. You’ll get over it by eating more sweet potatoes.

“It’s bad enough that you never help around the house, but I work myself to the bone to put you through school. Still, you’re acting entitled and fussy. Are you trying to run me into the ground?”

That wasn’t the case.

I wasn’t spoiled at home. Whenever I had free time, I would tend to the two acres of land.