Meet Me Where the Oak Tree Grows

He spotted me, his eyes lighting up, and grabbed my arm, "Hey there, young lady, wanna sell that hair of yours?"
My mom always said long hair sucked up all the nutrients, so ever since I was little, I rocked the 'mom special'—a choppy short cut that made me look
like a tomboy. But deep down, I preferred long hair. So after she passed, I let it grow wild.
In four years, I didn’t grow much taller, but my hair? It cascaded all the way down to my waist.
His sudden grab caught me off guard. Aunt Marie jumped in front of me without a second thought. Waving him off, she said, "Nope, her hair's not for
sale."
And with that, she tugged me away.
The man hurriedly blocked our path, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, I’m offering good money! How about two hundred? Three hundred! Three hundred’s gotta
be enough, right?"
Aunt Marie didn’t even blink, "No price is high enough. Leave the girl alone."
"That's a sweet deal! You won’t find that offer anywhere else!"
Before we knew it, a crowd gathered, hungry for some drama.
"Isn’t that the crazy widow from the alley? Since when did she have a daughter?"
"Her husband died young, guess she couldn’t handle the loneliness, eh? Haha."
"Heard he ditched her ages ago. Probably had girlfriends on the side."
"That girl looks familiar, isn’t she old Aiden’s kid? I think her mom..."
"Now you mention it, she is."
"The two saddest souls in town have found each other."
"Three hundred's a good deal. Don't be greedy!"
"The other night, I heard that crazy lady yelling again. Anyone else catch that?"
"Shh, zip it, guys. Watch out for that little spitfire."

It started with one person barking, then two, soon a whole pack, clueless about why they were barking.
The crowd was like a brick wall, sneering and vicious. They were complete strangers, yet they hurled insults and gossip like it was second nature,
reducing someone to whispers with just a few words.
Aunt Marie’s lips were tight, her hand trembling as she held mine.
Suddenly, it felt like something squeezed my heart, rage bubbling from my chest to my throat. I could handle them talking about me, but Aunt Marie
had been through enough.
I clenched my fists, scanned their ugly faces, and, breaking free from Aunt Marie’s grip, I charged at them, shoving them aside with all my might.
"Get lost! Get out! Every single one of you! You bunch of jerks! Monsters! Little punks!
"You'll rot in your mouths and butts! You’re the real crazies! Worse than demons!"
I’d never cursed anyone before, so I didn’t even know how. The words just borrowed from what my dad used to yell at me.
But their words were nastier than mine.
Thinking of Aunt Marie facing them alone before only fueled my fire.
People are like that: the weak fear the strong, the strong fear the reckless, and the reckless fear the ones with nothing to lose.
I charged around, grabbing and tearing at whoever I could reach, screaming and cursing back word for word.
In the chaos, a lock of my hair got pulled out, and my face got scratched, burning fiercely.
Aunt Marie tried to shield me. She had her coat torn and her arm pinched several times.
They called me a little lunatic. So I showed them just how crazy I could be.