Chapter 1 #2
Between Ray’s check from the military and the couple dollars she made from teaching kids the game of golf, that was all she had.
No cushion…no luxury - just enough to keep the lights on at the range and groceries in the house if she was careful.
Her Mama’s health declined with each passing day and the insurance didn’t cover everything in full.
She was always buying something - pills, wipes, new shoes because Magnolia insisted her old ones weren’t hers.
And don’t get her started on food for the house—she was beyond stressed and strapped for cash.
“Another month, not enough money,” she sighed.
Her shoulders dropped as she leaned back in the chair.
She wanted to bawl her eyes out but that never did anything for her, so no need to do it again now.
That and Meadow liked to reserve her tears for her private moments.
She wasn’t about to break down in the middle of the kitchen with her parents walking in and out.
She pressed her fingertips against her forehead and exhaled.
The kitchen was quiet except for the sound of Magnolia humming something she couldn’t remember and Ray’s boots moving across the porch outside.
Every sound reminded her of why she couldn’t fall apart.
This land had been in her family for generations.
These thirty-nine acres were her family’s pride.
Her grandfather worked himself down to nothing to buy the first twenty, then hustled and saved for nineteen more.
Her father fought in a war and came home to protect what his father built. And now it was her turn to hold it up.
And Lord knows she was trying even when trying wasn’t good enough.
She picked up the first envelope, opened it slowly, and scanned the numbers.
Past due. Penalty added. Balance higher than last month.
She didn’t blink. She didn’t even react.
She set it down and opened the next one.
Same thing. Last envelope—final notice. She closed her eyes for a breath because she needed that one breath to stay steady.
She wasn’t surprised.
She wasn’t shocked.
She was just tired.
“Meadow Rain?” Magnolia’s voice drifted from the hallway. “Have you seen my purse? I think somebody moved it.”
“It’s on the couch, Mama,” Meadow called back.
“You sure?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her mother’s slippers shuffled across the living room. Meadow could hear her opening cabinets that had nothing to do with purses. She waited for the next question because there was always a next question.
“You ate yet?” Magnolia called out.
“No, Mama.”
“You need to eat.” Her mother’s voice was distant, but the concern was real.
“I will.”
Meadow pulled her notebook closer and finally began writing. Not amounts, she had those memorized. She wrote simple notes to herself:
Call the tax office.
Ask about hardship plans.
Pick up Mama’s prescription.
Check the driving range equipment.
Buy groceries.
Stretch the rest.
Her handwriting curved downward on the page like even the letters were tired.
Ray’s boots sounded on the porch again before he walked in.
He grabbed a towel from the counter, wiped dirt off his hands, and kissed Magnolia as she passed him.
He didn’t look toward the bills. He saw them though.
He always saw them. But he liked pretending money didn’t stress him out so he could walk around with his chest out like nothing was wrong.
“You good?” he asked Meadow without looking long enough to catch her expression.
“I’m fine,” she hummed even though her head was screaming to say ‘no’.
He nodded and went back outside, letting the screen door slap behind him.
That was the conversation. That was all she got.
Ray loved them, but love didn’t pay property taxes and it didn’t cover dementia medicine.
He faked ignorance because he didn’t want to face how much weight Meadow carried for all three of them.
Meadow grabbed a different stack of mail - good mail, the ones that came with hand-drawn pictures from the kids she taught at the driving range.
She flipped through a few, letting herself breathe.
The kids were the only part of her day that felt light.
They didn’t care about bills or taxes. They only cared about hitting the ball straight and drinking cold juice boxes.
Every time she saw them smile, it reminded her why she kept pushing to keep the range open.
“You got this, shit, Marai,” she whispered to herself wishing she was just as resilient as her Black Cinderella. Wishing she had the courage to stand in the paint just waiting for it to dry.
She sat the letters down and pushed away from the table.
Her chest felt full and tight at the same time.
She walked outside and crossed the grass to her small plane parked behind the barn.
Flying wasn’t an escape. It was a reset.
A place where she could hear herself think without someone calling her name.
She climbed into the cockpit and closed the door. The chair hugged her body just right. She started the engine and let it warm as she put her headset on and pulled up her playlist.
“At what cost do I choose myself and put on my armor?” Meadow sung off key to Wale’s City On Fire.
She moved her body in the seat as she pulled out of the rickety cockpit that had never looked new. “The City’s on Fire…just don’t be a casualty.”
Her grandfather’s land spread wide in front of her. Grass moving. Sun rising. Everything quiet but extra loud in her mind.
She lifted off and flew low over the thirty-nine acres, slow enough to take in every piece of it. She wanted to see exactly what she was fighting for.
The barn her grandfather built.
The driveway her father resurfaced every summer.
The big pecan tree her mother used to sit under.
The range she kept alive with duct tape, cheap equipment, and prayers.
She kept the wings steady, breathing in a way she couldn’t inside the house.
Up here she didn’t have to pretend.
Up here nobody expected her to be strong.
Up here she could admit, even if just to herself, that she was scared.
Not terrified…not giving up.
Just scared as hell that she couldn’t really carry all this shit. Couldn’t carry them.
This was her family.
This was her history.
This was her responsibility.
And she was doing her best with what she had.
When she circled back and prepared to land, she didn’t feel lighter, nor did she feel fixed. She just felt ready to try again because that was all she could do.
That was all she ever did.
Wake up, carry the weight, push through, find a little breath when she could, and do it again the next day.
For now, she was just a Black woman trying to save her family’s land one overdue bill at a time.