Not Yet a Woman

by WC Child

  I stopped just shy of the door and crouched down in a spot where I could hear Big Mama’s voice. Big Mama was not happy when she said, “Come again. You want us to do what?” I was happy until I heard her say, “You want us to keep her until Christmas? No, I don’t think we can do that. What about school?”

  I took a deep breath and continued to listen. Big Mama said, “You’re moving? Moving where? Why are we just hearing about this? You’ve had plenty of time to tell us before now. And now you want me to tell her you’re not coming to pick her up.”

  I could tell how upset Big Mama was when her elevated voice responded, “I heard you, but now I want you to hear me. More than ever, she’s got to come first. Her daddy ain’t been dead six months and your child needs you. This ain’t right, and you know it. I know this is gonna break her heart more than it already is.”

  Big Mama was right. My heart was breaking with each revelation I uncovered with my eavesdropping. I was lost in those thoughts until I heard Big Mama say, “I know he was my child, just like she is yours. I know how hard this is. But I still say, y’all really need each other right now. Ain’t no man worth sacrificing the relationship with your daughter. If that’s what he’s asking you to do, he ain’t worthy of your time. I don’t know why you can’t understand that.”

  The floors responded to Big Mama’s movements. Then she said, “What else can we do? You didn’t leave us much choice. Your decision was made long before you called. Let’s just hope you won’t live to regret this.”

  After Big Mama said goodbye, she took out her frustration on the phone’s cradle. The bed moaned from the weight of her body and possibly the conversation with my mother. There was silence and then I heard her cry out, “Please help her Lord Jesus!” I didn’t know if she was talking about me or my mother.

  I crept silently to my bedroom, got back in bed and tried to understand the gravity of what I just overheard. I knew it really was grown folks’ business they had discussed. I felt so alone in that moment. I tried to figure out how their plans would truly impact my life. Decisions were made for me, but my feelings were not considered. How I felt didn’t seem to matter. Had anyone asked, I would have chosen to go back home. My mother needed me; we needed each other. We were all that was left of our nuclear family. Since my father and I would no longer be there, three plates were no longer needed for the kitchen table. I needed to tell my mother that If she let me come back home, I wouldn’t cause her any trouble. I would help around the house, just like big Mama had told me to do. I just wanted to be with my mother.

  The tears began slowly and quickly picked up speed. Before long they streamed down my face like the raindrops that connected to the window pane, fell prey to gravity and were forced to find another resting place. I felt lost and confused. I questioned why my mother didn’t want me anymore. Not only that, she didn’t have the decency to talk to me about it. She left that task to Big Mama. I feared it wouldn’t be long before she would forget about me altogether. Had I known I would not be going back home, I would have never agreed to go to Big Mama’s that year. As I sat in the quietness of my dark room, I felt like the forgotten toy nobody claimed from the lost and found.

  The light of the new day filtered through the curtains me and I fought to gain control of my emotions. I dreaded the news that was in store for me. I lingered in my room until I heard Big Mama call me down for breakfast a second time. In order to conceal last night’s “mission”, I had to pretend I knew nothing about my mother’s decision. Throughout the night, I prayed through sniffles and tears that my mother changed her mind about leaving me with my grandparents. I hoped she had called back and told Big Mama when she would be there to pick me up. I whispered another brief prayer and reluctantly went downstairs.

  I followed my normal breakfast routine, but Big Mama didn’t. When I asked for coffee, she agreed immediately. I knew then that my prayers had not been answered. My fate had been sealed. My soul ached from the unexpected loss of both of my parents. Big Mama did her best to explain how my staying with her a little bit longer was best. She explained that my mother needed more time for herself and I needed the stability remaining with her and Big Daddy would bring. Had I not been eavesdropping the previous night, I would have been convinced it was her idea. We both knew no other options were available. Big Mama’s house was my new home.

  At first, I felt like a grown-up when Big Mama shouted I had a phone call. Those lifelines from my mother always lifted my spirits and made me feel wanted. She was always in a good mood and appeared glad to talk to me. Maybe that was a sign she was getting better. When our conversations neared the end, I sometimes asked my mother to send me something. The things I asked for were not out of greed. They were just a way to constantly have pieces of her that would tide me over until we were reunited. I really didn't care about what she sent. I just needed something to demonstrate I still mattered.

  After a few months, the phone calls from my mother declined until I only heard from her on special occasions, like Christmas, Easter and my birthday. I often wondered if she missed me as much as I missed her. I didn’t know for sure. Based on outcome, I didn’t matter that much. She always promised presents and visits, neither of which materialized. Maybe that's why the calls dwindled into nothingness; she couldn't afford to send anything and didn't want me to be disappointed. I vowed not to ask for anything the next time she called, because I just wanted to hear her voice.

  I constantly pestered Big Mama about the mail and whether a box finally came for me. To mask my disappointment, I used my imagination to make up stories of inept mailmen who delivered my beautiful gifts to the wrong address. It was all I could do to avoid the truth. My mother was long on words, but short on action. I wasn’t sure if I was angry or relieved when the phone calls stopped. At least I didn’t have to deal with the sadness that was wrapped up, tied in a nice bow, and placed in empty gift boxes that never arrived. I wanted to think she still loved me and cared about what was happening to me, but I had no conclusive evidence. Maybe she still needed a little more time to stop being sad. In the meantime, I would have to be content in my temporary home and with Big Mama’s attempt to fill in where my mother fell short. The replacement gifts I got from Big Mama undoubtedly were bought at the dollar store. At the time, I didn’t understand the sacrifice they made on my behalf to provide something for me when my mother broke another promise.

  Eventually, I realized the long-distance relationship with my mother became more about wishes and promises and less about retaining us as a family unit. With each broken promise came another crack in the foundation of who I thought we were. Two more summers passed and still no sign of my mother. I had begun to think this would be my permanent home.

  Chapter 4

  The Talk

  Over the next two years I spent with Big Mama, I saw changes in my body that I didn’t welcome. Along with those changes came new instructions about other growing up topics I was not interested in discussing. She already made me wear a contraption called a training bra. I didn’t grasp the concept behind the necessity of that clothing item. The small mounds on my chest were just there. They didn’t move, so I didn’t understand what about those things needed to be trained. And why in this world would a boy ever want to look at or touch them? It was all foreign to me, but if that was what I had to wear to get outside to play, I would be foolish to object. At times I chuckled when I saw Big Mama’s bra hanging beside mine on the clothes line. It was almost like comparing sling shots to cannons. I shuddered to think about what these things would look like once the training was over. Please God, don’t let there be cannons in my future!

  Just when I thought I had experienced all the growing up I could handle in one summer, I was dealt another devastating blow. In my mind, my life as I knew it was over. Every day we planned some new excursion and that day was no different. We were headed to the railroad tracks to look for souvenirs, but before we got too far, I thought I cut my leg. I had to go ba
ck home. To my surprise, Big Mama looked for, but could not find, the cut I needed to cover. Suddenly her expression changed and I saw a different look in her eyes. Then, out of the blue, she hugged me. I didn’t know what was going on. I knew it was bad when she told me to sit down because we needed to talk.

  I wasn’t ready for that conversation. I was bombarded with a series of contradictions that rivaled any fairy tale I ever heard. When she told me how babies were made, I thought for sure she exaggerated the facts. Her persistence convinced me it was all true. Until then, I never thought about where babies came from. I thought that, like everything else, they were bought from somewhere, and in this case, the hospital. However, I remembered the day those two dogs were stuck together out in the yard. My friends and I laughed at how ridiculous they looked. Big Daddy turned a water hose on them until they separated and ran away. Big Mama told me that people got stuck together like that too. Since people outnumbered dogs, there must be water hoses at everybody’s house. I tried to remember if I had seen one at their house. Sure enough, there was one outside. Good thing I never saw Big Mama and Big Daddy stuck together. I wasn’t sure I could have sprayed them with a water hose.

  I didn’t understand why she chose that day to tell me all that stuff. I only went into the house for a band-aid. The next thing I knew, I had a list of do's and don'ts and nevers and can'ts that I couldn't process. My mind was pre-occupied with getting back outside. I didn't care about her euphemisms related to pocketbooks and change and other nonsense beyond my current comprehension level. I had no treasure to protect and I didn't carry a pocketbook. Any change I had was liberated by the five and dime or the closest candy or toy store as quickly as I got it in my hands. I couldn’t grasp what any of it had to do with boys. It was like she was talking in code. I already knew to stay away from bird’s nests and beehives, but her correlation between those things and my current minor medical situation was lost in translation.

  The longer we talked, the worse the news became. Big Mama told me I bore the responsibility of procreation. Since I had entered womanhood, I was able to reproduce babies. I didn’t want that chore. I questioned why this fell on women. My heart sunk when she told me I would have a crimson-colored visitor every month. I didn’t want to hear any more. That misfortune was one I wouldn’t be quick to embrace. I picked a bad day to need a band-aid.

  As I rode with Big Mama to the drugstore, I thought about the information overload I had just encountered. I questioned how those things were fair to women. If I had my way, things would be different. I would put more reproduction responsibilities on the male species. The boys would have to suffer through the whims of Mother Nature’s monthly inconveniences and donate their bodies for incubation duties for nine months. Maybe then, there would be fewer babies and there wouldn’t be a need for as many water hoses.

  Chapter 5

  Decision Made

  I didn’t hear Big Mama use that voice very much, but when she did, I knew she meant business. I felt sorry for the person on the other end of that phone call until I figured out the subject of the conversation was me.

  “I understand, but I can’t do it no more. She’s growing up and I don’t think I can handle this too much longer. I’ve had this child with me for the last three years. It’s time for you to take care of your own responsibilities.” Big Mama tried several times to interject, but had to wait until my mother finished her end of the conversation.

  “I think you’ve forgotten how much it costs to raise a child since you haven’t done it in a while. I can hardly keep her fed, not to mention buying her shoes and clothes. You don’t even know what size she wears now. That should tell you something.” Big Mama paused. When she spoke again, her voice’s volume conveyed how irritated she was with my mother’s response.

  “You need time? Time for what? It’s been three years. How do you think your baby feels? She barely knows you now because you hardly talk to the child anymore.” I nodded my head in agreement with Big Mama’s comment. The floors continued to squeak as she paced back and forth across the bedroom floor. If she wandered into the hallway, I was dead.

  Big Mama was angry when she responded, “Watch it now. You don’t want to bring my son’s name up in this mess. This is all you. I bet he is rolling over in his grave because of what you’re doing to his child. No matter how you look at it, this ain’t right and you know it.”

  There was a really long silence and I wanted to peek inside the room before I heard Big Mama say, “I’m sure you do love her, I don’t doubt that, but that’s not all there is to it. You’ve got to be present in her life to show her that you love her. Like I said, you’ve got to start helping out financially with the raising of YOUR daughter.”

  Things were not going well for my mother. I almost felt sorry for her, but I didn’t. Big Mama had said a lot of things that were true. She continued to talk to my mother about money. “Get it from where? I already tried that. They told me you getting it all. They said you been getting it way before you dropped her off at my house three years ago.”

  Big Mama responded bluntly, “Now that’s what they told me. I certainly believe them over you. They ain’t got to lie. They don’t get the money, you do.”

  Big Mama quickly asked, “So who’s getting the check? You gotta be getting it. She sure ain’t. She ain’t seen a nickel of it. I’m gonna need you to start sending something our way. It ain’t right that we here struggling and you’re good-timing your, naw, I meant to say, her money away. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. I tell you what, either you start sending something here or pick her up at the Greyhound bus station.”

  The last thing I heard Big Mama say before scampering back to my room was, “Try me. You got two weeks!”

  My final snooping expedition was the best one ever. I sneaked around and listened to more grown folks’ business between Big Mama and my mother that unexpectedly ended in my favor. When I returned to my room, I was ecstatic. I circled the date on the calendar and anxiously waited for the ultimatum deadline to pass. True to her word, Big Mama announced that I was going back to my mother three weeks after the school year ended. I pretended to be both shocked and saddened by the announcement. My performance could have garnered an Academy Award. It was that good; as good as my information gathering missions that had gone undetected.

  At last I was finally going to be reunited with my mother. It was long overdue. As I sat on the Greyhound bus headed for my long-awaited family reunion, it was hard to control myself. I fought the urge to scream for joy. I was happy to say bye to Big Mama’s house and all those crazy rules I thought made no sense. And if I heard one more thing about protecting my “pocketbook”, I would have screamed.

  Although I had unlimited happiness about ending one phase of my life and embarking on another, I experienced unexpected fear about our family’s impending reunification. It had been a long time since I made eye contact with my mother. I was afraid I wouldn’t remember what she looked like. The one family picture I still possessed became faded and torn over the years. I often placed it in bed with me to feel close to my parents. The picture captured a moment in time when we were all together and the love we had for each other spoke loudly from behind the glossy sheen. That still-life treasure would once again occupy a place of prominence in our home, just as it had before our family fell apart.

  Screeching tires and the sight of people gathering their belongings indicated I had finally reached my destination. From the window of the bus I could see a crowd of people inside the terminal waiting to greet passengers whose travels ended at that station. People rushed to the arms of those anticipating their arrival and shared extended hugs and smiles. No one appeared to be there to share that type of warm welcome with me. Panic overtook my joy. I worried my mother forgot about me once again. Big Mama gave me instructions and phone numbers in case no one was there to meet me. I prayed I wouldn’t have to use them. Doing so would confirm I wasn’t important enough for my mother to take the
time to welcome me home.

  My eyes wandered past her, then back, before I settled on her face. A wave of relief wrapped me in warmth after our eyes met and she waved at me. It took me a while to fully recognize the person she had become. From the look in her eyes, it appeared the feeling was mutual. I had not imagined a marching band, but I expected a more genuine greeting than the one I received. After being apart for over three years, I wanted her to act like she was glad to see me. I expected my mother to jump up and down with glee and cover my face with kisses like they did on those TV shows. But instead of that kind of reception, the look in her eyes and the seemingly forced smile showed both happiness and fear. The image of the little girl she preserved in her mind from three years earlier had changed. I had developed in places I didn’t know existed. Because of the way her eyes scanned my body, I almost felt embarrassed about the person I had become. I had blossomed into a young lady who had budded and rounded out in so many places. I may have looked like my daddy, but I was built like my mother, curves and all.

  After years of freedom in the country, I returned to the confines of city living. Concrete sidewalks, street lights and noise replaced seemingly endless amounts of green grass, dark nights that cheerfully exposed the stars, and open places to roam. Not that I didn’t appreciate being with my mother, but Big Mama's house became much more appealing once I stood inside my new home. I thought it would at least be of the same caliber as the home we shared with my father, but it was far from it.

  I sat my suitcase beside the sofa and took a closer look at my surroundings. My first impression was that the place felt tired and in need of what Big Mama called "a good cleaning" to get rid of the stench that immediately filled my nostrils. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink under cold dishwater that recycled the scent of yesterday's food. The contents of the small garbage can exceeded its height and needed the wall to balance the excess. The layer of dust camped out on the tables confirmed that not much attention was paid to those every day chores. The strong odor of stale cigarette smoke made the room smell like an ashtray. The aroma was far from the familiar welcoming smell that cheerfully wafted from Big Daddy’s pipe.