How to Knock a Bravebird from Her Perch : The First Novel in the Morrow Girls Series (9780985751616) (29 page)

“Now, what kinda mama take up such a nasty habit?”
 

Ricky was always real good about scaring the living daylights outta me. He’d find the worst moment in my day to remind me that I was his. And obviously the fact that I was divorcing him didn’t change that.

“Since when you start smoking, Pecan?”

My fingers twitched slightly as I took another puff, then I dropped it to the ground and stepped on it. Wasn’t none of his business and I meant to say so, just as soon as I found my voice.

“Hope my girls don’t take up after you. They see how their mama is and think that’s how they supposed to be.”

“What you want Ricky?”

He waved his finger back and forth, pointing at the building behind me. “You work here?”

He knew damn well I worked there. He’d pitched a fit at the very thought of it.
 

“I had no idea. Just came down here to buy some things. So, how’s it feel? Being a working girl? It ain’t easy like you thought, making the money, is it Pecan?”

“I’m fine. And my girls are fine. You supposed to stay away from us.”

He didn’t seem to hear me. Just kept right on grinning and stepping in my direction.
 

“Leave Ricky. Before I call the cops.”

But it was too late. There he was, pushing me up against the brick wall. Whispering in my ear about how good I had it and how we could go back there if I just let all this restraining order stuff go. Saying it hurt him that he couldn’t be with his family. He said it without an ounce of pain in his eyes while his hands focused on my body.

“Don’t you miss me, Pecan?”

“Quit it, Ricky. Stop.”

“You still my girl.”

“Back up off me!”

“Why? You saying you don’t miss me? Don’t miss none of this? Hmm? Cause you got that white man all up in between your legs? Huh? That it?”

Mercilessly, the bricks tore at the back of my blouse, making tiny scratches against my skin while I tried to fight off Ricky’s touch. I thought I’d won when he finally gave my breasts and hips a break but it was only so he could get a good grip on my neck. One hand squeezing up under my chin, the other latched on to my behind as my feet dangled in the air. The laughter of the men on the loading dock had died down and all I could hear was some pathetic soul gasping for air as she disappeared between the parked cars. I landed hard on the concrete, head first. Dazzed and underneath a typhoon. Ricky mumbled up in my ear how he knew me. How he could tell if I’d been with any other man. He ain’t need no kissing or affection to get himself all worked up. Just about any other kind of physical contact was enough.

“Tell me you ain’t turned into a slut.”

I twisted left and right, wondering why nobody else saw fit to take their breaks at the same time as me.

“Tell me you ain’t just giving it away. Tell me Pecan.”

He gave up fighting with my knees and thighs and went straight for my panties. Kissing the tears on my cheek. His belt buckle rang in the silence between his words and just for a moment his attention turned from me to himself. Stroking his manhood up under my skirt, reminding me how deep his love went.

“I know you want this.”

I didn’t. I never did. I wanted love. Wanted somebody to take care of me. But I never wanted him.

“You miss this don’t you?” He thrusted into me.

It couldn’t be happening, I told myself. Not like this. In broad daylight. Not to me.

“Good girl, Pecan. Yeah, that’s it.”

Didn’t take long before Ricky was done. Panting all up on my neck while he put himself away. And my body finally began to respond to what my mind was telling it. Wiped the tears from my eyes and sucked in the free air again.

"M
A
’
AM
,
WHAT
EXACTLY
ARE
you accusing your husband of?”

The judge wasn’t a very friendly man. He seemed bored and angry at the same time. His gavel slammed down, echoing in the courtroom and he declared that I was a liar. A slut. And a bad mama.

Mr. Silverman stood at my side but he was just looking at me with those I-told-you-so eyes. He wanted to know why I didn’t run or scream. Why did I just let things happen to me?

Ricky sat on the other side of the courtroom, grinning and counting a stack of bills. He handed some to his lawyer then got up to give some to the judge.

“Mama. Wake up mama. Make us pancakes.” Nat stood in front of me, shaking my shoulder even though my eyes were wide open. “Get up, mama.” She was just tall enough that she could’ve climbed into bed with me but she didn’t.

I blinked and she was gone.

“M
AMA
,
YOU
HUNGRY
?” N
IKKI
balanced a tray with a dinner plate and a tall glass of milk. She slid it onto her daddy’s side of the bed and held up a spoonful of mashed potatoes. “Here mama.”

Paula sat in the corner, her head tilted to one side as she tried to figure me out.

“You gotta eat mama. Been a whole day. Here.”

My friend was all dressed up to go dancing. She laughed and pointed at me, saying I couldn’t leave the house looking like that. Helen handed her a dress from my closet and she held it up, considering what accessories to put with it.

“Mama watch me. I made up a dance. Wanna see?” Jackie’s braids whirled around her head the faster she moved. “Ta-da!” She finished.

“She need shoes,” Helen said and she disappeared into the back of my closet.

“You know you cheated on him,” Paula sat at the foot of my bed now, taking the dress off its hanger. “Adultery is a sin, Pecan.”

Helen stood with a pair of black heels and held them against the dress. She shook her head and went back to searching the floor of my closet.

“Mama, I’m gonna sleep with you tonight. Okay? You won’t be alone.”

T
HE
MIRROR
WASN
’
T
KIND
enough to lie. It didn’t hold back none of the truth. I’d gone to bed without my scarf so my hair was a mess. I had on my least favorite nightgown. A pink nylon, with tiny holes in the armpit and a bow above my cleavage that had been threatening to fall off for some years. I leaned over to spit into the sink and replaced my toothbrush in its holder. Didn’t bother combing my hair. Didn’t think about changing my underwear. Fresh breath was more important.

“Mama you up?” Jackie rubbed her eyes sleepily. “What time is it?” She yawned. She’d assigned herself the task of keeping an eye on me.

I took her by the hand and led her back to her own bed. She climbed in and fell fast asleep. It was too early for the girls to be awake. The sun wasn’t even up yet.

The stairs creaked under my bare feet as I headed to the kitchen. Flicked on the light switch and pulled the pancake mix out of the cabinet. I had a stack of ten by the time I realized I wasn’t alone in the kitchen.

“Whatcha doing?” Mya stood in the doorway. I hadn’t heard her on the stairs. Hadn’t even seen her in twenty-four hours. “Mama?”

It was obvious. I was making breakfast.

She had a blanket wrapped around her. Same blanket that was normally on her bed. It was so long that it dragged along the floor behind her.

“You okay?”

I was fine. Making breakfast.

She disappeared from the doorway and it occured to me that my girls needed some meat to go with their pancakes. So, I threw some strips of bacon into the frying pan. A chair scraped along the kitchen tile and I saw Mya had returned. This time she had a pillow with her, which she put between her head and the kitchen table.
 

One thing about Mya, she ain’t mind the quiet none. Just sat there watching me. No questions. Just watching. I got the sense she hadn’t been to sleep. That she’d been standing guard over all of us the whole night.

“W
HAT
’
S
WRONG
?” H
ELEN
STOOD
in the doorway, holding on to Jackie’s hand. She wasn’t talking to me but she was looking at me.

“She not talking to us. And she won’t stop making pancakes.”

Nikki and Nat sat at the kitchen table looking wearily at the fresh stacks on their plates.

Helen’s forehead wrinkled and a smile tickled her lips. She thought Jackie was joking.

“Really. She won’t stop.”

I flipped the last two and slid them both onto Mya’s plate. Jackie let go of Helen’s hand so I could slipped through them and into the hallway.

“Mama, where you going?” They called after me.
 

All of them crowding into the hallway, watching and waiting for an answer. Helen took a few steps in my direction and stopped when I turned to look at her. I thought it was obvious. The box was empty. I had to get some more pancake mix. I threw on my coat and reached for the doorknob but Helen came the rest of the way, took my hand, and peered into my eyes.

“Pecan, you okay?”

R
ICKY
SAID
HE
WAS
gonna take everything I had and he did. Took so much wasn’t anything left for him to take. The responsibility had to move on to somebody else. It was the doctors at St. James Hospital’s turn. They took my clothes and made me wear their scratchy gray ones. Took all my hair products so I looked like some wild woman. Soon as I got there they started shoving pills down my throat. Saying it was gonna help me see things clearly, help me relax, help me sleep, help me be regular. I ain’t need nobody worrying about my regularness.

This doctor, a woman and black, signed all my forms. She’d point to folks and give the white women orders like it was nothing. Then every day they’d bring me to her office. She sat across from me, putting me to shame with all her schooling and fancy words. She was the no-excuses type of black folk. The ones that thought since they’d made it—rised above—the rest of us should’ve done the same thing. There I was, nothing but a housewife who ain’t even finish high school. Couldn’t argue with nothing she said, couldn’t even understand half of it. First she said I was having a breakdown. Then I had something called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She said it was real common in soldiers that come back from war. Then she finally seemed to make up her mind that what I had was specific to women who been battered. I just looked at her. She asked me about Ricky even though I got the sense everything she wanted to know was already in my file. She just wanted to hear me say it. So, I ain’t tell her a damn thing.