Not Yet a Woman

by WC Child

  Not Yet

  A Woman

  W.C. Child

  Red Pen Enterprises, LLC

  Red Pen Enterprises, LLC

  Copyright ©2018 by W. C. Child

  FIRST PRINTING

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales and incidents are either the products of the authors imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording or photo- copying without express written permission from the publisher or the author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or the author.

  ISBN: 978-1-7322609-0-0

  ePub ISBN: 978-1-7322609-1-7

  MOBI ISBN: 978-1-7322609-2-4

  Cover Design by Scott McWilliams Image by R-Tvist/Shutterstock.com

  Printed in the United States of America.

  2018943671

  Library of Congress Control Number

  Red Pen Enterprises, LLC Clarksville, TN 37043

  www.wcchildbooks.com

  Chapter 1

  Summers as Big Mama’s

  The warmth of the air let me know the time was fast approaching for the long-awaited sojourn to my summer home in the country, otherwise known as Big Mama’s house. For as long as I could remember, my summers were spent there exploring nature and experiencing all out bliss. I was a city girl and the freedoms of those times were the best times of my life. There was an insect party every night at the light pole as the moths, gnats and mosquitos faithfully congregated in groups that swirled around like the shaken particles in a snow globe. The crickets and the frogs didn't pass on their invitation. They used their unique sounds to make their presence known at the bottom of the pole with less than honorable motives in mind for some of the unfortunate party-goers.

  The adventures at the country estate were exciting and endless. I explored nature from sun-up to sundown. I only stopped long enough to devour lunch as quickly as possible so that every opportunity for blissful freedom was realized. Sometimes, the aroma that accompanied me when I finally made it home was an unwelcome guest of honor. It caused Big Mama to turn up her nose and ask if I had let puppies in the house. She would walk around the room sniffing and looking under furniture before making her way back to me. She then proclaimed that no human should look that cute, but smell so badly. Each time she did that, I wrapped my arms around her and rubbed against her in an effort to share my malodorous essence. She would pretend to try to push me away before we both broke out in laughter after she told me I really needed a bath.

  Bath time was very soothing for me. We had many conversations about things that were not as important as the time we spent in each other's presence. The steaming hot water, along with how she hummed while she gently washed my back, filled my heart with such peace and relaxation. I would stay in the water until it became cold and cloudy and my youthful fingers transformed into shriveled raisins. Those moments were always filled with laughter and kindness and served as one way of her showing me unconditional love.

  No matter how much I expressed my objection, Big Mama always gave me chores to do around the house. At first, I thought my sad face and exasperated sighs would release me from my duties. I quickly learned I should save my energy for the work. She explained that working built character and I needed some sense of what it would be like when I had a job and other grown-up responsibilities. I asked myself why she was telling me to worry about things in the future. I didn't have a job; I was a child. As if she read my mind, she said, “You won’t be a tomboy all your life. One day you will have a job and a family of your own. You will need these foundational skills to be able to thrive as a woman.”

  I always enjoyed having breakfast with Big Mama. Each day I woke up to the smell of bacon and the aroma of coffee, her self-professed liquid luxury. It brought joy to my nostrils and jealousy to my empty stomach. Unlike my chores, she never had to prompt me more than once about breakfast. She filled my plate with heaps of nourishment and she enjoyed her toast and Folger's coffee. I always begged for a sip of her coffee. I was elated when she poured some of it on a saucer. The once black liquid was diluted with milk until it was nearly white. But I didn't care. I slurped the concoction from the saucer the same as she did from her cup. We each thoroughly enjoyed our portions. It was how we started most days. We both knew that once breakfast was over and my chores were finished, I wouldn't see her again until lunch. Still to this day, I don't start my day without a good cup of coffee; not just for the flavor, but for the fond memories it represented in my life.

  Near the end of each summer visit, I always begged to spend one more week with Big Mama. Daddy never consented. He was immune to the sad faces and the whining that accompanied the requests. I wished I could have been given the opportunity to continue with that ritual one more time. I knew that was beyond the realm of possibility. Daddy was dead. He was never coming back. Our family had suffered a terrible loss. The broken spokes of our life tried to continue spinning as if no repair was needed. Eventually, the weight of our new reality became too heavy for us to move forward. We were stuck in a vortex of pain and uncertainty.

  When my mother mentioned I was going to Big Mama’s house for the summer, I was surprised. The emotions that accompanied the announcement made me both anxious and conflicted. My daddy just died three months earlier. While I wanted to go to my place of respite, I didn’t want to leave my mother home alone. She had been so sad since my father was no longer there. All she seemed to do was cry. The house felt hollow and devoid of the peace and contentment that had engulfed the place we called home. How sobering it had been to have strangers come to announce that the cornerstone of our fortress had been ripped from our family’s foundation. My parents had hopes and dreams for our family; a real house for them and a college education for me. They used those aspirations to map out their interpretation of how our lives should go, but life got in the way. Without warning and without permission, it imposed its will on us as it saw fit. It never gave us a second thought. Changes came so quickly that there was no time to think about what to do next. We just held on for dear life and fought to make the necessary adjustments to survive. One day we laid down in strength and the next night in weakness. Something softly whispered in our ears to stay down. My mother listened intently and heeded those words of defeat. She didn’t have the strength to fight.

  Right after my father died, my mother barely looked at me or touched me. Sometimes I thought she couldn’t stand the sight of me. She used to always say I looked just like my daddy. Those words always brought a smile to my face and joy to her eyes, but not after he died. When daddy went away, so did the hugs, kisses and the essence of us. Most of the time when she looked at me, she cried. Her troubled eyes said how much she missed my daddy, even though the words never made their way from her lips to my ears. I missed both of them.

  I wasn’t sure my mother really had a chance to mourn the death of my father. Because she had to take care of me, she couldn’t unburden the broken parts of her soul. She tried to put on a brave face, etched with false smiles and vacant glances. She was far from the joyful soul who had made that building a home. It felt like she was stuck between two places and couldn’t find the way out. The humming sounds she made when she prepared dinner for us were replaced by sniffles and dry commands when she announced dinner was ready. Most times she didn’t eat anything at all and I was left to eat the family dinner alone. When she retreated to the confines of the bedroom, she never wanted to leave. Some nights I climbed in bed with her so she wouldn’t be
alone. She would hold on to me as if she was afraid to let go. During those times, I felt helpless. I secretly wished my daddy would walk through the front door one night so she could be happy again. But I knew that was not going to happen. I was there when they put him in the ground and covered his decorated box with dirt. He wouldn’t be able to save her.

  Little by little, my mother was fading away. I feared when I returned from Big Mama’s house, all of the old her would be gone. Maybe she just needed some time alone without having to constantly worry about taking care of me. She could barely take care of herself. My gift to her that year could be a summer without me. If she had the time and space, she could recover from our loss and concentrate on getting better. Eventually her joy would return and she would learn to smile again. Surely it couldn’t hurt. At that point, we were trapped in sorrow. We both wanted time to go backward to the happier days, but we knew that was impossible.

  Chapter 2

  To Grandmother’s House We Go

  The drive to Big Mama’s house was one of the things our family enjoyed the most. Daddy always committed to making the long trip an enjoyable one. We sang songs, told jokes, laughed and talked the entire time. I couldn’t wait for him to look at me thru the rear-view mirror and ask me if my stomach was ready. I knew what that meant; it was time to go over the big hill. Although he warned me every time, I never could control gravity’s effects on my insides. Feelings of wonder and amazement caused my joy to infect our surroundings. Each time my parents laughed at my reaction.

  Even though it was just the two of us, I expected the same ritualistic experience on the trip to Big Mama’s house. I was disappointed when our route took us toward the ferry. The pathway that would have given me a chance to re-live some of the joyful memories I shared with my father was excluded from this trip. Maybe the shorter route was best for my mother. The normal route would have been littered with landmarks and memories too permanent to ignore. She would have been reminded of what could never be again.

  The normalcy I longed for, that would keep the memory of my father alive in the confined space of the car, eluded me. There was no laughter, no joy and nothing that reminded me of the rituals my father and I shared. The longer we rode, the louder the silence of the non-verbal moments became. Out of desperation, I turned up the radio and allowed voices of faceless people and lyrics of songs I didn’t know to keep me company for the remainder of the trip.

  When we pulled up into the driveway, we tooted the horn to signal our arrival. As always, Big Mama and Big Daddy were there to greet us with open arms, warm hugs and genuine words of welcome. I was ready to get out of that car and finally have a conversation with someone who seemed to notice I was there. It was the first trip to my grandparent’s house since my father’s death. I wondered if my mother’s sadness made the trip as well. Big Mama and my mother hugged each other and remained frozen in that position for an extended period of time. During their embrace, they shared tears and secret thoughts, even though no words were spoken.

  Big Mama’s house was filled with the life and the spirit of my father’s early years. I worried about how my mother would react to all the reminders of his life. My mother spent time looking at pictures of my father that were distributed throughout the house. She touched places they shared during their love story. I watched her linger in several familiar spots as she tried to capture enough of his essence to sustain her a while longer. The more time she spent in the house, the sadder her eyes became. Shortly after dinner, she excused herself and withdrew to their old bedroom. She bravely tried to spend the night in the room where they usually slept. By morning, she occupied the space in bed next to me. She appeared to have gotten little sleep and restoration never made it to her soul. Although she hugged me and tried to hide it, her weary face and eyes showed the aftermath of her tears. In those eyes, I saw the same sadness that had been there for the last few months. Maybe by being at Big Mama’s for the summer, it would allow my mother time to find the way back to normal. I needed my old mother back.

  I understood how difficult this trip had been for my mother. I was relieved when she informed us of her plans to leave. As was the tradition, hugs were shared by everyone as bags were placed in the car. When the time came for our embrace, my mother hugged me for a long time. After she released me, she looked into my eyes for an extended period of time. For a minute, I saw a glimpse of the mother I knew before my father died. Before the floodgate of awaiting tears could open, she flashed a smile, kissed me on the cheek and bravely made her way to the car. I waved good-bye to my mother for as long as I thought she could see me through the rear-view mirror. I quickly turned my attention to having the best time of my life. I decided to let the freedom of being in the country work its magic and replace any sadness with childish glee.

  That summer vacation was all I thought it would be. I was able to just be a child and not the adult in the relationship. At home I felt lonely, even though my mother occupied the same space. I shared with Big Mama bits and pieces of our lives after my father passed. She sat quietly on the porch swing and let me talk as much as I needed. She carefully measured her words before commenting on my viewpoint.

  We rocked back and forth on the swing for a minute then she said, “I don’t mean to meddle, but the past few months have been very difficult for your mother. Your parents truly loved each other and were each other’s better half. When you lose someone that special, it’s not like losing a toy or money; those things can be replaced, but not people. We are only here for a brief moment and should be cherished as the true gifts we are.”

  Big Mama pulled me onto her lap and cradled me in her arms before she continued, “Saying good bye to someone you loved that much is harder than you can imagine. It hit your mother pretty hard. Now your mother just needs time to get back on track after experiencing such a great loss. She loves you and thought that the best gift she could give you was time with us. You needed more time and attention than she is able to give right now. I thanked her for putting you first. That is how much she loves you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Good. I don’t ever want you to forget that.”

  For the rest of the evening, we sat in the swing and further strengthened our bond. I loved Big Mama for her wisdom and for always taking care of me.

  As the days got shorter, I knew my holiday was coming to an end. At night as I sat on the porch swing, I marveled at the clear night sky and the brightness of the stars. I never saw the beauty of the sky in the city or any of the marvelous gifts of nature. I sat there and listened to the crickets and bullfrogs and watched the fireflies spread their temporary lightshow across the yard. I never got tired of those simple pleasures. I was going to miss the temporary distraction from the harsh reality of my life in the city.

  My mother would be coming soon and I was looking forward to our reunion. Big Mama talked to me several times over the course of the summer. Each conversation was filled with advice about how to conduct myself when I went back home. The thoughts of what awaited me filled me with mixed emotions. I hoped my mother had used our time apart to heal, but there was no guarantee. I wanted so much for us to be like we were before our family tragedy. I missed the closeness we once shared and looked forward to things getting back to normal. Memories of my father invaded my mind and I was forced to remember that he would never be there again. When I returned to the family home, our entire family would not be there. The time spent with my paternal grandparents helped fill the void created by the loss of my father. They needed me to remind them of how life goes on beyond our losses. All of our tanks had been refilled enough for the next phase of our attempts to overcome the things lost over the past few months. I was ready to go home.

  Chapter 3

  Grown Folks’ Business

  I was supposed to be asleep, but I wasn’t. I just had my head buried deep under the covers with my back turned to the door when I heard it open. Big Mama was checking in on me, so I
made snoring noises to convince her I was resting peacefully. At night after I went to bed, she always had private telephone conversations. I often wondered why she waited until I was not around for those exchanges. Some nights, those guarded exchanges were speckled with snickering, chuckling and out right laughter.

  One day I was foolish enough to ask Big Mama about the content of one of those conversations. That question exposed me to a side of her that I had only heard about from my father. I saw the “evil eye”. According to him, she could put fear into your heart with just one look. Not only did I see it, I felt the effects of it. He was right. Big Mama captured my full attention with that evil eye and I got scared. It felt like I was being hypnotized. I was unable to break away from the mesmerizing trance. When she spoke, I didn’t recognize the voice that made its way to my ears. Her voice dropped an octave and the words tumbled out of her mouth in slow motion. I half expected her eyes to pop out of their socket and her head to spin around. She promptly told me that I should stay out of grown folks’ business. I knew, without a doubt, not to ever ask that question again.

  Since the direct information gathering method was not an option, I devised another way to hear what was so special about grown folks’ business. One night I decided to test my bravery and venture into enemy territory. I was determined to satisfy the curiosity beast that taunted me most of the summer. I eased my way down the hallway toward Big Mama’s bedroom door. From the sound of her voice, which constantly went from firm to soft and sometimes faded away, I knew I was about to hear something really good. The closer I got to the door, the more I implored the creaky wooden floors to cooperate with me. If my plan worked, I could hear all of the juicy grown folks’ business I wanted.