My mother has never dated a black man. Other than my father. When I asked why, she'd wrinkle her nose and give me this look.
"Aw heck, Georgia! I believe that is no one's business but my own!" It so happens I believe it is my business. He is my father after all. My mother thinks I can't make smart decisions but she can't either. She's got a new boyfriend every month. And they're all jerks. Once, a real long time ago, we had to go to this family therapy gig with my aunt. My mother claims that she needs a man in her life to keep her "secure". I snorted at that. When they leave, and they all do, she's just as insecure as always. I don't know who would want to marry her with her whiny attitude and inconsistent moods. She is real pretty though, with straight brown hair and her sparkly eyes. I told her so, and she got this sad look in her eyes and pulled me down to sit on her lap. I cuddled on her shoulder and look at her watery eyes.
"Looks ain't everything, Georgia." She whispered. "They ain't the half of it." I understand her so well. She is a picture of beauty but I don't think she has ever had anyone love her for real. I love my mother though. She ain't a housewive or none of that, but we understand each other.
We lived in a beat-up mobile home on the outskirts of Chicago. Last month my mother came running inside. I was sitting at the stained table, trying to focus on algebra. X=..? I looked up and saw my mother breathing hard with smudged make-up and tears streaked on her face. I stood up slowly, letting my chair screech. It happened again. I held her close and let her sob on my shoulder.
"Aw Momma, he wasn't worth it anyways. You could do so much better." I patted her back like she does to me when I get upset. Whenever boyfriend Tom, Harry or Marv run out on us, mother likes to 'start over'. We move to a new town with all new people and she gets a new job that comes with a new dirt bag boyfriend.
They're all the same. They curl up their lip when they see my light brown skin. One of them, Jim, asked if I would be better off with 'my people'. I don't even know any black people! I looked up at my mother, expecting her to say something to Mr. Man. She just looked down, all flushed, like she was embarrassed or something.
I leaned forward to my mother; she was still sobbing and saying incoherent phrases into my hair. I did what I always did. I turned her around and steered her into our rinky dinky bathroom. I faced her to the mirror and put my arm around for comfort.
"I see a strong, confident woman, who doesn't need a man." I spoke softly. I looked at my own reflection. I have long curly brown hair, that doesn't straighten no matter what. Rosy cheeks and full lips, I must have gotten something from my father, other than his brown skin. I find myself, dissatisfied with my looks though. My mother always tells me that I'm beautiful, but she's practically a pageant queen!
The next day my mother told me to start packing. I stopped reading and gave her a look. In all twelve years of my life, I have moved ten times. Whenever Chip, Larry or Skip leaves, so do we. I have practically no friends because of it. I cautiously asked where we were going.
"Tulsa!" She smiled wistfully. "I was going to marry your father there, you know." I studied her face, she never spoke of him. He died in a car accident. Her eyes filled with tears before she hastily left for the bathroom.
Tulsa, huh?
