by Holly Hood
I had nobody else but Mason, and he didn’t care anymore. At least that was the way it felt.
“I’m thinking. I’ve been thinking for days. I don’t know what to do. I’m not going to lie and say that I do when I don’t,” he said, his expression was blank, vacant.
If Mason was giving up there really was no hope. I couldn’t understand where the smug guy back in Virginia went. The one that refused to go down without a fight, it seemed he left. This change meant we were doomed.
I started chewing on my nails. “Why do you think nobody here knows about us?” I hadn’t seen a single thing. No newspaper articles, no reports on the news—nothing.
“Gusby barely has cell phones or the internet. This shithole is so behind they probably have no idea who the president is even,” he said. He turned his head and spit. The sound hit my ears bringing me to my feet and back to reality all at once.
I walked out of the barn. Mason yelled at me, he didn’t know where I was going. So it didn’t take long to have him on my heels trying to figure out what I was doing.
I was going to regret a lot of things in my life. But there was something that I had to do, even if I hated every minute of it.
I was going to end all the confusion once and for all and go see my mother.
“Are you kidding me?” Mason asked, trying to stop me from heading down the street I grew up on. Everything was pretty much the same as I remembered. Give or take a few houses that looked to be in better shape. A lot of the houses seemed that way as I looked closer.
Jasper Way, my old stomping grounds some would say. Everything that I could remember never painted a very lovely image. Every memory always started with drunken fights or squealing tires. Not to mention the parade of men that seemed to go in and out of my house like a revolving door.
I didn’t remember a single happy moment. No matter how hard I tried, nothing ever came to me that was remotely good. It was all sad. Very sad, it had always been a big haze, and the only time home was mentioned was when Aunt Wanda got drunk and brought up how horrible my mother was. She was always horrible in Wanda’s eyes.
“What do I have to lose?” I said, every step I took got me closer to my old house. As it came into view it too showed improvement. The white paint was no longer peeling. All the windows were intact and even the address was hanging in its place, not crooked or anything. Even the steps were new. It was a whole new place.
I wiped my sweaty palms on the front of my t-shirt as I studied the house. I felt slightly sick as I came to a stand in front of the gate. I looked down at the ground, where nothing but dirt and rocks always laid scattered, but in its place was green grass.
I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath. Was I really standing outside the gate of my childhood home?
Was I insane to think that I could really come back?
“Kendall, what’s there to figure out? Your mom might be standing in there right now on the other side of that door,” Mason warned me. He knew at one time it would have been enough to send me running for the hills. She wasn’t something I wanted to talk about let alone see in person.
Mason’s face was pale. He looked close to picking me up and running for it.
“Who are you?” A tiny voice called out. Mason and I looked at each other confused. There wasn’t anyone anywhere that either of us could see. But it was clear it was a child. Finally a small brown haired girl slid out from underneath the porch of my childhood home.
Her long braids danced side to side as she made it to her feet. She stared up at us with big blue eyes and round cheeks. She was cute.
She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and pulled eyeglasses from her shirt pocket. She shoved them on and used her pointer finger to slide them up her face.
“I said who are you,” she demanded.
Mason kneeled down getting on her level. “How old are you?” He asked avoiding her question and plying her with one of his own.
“Can’t you see I’m five?” She was not amused by him or the smell of cheap booze on his breath. She waved her hand dramatically in front of her face, scrunching her nose in disgust.
“You’re awful small for five. When I was your age I was two heads taller,” he said to her, he gave her a dirty look.
“If I had a giant fro like yours I probably would be taller too,’ she said letting out an accomplished giggle. She clutched her belly and fell at his feet in a fit of laughter.
I couldn’t help but laugh either. Mason looked appalled that such a tiny kid was being so rude to him.
I wondered if my mother was inside. And if she was what she was doing, or thinking at that moment.
“So who are you?” she asked again jumping back up. She tipped her head back getting a really good look at Mason and me.
“I’m Mason. I used to live around here long before you even existed. Way before you was annoying the shit out of your mother,” he said looking up at the house.
I slapped him in the arm. “That was rude.”
The little girl removed her glasses and shoved them back in her pocket. She looked at Mason again sizing him up. And then she spit right on his leg. She took off in a flash, slipping right back under the porch.
Mason cursed and grumbled in irritation, wiping at his leg. “It’s not even funny, Kendall. What kind of kid does that? That’s no kid, that’s the spawn of Satan.”
This only made me laugh even harder. Mason glared at me, I covered my mouth trying to stifle the laughter.
A familiar screech filled the air. Mason and I immediately looked at the front door. We both knew that sound all too well. The door still screamed in pain just like when we were kids.
I looked away, fear took over. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. Little by little I forced myself to take her in. First the black strappy sandals, with perfectly polished red toenails, I inched up her legs to a pair of black dress pants, and then a red blouse that clung to a tiny waist.
I bit my lip my eyes settling on her face. It was my mother. I was overcome with emotion. She hadn’t changed, she was the same way I remembered her. Only difference now was she took better care of herself.
“Hi there,” she said, her voice sounded exactly how I remembered it. Even after all these years all it took was laying my eyes on her to jolt my memories. “Have either of you seen a little bitty girl with pig tails?”
She started down the steps.
“She’s under the porch,” Mason spoke up; he too was stunned to be looking at my mother after all these years.
“Dixie jean!” she yelled, getting down on all fours. “What did I tell you about crawling under there?”
The little girl came out quickly at the sound of her voice. She latched on to my mother, holding tight to her as she stood back up.
“Thank you,” she said smiling at the two of us.
“No problem,” Mason said.
I felt like the life was being sucked out of me. I tried to form words, but I was drawing a blank.
“Momma, if I promise to never go down there again can I have some cookies?” Little Dixie asked, playing with her hair.
This was my sister. My mother had another kid.
“Of course, now off into the house. I’m sure there’s a reason these two are standing out here. Shoo,” she put Dixie on the ground.
Dixie stopped on the stairs looking back at us. She nodded her head a big smile on her face.
“He said his name is Mason. He said he used to live around here. And I spit on him because he said I was annoying,” Dixie said, she let out a giggle and ran inside.
I looked at my mother. Her expression shifted from pleasant to total confusion. She studied Mason closely. Her eyes widened. She brought her hands to her mouth in shock. More spread over her as she instantly looked at me next.
Mason grabbed me by the arm sensing I as close to losing it. My legs felt like rubber.
She stepped closer to me. “Kendall?” All the color drained from her face, leaving her a
s white as cotton. I jumped at the sound of her scream. She dropped at my feet, covering her face with her trembling hands.
Mason squeezed my arm, neither one of us knew what to do. I was in a daze. The neighbors came to their doors.
Little Dixie ran down the stairs to our mother, she pulled on her arm trying to figure out what was wrong with her.
She looked back up at me, tears streaming down her face along with mascara. There were no words to describe her reaction. It wasn’t what I expected. I felt like I had taken a wrecking ball to her life in only seconds. She was hysterically sobbing at my feet.
“Say something,” Mason whispered, jabbing me in the side.
I couldn’t speak. I was dumbfounded.
“Joy Ann?” Mason started with.
She nodded getting back on her feet. Dixie climbed the stairs and took a seat. She too was crying. I could tell this all was too confusing for her. I watched her wipe at her tears, the look on her face brought me back to life, back to when I was a little girl on the same steps.
I came over to Dixie by some miracle my legs worked. I took her hand and sat down beside her.
“Don’t be scared. I’m sorry for upsetting your Momma. I promise everything is okay. Alright?” I reassured her, looking into her big blue eyes.
“I don’t like when she cries,” Dixie told me huffing in misery as the tears flowed. Her tiny body shook as she tried to get words out.
“That’s very sweet. You sound like a very caring daughter. And I love your name,” I fixed her glasses for her.
“I am all the time,” she agreed.
“Momma’s okay, Dixie,” my mother said standing in front of us now. She wiped at her eyes cleaning herself up for Dixie. She kissed the top of Dixie’s head, her hair brushed against my shoulder as she did so.
“Everything alright?” A man asked in the doorway. He looked like he had just woken up from a nap.
“Everything is fine. Take Dixie inside and give her some cookies please,” she told him. He was in his forties, well groomed and didn’t look drunk or high. He looked like a perfectly normal man.
“I can’t believe I am looking at you,” she told me taking a seat next to me on the steps.
“She’s grown huh?” Mason said with a smile. “In my opinion she’s beautiful. More so then when we were just two scrappy kids.”
Momma laughed through her tears, nodding her head in agreement. She touched my hair, turning me to look at her.
“You really are beautiful,’ she said with a sigh. “Where is Wanda?”
I wasn’t shocked she would ask that. Wanda had run off with her kid. Anybody no matter who they were would ask that.
I just wasn’t sure how to answer.
“Wanda’s far away from here that’s for sure,” Mason said.
Momma looked off. It was easy to see something was bothering her.
“She would be so lucky to be so far away,” she said.
July 26th
I had been waiting my entire life for the moment that was now before me. The moment when I looked at her again, even if she was nothing like I had thought she would be after all these years. The way Aunt Wanda had made her out to be my whole life almost.
She was nice enough to let Mason and I stay at her house, my old house. She told me to get rest and that everything could be caught up in the morning.
Well, it was now morning and I was standing in her bathroom riddled with anxiety. I had played this moment over and over in my head. The moment I got to confront her for what my life turned into because of her one mistake. And now it was here.
I secured my hair in a ponytail and stared at my face in the mirror. I looked alright for the amount of stress I had been through over the past week or so.
Mason was still asleep. I expected him to sleep for quite some time after the drinking binge he had been on.
The house was quiet besides the old grandfather clock ticking away in the corner of the dining room.
Sunlight warmed the house pouring through the windows at the front of the house. I looked around at the rich colors that decorated the walls and furniture. It was nice and cozy, it was a home.
“I can’t believe I’m here. Everything looks so…” I stopped talking when I laid eyes on my Mother. She was sitting at the dining room table, a big white coffee mug on one side of her. She was going through a box. As I got closer I realized it was a box full of pictures.
She furrowed her eyebrows, her expression was serious. She set pictures down in separate piles one after another, working hard at what she was trying to accomplish—I just wasn’t sure what it was she was trying to accomplish.
“I wanted you to see these,” she said as I took a seat at the table next to her. She passed a picture to me, I stared at the ring on her finger.
“Your ring is beautiful,” I said admiring the large diamond. She pulled her hand back touching the stone, sadness rather than happiness filled her face.
“Kendall, I really want you to look at these pictures with me. This is very important,” she said again, she didn’t want to talk about anything else. She needed me to see these pictures for some reason.
I nodded a bit confused as I looked at the first picture. It was me. “What is this?”
I was sitting at a table surrounded by a dozen people most I didn’t even recognize. Even Mason was there. Everyone was smiling and happy as they crowded around me. The hardest part about the photograph was the smile on my face—the one I didn’t remember.
I looked at her, she wiped at the tears silently falling from her eyes. I didn’t know what she wanted me to say.
“That was your fifth birthday. Do you remember that party?” She pointed at the picture, silently holding out hope that I would see the good times. I studied the photo closely, there was Aunt Wanda in the background a scowl pinned to her features like always, and one cigarette in between her skinny fingers. She was the darkness threatening the happiness in the picture.
“I don’t remember this,” I said returning the picture to the pile. I didn’t want to look at Aunt Wanda.
She dug through the box pulling out just the right one and handed it to me.
“What about this?”
There I was again, on a rocking horse. A Christmas tree stood tall in the background. Momma sat on the floor in red flannel pajamas, her hair swept up in a loose bun. She had the biggest smile on her face as she watched me. She was happy.
I scanned the photo identifying my uncles and again, Aunt Wanda. She was leaning against the wall a vacant stare on her face, her arm crossed, her sights set on my mother, and of course another cigarette.
I looked at my mom. She wiped her eyes letting out an uneasy laugh. I could see the pain in her eyes. It hurt her to know I didn’t remember any of these things. I could tell she had held out hope that I would after all these years.
Her face was so young. She wasn’t worn like Wanda. If she was supposed to be such a bad person I thought she would have. I thought it would have shown all over her face just like Wanda.
“I don’t remember this,” I said handing the picture back to her.
“What do you remember when you were here with me?” she asked.
“I remember the night I left. There were sounds coming from your bedroom. I was young, but I knew it wasn’t something I needed to see.” I looked away. “And then Aunt Wanda came barreling in the door threatening to burn the house down.”
“She was always so angry with me. Sometimes I didn’t blame her. But she was always so angry,” she said thinking back on her older sister.
I nodded in agreement. Aunt Wanda was full of anger—unspeakable rage. And I never knew why.
“Kendall, did you think she would?” Her face softened. Had this been the moment I had been waiting for?
“I was a kid. She put the fear of god in me. And you were always crying. I didn’t want her to hurt anyone. So I told her to take me,” I said, I was sucked back to that night all over again. Twelve years was a lon
g time to be without someone important. I didn’t even remember her. I hardly knew if what memories I had were even my own. What was real and what was made up by Aunt Wanda?
I remembered the sound of that door screeching open and Aunt Wanda’s footsteps stomping down to her bedroom. She was ballistic as she banged on her door. I waited in my room for the noise to stop or get even louder. But my mother never came out. She kept right on with that man, ignoring Wanda’s crazy rant. Some parts of me didn’t blame her. Aunt Wanda showed up a couple times a week usually, how was she to know this time would be so different?
Aunt Wanda was always so jealous of my mother, jealous and drunk. And that night she decided she was going to prove once and for all that Joy Ann wasn’t better. She was going to teach her a lesson by burning the house down. I was seven, but I wasn’t stupid. I was a kid, if someone said they would do something they did it. I didn’t want to see anyone hurt. Nobody deserved to die.
So I climbed out of my bed and tugged on Aunt Wanda’s arm. I begged her to take me with her. And minutes later she backed down. She looked me over, probably weighing her options and soon she was yelling at me to pack my things so we could go. We were on our way. My mother was safe and I was on the highway to New Mexico with Aunt Wanda.
I never imagined the life ahead. And I never thought I wouldn’t see my old life again for twelve years.
Momma got up and went to the big picture window. “You can tell me how you feel you’re not going to hurt my feelings,” she told me.
“Why didn’t you come out of the bedroom that night? Didn’t you hear her?” I asked quickly. It was the one thing I wanted to know for years.
“I was sure it was like every time before. I thought she was there to complain about something that didn’t go her way. You know, with a man or something she was plotting. Wanda was always in trouble with someone.” Momma sighed.
“She hated you so much,” I told her.
She shook her head and sat back down. “She hated me so much she took my kid away for twelve years. Now, that’s hate. I was young. I thought that man in my bedroom that night loved me and you.”
