“Your opinion don’t matter more than a hill of beans, young lady. My mind is made up.”
She watched as the boat pulled out of her uncle’s boathouse. She and her sister called it a “yacht”. When she grew up and had her own boat she would know that the K-Phil-Ann wasn’t a yacht at all. It was a 31’ inboard with a single screw. It didn’t even have a head. But to a barefooted seven-year-old left behind on the creek bank it was a yacht. And that yacht was taking her favorite aunt out for a day of fishing and swimming on the Pamlico River. Her cousins Ann and Phil were going. Uncle Roswell and Aunt Katie were going. But she wasn’t going because her mama was mad at her her Uncle Roswell about something and she wasn’t going to have a daughter of her’s on that boat of his.
“But I want to go so bad, mama. I haven’t seen Aunt Gladys at all and tomorrow she’s going home to South Norfolk.”
No amount of pleading could change her mama’s mind. The little girl scrambled down the bank and sat in her skiff for a while. Tears rolled down her suntanned cheeks. Her blue eyes remained fixed on the boat as it chugged up the creek. Soon it would pass under the Tilson Road Bridge and disappear from her view.
The day stretched out before her. Just another long lonely Sunday on Pungo Creek.