Muffin

Six-year-old Emma-Jean sat on her Pop-Pop’s porch. She was busy with her crayons and coloring book. Her Momma and Aunt Loretta were on the porch swing drinking lemonade and talking about grown-up stuff, like the fact that her Pop-Pop was not here anymore. He went to heaven to be with Nana. That made everyone sad, but not Emma-Jean. She felt comforted knowing her Pop-Pop was in heaven. Her Nana had gone to heaven way before Emma-Jean was even born. So if Emma-Jean died, how would she have found her in heaven? Now, if she died, her Pop-Pop would be waiting for her. And that somehow made her feel less afraid.

Emma-Jean did her best not to listen to the grown-ups. She sang songs in her head while she tried her best to color inside the lines. She was doing a pretty good job of ignoring them until she heard the word “kittens.” Immediately the songs popped out of her head and all of her attention went to their conversation. But she was very careful not to look in their direction. She just kept coloring, though the lines didn’t matter so much anymore.

“What are we going to do with those barn kittens ?” Aunt Loretta asked.

Emma-Jean’s Momma didn’t answer.

“Charlene?” Aunt Loretta prompted.

Charlene, Emma-Jean’s Momma, shook her head as if to bring herself back to the present. “How old do you think those kittens are?” she asked.

“Hard to say,” Aunt Loretta replied. “I’m sure they’re old enough to fend for themselves.”

“Maybe,” said Charlene, focusing her gaze on Emma-Jean. “Maybe Emma-Jean would like to take one home,” she said.

At that, Emma-Jean’s head snapped to her Momma’s face. Her Momma smiled.

“I knew you were listening. As soon as you heard the word kitten your ears perked up.” Emma-Jean raised a hand to touch her ear. Her Momma and Aunt Loretta laughed.

Emma-Jean walked over to the two women.

“Can I really have a kitten, Momma?”

“That depends,” she said, leaning forward and brushing the hair out of Emma-Jean’s eyes. “My Daddy, your Pop-Pop, always said ‘let the critter choose you. If you take it and it don't want to go, it’ll always be looking for that open door. You can take it home, but you can’t make it stay. If it chooses you, it’s yours forever.'”

Charlene’s eyes shone with tears as she gazed into the distance. She thought about Emma-Jean’s father and how he had not chosen her or their daughter. He had stayed for awhile out of obligation, but eventually, that open door beckoned, and he walked right through. They never saw him again.

“Momma!” Emma-Jean said as she placed her pudgy little six-year-old hands on both of Charlene’s cheeks. “Can we go now, to the barn?”

Charlene blinked a few times and forced a smile.

“Sure,” she said as she stood up. “Let’s go see if one wants to come home.”

Emma-Jean bounded down the steps and ran down the dirt driveway toward the barn.

“You okay?” Loretta asked, lines creased between her eyebrows with worry.

“Yeah,” Charlene replied. “I’m fine. I just, I miss Daddy.”

“Me too,” Loretta said. “Go help Emma-Jean pick out a kitten. I’ll see what I can find in the kitchen for lunch.”

When Charlene arrived at the barn, Emma-Jean was dancing around like she had ants in her pants. She knelt down and took both Emma-Jean’s hands in hers.

“Now, Emma-Jean,” she said quietly but sternly. “We have to be very calm and quiet. You hear? If you aren’t quiet and don’t move slowly, you’re gonna scare ‘em away. Do you understand?”

Emma-Jean stood very still and slowly nodded her head.

“Alright then.” Charlene stood and lifted the large piece of wood out of the wrought iron brackets. She leaned it against the side of the barn and then pulled the handle to one of the doors. Emma-Jean stepped back out of the way while her Momma opened the other door. Dust swirled in the sunlight as it streamed into the barn.

Charlene looked at Emma-Jean and held her finger up to her lips to remind her to be quiet. Emma-Jean placed both hands over her mouth. Charlene tiptoed over to one of the stalls at the back of the barn and peered in. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but then she saw them far in the left back corner. She was relieved that the momma cat was nowhere in sight.

Charlene switched on her Daddy’s utility light and beckoned for Emma-Jean to join her. She lifted her so she could see over the wall, and she heard Emma-Jean’s sharp intake of breath when she spotted the pile of kittens.

Charlene placed Emma-Jean back on the ground and opened the door to the stall. She motioned for Emma-Jean to follow her, and they slowly entered.

Emma-Jean stopped about two feet from the pile of kittens and lowered herself to a seated position. Charlene tucked herself into a corner to watch.

Emma-Jean sat patiently waiting for one of the kittens to notice her. Quietly, she began to whisper. Charlene could see her lips moving, but couldn’t hear what she was saying. She leaned forward, listening intently. Finally, she realized what her daughter was saying. Emma-Jean was repeating over and over, “Pick me. Pick me. Pick me.”

Charlene felt a tug in her heart, and in her head she started thinking, “Pick her. Pick her. Pick her.”

Finally, one of the kittens noticed her. He was multicolored–orange, black, and white with white socks and a black mask around his eyes.

Emma-Jean picked up a piece of straw and slowly waggled it back and forth. The kitten arched his back and jumped sideways toward her. Emma-Jean giggled. The kitten crouched down, wiggled his behind and then jumped on the piece of straw. Emma-Jean jumped back in surprise. That sent the kitten scurrying away. Charlene bit her lip, afraid the kitten would not return. But, Emma-Jean put the straw down and began wiggling her fingers. The kitten returned and sat next to her hand, cautiously swatting at her fingers. Slowly, Emma-Jean moved her hand closer to her knees luring the kitten in. The little ball of fur put his paws on Emma-Jean’s knee and stretched up to look at her. They locked eyes, and he allowed Emma-Jean to pet him. Then he grabbed her finger with his paws and playfully chewed on it. Emma-Jean gently picked him up and held him against her chest. He rubbed his head under her chin and began to purr.

“I think he picked me,” said Emma-Jean, turning to her Momma with a bright smile.

“Yes, I think he did,” Charlene said. “Let’s see if we can find a box or something to put him in.” After a quick rummage around the barn, she returned with a metal bucket. She grabbed an old flannel shirt she found hanging on a hook and tucked it into the bottom of the pail. Emma-Jean stood and placed the kitten in the bucket.

“What are you going to name him?” Charlene asked. Emma-Jean shrugged.

“I’m waiting for him to tell me his name.” she said.

“Oh, I see,” said Charlene. “Let’s go introduce him to Aunt Loretta.” Emma-Jean waited while Charlene closed up the barn, and then they headed back to the house.

Emma-Jean barely ate any of her lunch. She was so excited she just wanted to go back to playing with her new kitten. Charlene found an empty box and old newspapers and set up a makeshift litter box for the time being. At bedtime, she placed an old quilt on the floor for the kitten to sleep. Around 3:00 in the morning, Charlene woke up to use the bathroom. She found Emma-Jean sleeping on the floor next to the kitten. She gently placed a blanket over her and left her there for the night.

The next morning, Charlene was careful not to wake Emma-Jean. She went downstairs and found Loretta already in the kitchen.

“How’d the night go?” she asked. “Did anyone get any sleep?”

Charlene stifled a yawn.

“Actually,” she said, “the kitten slept all night. And Miss Emma-Jean snuck out of the bed and ended up sleeping on the floor right next to him.”

Loretta smiled. The two women chatted and drank coffee until they heard Emma-Jean’s steps on the staircase. Charlene pulled a box of Eggo waffles from the freezer and popped two in the toaster. Loretta reached into the cabinet and took out the syrup. She placed it on the table near Emma-Jean’s seat at the table.

When Emma-Jean came into the kitchen, both women stifled a laugh. Her hair was sticking up every which way and her nightgown was stuffed in her underpants. She slid into her chair and wiped the sleep from her eyes.

“Well good morning, sunshine,” Aunt Loretta said.

“Good morning,” Emma-Jean replied.

Just then the waffles popped up in the toaster. Charlene plucked them out gingerly, dropped them onto a plate, and placed it in front of Emma-Jean.

“Can I do the syrup?” Emma-Jean asked.

“Mm-hmm,” Charlene replied, nodding her head.

Emma-Jean shifted onto her knees in the chair and reached for the bottle. She opened the top and dumped a large puddle of syrup onto the plate. She closed the bottle and sat back down. She lifted one waffle in her hands and tore it in half. Then she dipped the corner in the syrup and took a bite.

“So,” Aunt Loretta said as she sat down at the table. “Any news yet on the kitten’s name?”

To her surprise, Emma-Jean nodded. She swallowed her mouthful of waffle and proclaimed, “His name is Muffin.”

Loretta and Charlene looked at each other in dismay.

“Did Muffin tell you that’s his name?” Charlene asked.

“No,” Emma-Jean said. “ He wrote it in a note to me last night.”

Loretta’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“Do you still have the letter?” Charlene asked.

Emma-Jean nodded. “It’s upstairs. I’ll show you.” Emma-Jean wiggled off the chair and ran up the stairs.

Loretta whispered, “Did she know that Daddy called you Muffin?”

Charlene shook her head. “I don’t think so. She never mentioned it or asked me why.”

After a moment or two, they heard her footsteps once more on the staircase.

In her hands was a small folded piece of paper. It was light pink in color, and before she even opened it, Charlene knew the bottom right corner would have a rainbow heart. Her mind flashed back to the flannel shirt she had placed in the bottom of the bucket for the kitten. It had been her father’s work shirt for puttering around the barn. The note must have been in the pocket.

Emma-Jean carefully unfolded the note and began to read.

“When I was still just a star in the sky, I chose you. Love, Your Muffin. See, he wrote it to me. His name is Muffin.” Emma-Jean said. “Pop-Pop must have sended him to me. The stars are very close to heaven.” She said confidently.

Charlene swallowed hard past the knot in her throat.

“Can I see the note?” she asked, barely getting the words out. Emma-Jean handed her the pink paper.

“I’m done,” Emma-Jean stated. “Can I go upstairs and get Muffin now?”

“Sure, honey,” said Aunt Loretta. “Run along.”

Charlene sat staring at the pink paper. It was soft and buttery from years of folding and unfolding, reading and rereading. With her finger, she traced the letters that her 6-year-old self had written to her Daddy. All these years he had kept it in his shirt pocket right next to his heart.

She clutched the letter to her chest and a single tear escaped.

“Thank you, Daddy, for choosing me and Emma-Jean.”