Independent Woman

When I was seven or eight, my parents were building their dream home. One day, my mom told me she was going to work on the house and that she would be taking my brother, Jon, with her. I was to stay in our small apartment and watch baby Jeremiah.

She left. I locked the door.

I sat down and began to read to myself. The baby slept and slept.

I am all by myself, I thought. I must be responsible.

That was how I eventually decided to make a meal.

I stood up on my tiptoes to reach the can of chicken noodle soup. I heated it up in a small pot on the stove. I carefully followed the instructions on the back of the jiffy muffin box. My soup was cold by the time my muffins were done, but I ate them together, alone, while the baby slept.

It’s the first meal I can remember making on my own. I remember it distinctly.

I thought, I’m an independent woman.

And I tried on my mom’s shoes, but they still didn’t fit.