Page 7 of Taming Georgia

I turn the corner onto Main Street and see a homeless man huddled with his dog against a building. The two of them are wrapped in a tattered fleece blanket, and my heart sinks.

“Come on, Georgia,” my mom says from the sidewalk.

I hop down from the car and shut the door, skipping over to meet her.

“Sorry, I couldn’t get my seat belt undone,” I tell her.

“It’s okay. We don’t want to be late for our appointment. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get a closer parking spot, so we’re going to have to walk for a few minutes,” she says.

I love spa days with my mom. She usually takes both London and me, but today, it’s just me. We started a new school last week, and London made a friend. She has a playdate with her today. I was a little jealous when she told me that they were going to Chuck E. Cheese’s. Mommy never lets us go to Chuck E. Cheese’s. She says that the food is garbage, the games are germy, and the prizes are crap.

I don’t know if that’s true since I’ve never been, but it sure looks awesome on the TV commercials. But I stopped feeling jealous when Mommy told me that we were going to have a spa day, just the two of us. Mommy said we were getting our hair done, a manicure, and a pedicure. She even said that I could get designs on my nails if I wanted.

Mommy gets some other stuff done, too. But she says I have to be grown up for that stuff.

Sometimes, the salons have this yummy lemon water that they give me, and sometimes, they have cucumber water. I really hope they have the lemon today. I think the cucumber water tastes like grass.

I walk fast next to Mom as she pulls my hand. Her heels click against the pavement, and it sounds like small drums.

Sitting up ahead on the sidewalk is a man. His beard is long, and his clothes are dirty. He has a bucket in front of him. When we pass him, I pull my hand from my mom’s grasp and turn to face him.

“Hi,” I tell him. “I’m Georgia.”

“Hi, Georgia. I’m Stan,” he says.

He sounds nice. He seems like he’s younger than my dad, but when I really look at his eyes, they look older, like my grandpa’s.

I feel my mom pull my arm.

“Let’s go, Georgia.”

I look down in his bucket and see that there’s some change. There are a couple of pennies and a quarter.

“Mommy, can I have some money?” I ask as she continues to pull me away from Stan. “Mom, stop,” I tell her.

Doesn’t she see that Stan needs money?

“Let’s go now,” she says in her mad-mommy voice.

As Mommy pulls me away, I look back at Stan, and he smiles and waves at me. I don’t know why, but I start to cry.

“Mommy, he doesn’t have any money,” I tell her through my sobs.Maybe she doesn’t know.“He might be hungry. We need to give him some money.”

“We don’t have time for this, Georgia. We’re going to be late. It’s not polite to make Gretchen wait,” she snaps at me.

“But it won’t take long,” I plead.

“I don’t have extra cash! I need it for Gretchen’s tip. You stop acting like this right now, or I’m not bringing you next time.”

Mommy never gets mad at me, so the anger in her voice makes me stop questioning her. When we get to the salon, the receptionist tells us that we’re a little early for our appointment and that we can have some cucumber water while we wait.

Our spa date isn’t as fun as it usually is. I don’t talk to Mommy, and she doesn’t talk to me. I keep thinking about Stan and wondering if his tummy is hurting. Sometimes, when I don’t eat, I get a tummy ache.

When all of Mommy’s procedures are finished, she pulls out her wallet to pay Gretchen. She has a big wad of bills in her hand, and she only gives Gretchen two of the bills. The rest go back in her purse.

I feel like I hate my mom. I know I really don’t and that I’m just mad. It’d be impossible for me to really hate her. Yet, right now, I do. She lied to me. I think Stan knew she was lying, too. I wonder how that made him feel. I hope he’s not sad.

Maybe now that she knows she has enough money, we can give him some on the way back.

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