We stood there, for a few minutes, neither one of us daring to breath. I couldn't believe this. I looked at the letters again; maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me. No, clear as day. L-O-U. I think I must have been staring because my mother reached out a thin arm and grabbed the thick pack of letters out of my grip.
How could she? How could she do this to herself? To us? She knows what Lou's done. He didn't give a damn about either of us. Or about Nathan. Momma anxiously stuffed the letters back in to her bag and turned to face me. She gave me this look, like she was begging for my forgiveness and blessing. I still didn't speak to her. How could she be so stupid? I know she can see that Lou's a jerk, why is she doing this? We stared at each other. Me, shooting daggers through my eyes, and her, looking sheepish and flushed. I was daring her to speak, break the silence. To explain herself.
She cleared her throat. "Georgia, it's not—"
I cut her off very suddenly. "No, Momma! I hope it's not what it seems! Because it seems like you've been Lou's little pen pal this whole time! Momma you know what he did to us! Or do you forget? You don't need him Momma, you don't!" I was so angry that my hands were shaking. I could feel my face heating up and my teeth clenching together. I reckon I ain't ever been so angry in my whole life. I wanted to just reach out and slap her face, as hard as I could. Momma sobbed into her hands, with tears leaking out the sides of her fingers.
"Please Georgie," She tried to use my special nickname. "Please Georgie, you can't imagine what it's like for me, being all alone at age twenty-six. I just want to find someone to spend my life with." She sniffled very loudly and looked at me pleadingly. Like she expected me to sympathize with her.
"NO! Don't you dare ask me for sympathy! Don't you dare! You don't know what it's like, to go to school, where all the other kids won't even look at you, scared that your skin colour alone will pass along illness and shame." I was crying now too and I couldn't tell what I was saying. A frenzy of words popped out of my mouth. "You had my father! Not for long but you had him! You don't need anyone else!"
My mother looked angry now too. We ain't ever fought like this before. Like sending knives through each other's heart, in places we knew would hurt the most. Momma threw her hands in the air and looked at me exasperatedly. She let out a mad laugh and I was suddenly scared. "Georgia, the only man that really loved me is a dead nigger."
I became overcome with anger. I was literally seeing red. I couldn't hear my mother yelling apologies and begging for forgiveness. I grabbed the first thing I saw, her old favourite mug and smashed it on the ground into a million pieces. The clay shattered on the floor, and I stood there, chest heaving. I could taste the tension like a cloud of smoke in the air. I felt like I was spinning out of control. My mother had the decency not to look at me, and instead started to pick up pieces of the broken mug that I had once given to her as a gift.
I rushed outside, unable to deal with my emotions anymore. My face was flushed and I felt cold and light headed. I was still wearing my night gown with lace. I absent mindedly fingered the pattern on the sleeve and started to hum to myself as I briskly walked down the streets. I hummed an old lullaby that my mother used to sing to me when I was younger and I couldn't fall asleep at night. I would toddle out the hall to her bedroom and knock on the door lightly, in case she had company staying over. She would come out and grab me in the tightest, warmest bear hug so that I'd be able to smell her perfume samples that she'd taken from magazines. She would rock me back and forth like I was her littlest baby.
"I love you forever,
I love you for always,
As long as I'm living,
My baby you'll be," She would sing in a light, clear voice until I would fall asleep in her arms. Then, she would carry me back to my bed and tuck me in. My nightmares would disappear.
I walked by a house with kid's toys on the driveway. There was chalk that someone had left out and a couple of bikes. Impulsively, I reached out and stroked the rusty red handlebar of an old bicycle. Without thinking I just hopped on the worn out seat and started pedaling. I pedaled harder and harder with my hair blowing in the wind behind me. The cool early morning air cooled me down and I started to relax. I could see and hear people shouting after me as I rode through red lights and zoomed in front of cars like I was invincible. I imagine how silly I must have looked, with my nightgown, now stained with dirt and flying mud. I grew tired though and my pedalling eventually slowed to a stop. I slid my leg over the much too high bike seat and fell on the sidewalk. The knee of my night gown ripped and my knee skimmed the sidewalk, leaving a bloody mark.
Dang it. I threw the bike on the sidewalk and walked slowly to an open field. My muscles were aching from pedaling so hard and I was starting to see spots in my vision. I fell back into the long swaying grass and looked up at the sky for the second time that morning, appreciating the sky which looked like a blue canvas with smudges of clouds decorating it. The grass swayed with the wind around me and tickled my arms like feathers. I shut my eyes. How long had I been gone? I wonder if Momma's looking for me. I pouted sullenly. I hoped she was looking for me. I hoped that I was making her frantic with worry, that she was having a freak attack. She deserved it. How dare she speak about my father like that. He had been so good to her. Wanting to marry her, even though Granddaddy and the state disapproved. Better than Niall, Lou, Carl or Willis or any of Momma's other boyfriends. I know what people say about her. I can hear the older kids at school always talking about her, calling her white trash and a floozy. They say men only want her for one thing. I'm not a child. I know what they're talking about; I just don't like to think about it. I've always believed that my mother is above what they call her. Now I'm having second thoughts.
Just then a beat up truck rolled up to the sidewalk and a muscular body stepped out.
"There you are, kid! You need a ride?" He glanced at the stolen bike. "Or will you be riding this bike?" I groaned and slapped my forehead. Great. Darrel had come to pick me up.