by L. Divine
“I gave you life, Chance Carmichael, do you hear me? Even if I don’t have the stretch marks to prove it, I’m still your mother and you have to believe I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you. I love you, baby,” Mrs. Carmichael says, walking over to Chance and attempting to hug him, but he refuses to let her get too close. She looks at me hard before storming out of the dining room and up the stairs. Damn, this is some heavy shit. I’m all for Chance finding out about his true lineage, but there’s got to be a better way to go about it.
“I called my mother’s father and he says he’s always won dered what happened to me. My mother’s dead and he doesn’t know where my father is, but remembers a little about him,” Chance says, choking back his tears. I see my boy’s been busy playing detective the past couple of days. It’s amazing how small the Internet makes the world. “I already got my plane tickets and packed my shit,” Chance says, like it’s no big deal. “I leave later this afternoon and will be back on Sunday.”
“Is anyone going with you?” I ask after devouring the last of my chicken tacos. That was a slamming lunch even if the conversation wasn’t as pleasant.
“No, and I don’t want anyone to. This is something I have to do for myself.” Chance takes another bite of his second burrito, avoiding my eyes. I really fear for my friend. He’s suffering the loss of two mothers and doesn’t know which to mourn first.
“I’m all about you finding your roots, but don’t get it twisted, Chance. The grass isn’t always greener. You don’t know how your black side is going to respond to you. Are you sure you don’t want your mom or Jeremy to go with you?” I would’ve offered my company, but Mama would never allow me to fly across country with one of my friends.
“I’m not sure about anything anymore, Jayd. I just want to get to Atlanta and see what my real mom looked like. If she had this mole on her lip like I do,” he says, scratching his upper lip. “I always wondered where this damn thing came from.” I hope Chance finds the answers he’s looking for. It’s not going to be easy, but life rarely is. I just hope he doesn’t neglect Mrs. Carmichael’s grief in the process. Her son’s rightful search for self just might kill her.
“At least let me drive you to the airport. I got a school pass from Mrs. Sinclair and can take you whenever you’re ready.”
“I was born ready, Jayd. Let’s roll,” Chance says, rising from the table and jogging up the stairs two at a time to get his stuff. I can’t believe he’s going to Atlanta tonight. I’m glad Chance trusts me enough to be a part of his journey. After I drop him off I’ll head straight to work, officially beginning my weekend. Like Chance, I hope I find some sort of peace over the next three days. God knows we both deserve it.
4
Ladies of Leisure
“Never trouble no one/I’m a lady, I’m not a man.”
—SISTER NANCY
Initially I’d hoped for a relaxing weekend, but it turned out to be the exact opposite, much to my bank account’s benefit. I had clients stacked up at the shop and at my mom’s apartment. As if doing hair all weekend wasn’t enough, I also had spirit work and my boyfriend to keep me busy, not to mention studying the sorority’s history for the debutante meeting at Mrs. Esop’s house later this afternoon. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be to deal with the ladies of leisure Mrs. Esop associates with. Tolerating their bougie asses will be a challenge, but nothing I can’t stomach for a couple of hours.
After braiding all morning, I came over to Mama’s to help her fill some of her special Mother’s Day orders for next Sunday’s holiday, which also happens to be Mama’s favorite day of the year after Christmas, and have been working in the spirit room ever since. She and Netta get all dressed up and go out after their all-day ritual honoring our ancestral mothers. It’s a beautiful ceremony and I always feel renewed after participating every year.
I have yet to tell Mama about me becoming a debutante with Mrs. Esop’s sorority and possibly a cheerleader next year. Much like with my Advanced Placement exams, Mama won’t be happy with the time spent on my newfound extracurricular activities. I don’t know how to break the news to her, but it has to be done. I’m sure she’s going to wonder why I can’t stay for dinner today, and lying about it won’t work with Mama for long. It’s going to be a tough sell, though. She’s never gotten along well with Nigel’s mother, who thinks my grandmother is related to the Antichrist and Mama feels the same way about her. Their hating goes back to when Mrs. Esop was still in Compton, having come from Louisiana with Mama, Netta, Esmeralda and a lot of our other neighbors. I wonder if Mrs. Esop’s snooty friends feel the same way. If they say one cross word about my grandmother or my mother, I’m out—damn our verbal agreement.
“Jayd, hand me the shea butter, please. And could you crush some more vanilla beans for the big belly balm? We’re going to need it for that girl’s growing stomach,” Mama says, mixing the ingredients in the mortar. I’m so glad she’s making a special batch of the cream for Mickey, even though Mama made it very clear it’s for the baby and not my fast-ass friend.
“What does vanilla do besides make it smell good?” I ask, immediately sorry that I did. I take the small, dark brown beans out of one of the dozens of glass containers lining the shelves. The look in Mama’s eyes is enough to show how much she’s disappointed in my lack of spiritual prowess. I’ve been studying my spirit lessons, but not as much as she thinks I should. I can’t tell her that I’m more interested in studying about my mom’s gift of sight than about ingredients for the various recipes Mama specializes in. After a few more minutes, Mama softens her look and answers my question.
“Vanilla has many benefits. For expectant mothers it is a soothing herb, especially when coupled with sandalwood and lavender,” she says, taking more of the ground ingredients from the cutting board and drizzling them into a marble bowl before beating them with the matching pestle. I love Mama’s tools. She rarely lets me use the ancient bowl and pounder because she’s afraid I’ll break them. But the various wooden combinations lining the cabinets work just as well for me.
“The balm smells so good I could spread it on a biscuit and eat it,” I say, mixing the almond oil, melted cocoa butter, and another special oil Mama didn’t give me the name of, in my smaller mortar, waiting for further instructions.
“You could, but it might not taste so good,” Mama says, smiling at me. It’s always nice being in the spirit room with Mama, especially when it’s a bright, sunny day like today. It’s over eighty degrees outside and a slight breeze is blowing through the screen door, dispersing our healing scents through the tiny house. Even Lexi—Mama’s loyal German shepherd—is enjoying the day from her usual post at the threshold. “Which reminds me, what are we having for dinner this evening? I’ve got some fresh salmon from Mr. Webb and we can make some honey butter and biscuits to go with it.” Oh, that sounds so delicious. I know they won’t have anything like that to eat at the tea this afternoon.
“About that,” I say, easing into my admission. “I actually have a function to attend this afternoon and I don’t think I’ll make it back in time for dinner.” Mama continues her mixing, not looking up from the smooth concoction. I hope Mickey knows what she’s getting, but she probably doesn’t and couldn’t care less about the spiritual relevance of having a priestess like Mama making her something to smooth her stretch marks and many other ailments she may experience.
“I see,” she says, finally done with the balm. I automatically claim an empty plastic container from the counter and hand it to Mama to fill. I busy myself with the label making while the thought of me not being here for our now regular Sunday dinner sets in, filling the room with an uncomfortable silence.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” I say, taking Mickey’s full container and pressing the label onto the front. I then walk over to the ancestor shrine and place the balm next to the rest of the products lined up for blessings. This is the final ingredient that makes Mama’s line of healing and beaut
y products so special and powerful. Once she prays over them, they’re ready to go. “I’ve been invited by Nigel’s mother to participate in a debutante ball.”
“A debutante ball—by Nigel’s mother,” Mama repeats, rubbing the remnants of the balm into her already glistening skin. “And you accepted the invitation, I assume.” I stare at Mama, who’s focused on her hands. She can tell there’s more I’m not saying.
“Yes, I did, but only because Mrs. Esop made me agree to it in exchange for her presence at Mickey’s baby shower, where she only came downstairs to say hello. But in her eyes, her part of the deal was met, so I have to keep my word, too.” I join Mama at the kitchen table, sitting on a stool across from her. Her green eyes look weary and I wonder if she’s been taking her herbs regularly since I moved out. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to Mama because I don’t live here anymore.
“Yes, you must keep your word,” she says cryptically. Mama looks behind her at the refrigerator and claims the spirit book from the top. “And?” Mama asks, waiting for the rest of my confession. This must be how it feels to let it all out to a Catholic priest.
“And all next week I’ll be an hour late to Netta’s because I’m trying out for the cheer squad. My counselor, Mr. Adelizi, says it will help my chances of getting into a good college.” Mama looks up at me, shocked by that last bomb. “I know, I know, it’s not my thing, but he says that I need another activity to make me a solid candidate.”
“Mrs. Esop, Mr. Adelizi. Who the hell are these people to you, Jayd?” Mama taps her long, red fingernail on the book three times before opening it to exactly what she was looking for, I suppose. That’s just how gifted Mama is. The book speaks to her, unlike when I ask it a question. I have to look through the entire thing to find what I’m looking for. I wonder if there’s a silent prayer or something that comes along with the nail tapping that I need to become privy to.
“Well, Mr. Adelizi is my guidance counselor at school and, well, you know who Mrs. Esop is,” I say, realizing how silly I must sound. Mama bends her neck to the right and opens her mouth in total disbelief that I had the nerve to answer her rhetorical question.
“Jayd, I have tolerated your recent shenanigans as best I know how. But, girl, I think you’re really losing it.” Mama closes her eyes and scratches her forehead like she’s completely stressed, and I feel her. I hardly recognize myself sometimes, but I feel like the same person. What gives?
“Mama, it’s not that bad. I’m just growing up, I guess.”
“Growing up means maturing, not completely changing who you are at the influence of outsiders.” Mama opens her eyes and silently reads a few lines from the great book.
“Outsiders?” I say aloud, questioning the word’s use in this case. I know what Mama means, but I see these people on a regular basis.
“Yes, Jayd. Outsiders: people who are not a part of your family, your lineage, your bloodline. Your destiny was carved out way before you were even thought of, little girl. And the path you’re etching out for yourself is in direct contradiction to that divine destiny.” Mama continues her reading, taking one of the loose note cards from the ancient text and using it as a bookmark. Unlike the pages in this book, my life’s not written yet.
“Don’t I get a say in the way my life unfolds?” I know I sound like a bratty teenager but for real. I’ve been living this spiritual life for seventeen years now. When do I get a break to just do me? I know my life includes the crazy dreams and everything else that comes with my lineage, and I’ve accepted that. But there has to be a way to balance the best of both worlds. Otherwise, what’s the point?
“Of course you do, just like your mama did. And we see how well that turned out,” Mama says, eyeing the weathered pages in front of her. I don’t like where this conversation is leading and from the look of it, neither does my grandmother.
“But my mom turned out okay in the end,” I say, fingering the five jade bracelets on my left arm. I wonder if they can protect me against the wrath I feel coming from Mama.
“Yes, she did. And as her mother, I’m just grateful she’s alive and healthy—for the most part.”
“What do you mean, ‘for the most part’? Is there something I should know?” I ask, alarmed at the possibility my mother’s ill or something else just as disturbing.
“Nothing that you aren’t already aware of,” Mama says, rubbing her tired eyes underneath her reading glasses. “For a priestess to lose her power is tantamount to one losing a hand or the use of their eyes. So like I said, Lynn Marie is healthy, for the most part.”
“I don’t see what me getting involved in more school activities has to do with my sight. I’m still dreaming and retaining my memory, just like I’m supposed to,” I say, stopping short of admitting I’ve retained more than a memory from one of my dreams about my mother. I’m still in disbelief that I’ve kept her powers, but I’m not letting Mama know or she’ll strip me of them before I can make a good case as to why I should keep them. They’ve already been beneficial to my friends and Mrs. Carmichael, and that has to count for something.
“Yes, about that,” Mama says, turning the book around to face me. “You have no idea what you’re supposed to be able to do because you don’t spend enough time on your spirit studies. How do you know what your true potential is if you don’t invest fully in your talent?”
“Exactly my point about cheer and becoming a debutante,” I say, surprised at the logic in my argument. Why am I so gung ho about making a case for my newfound activities when I myself am fundamentally against becoming active in either group? I guess now that they’re on the table I feel like I want to keep them, just like my mom’s cold-ass abilities and my bid for ASU president. They’re both in my destiny and it’s time to claim them.
“Jayd, what the hell good is becoming a debutante going to do you? Those heffas know nothing about real work or our way of life. All they do is sip tea and talk shit,” Mama says, shuddering at the thought. “Trust me, Jayd, I know more about that world than you realize. Me and Teresa go way, way back and despite her name, she’s no saint.” I’ve never heard Mama refer to Nigel’s mother by her first name. I almost forgot she had one.
“I know she’s a tough lady, but this opportunity is bigger than her. Besides, I gave my word.” I look at the wall clock and realize it’s already past noon. I need to do my hair, raid what’s left of my mother’s clothes for something suitable to wear to the tea, and get a move on. I’m a bit nervous about meeting the ladies of leisure, as Nigel calls his mom’s sorority sisters, but I’m also excited. It’s nice being chosen, even if I wasn’t running for anything. Speaking of which, I also have to write my speech for the election during the African Student Union meeting on Wednesday at lunch. I’ve made a good case for myself and think I’m a shoo-in for president, but one can never be too sure.
“Be careful about spreading your word too thin, Jayd. Just like your ass, it can get worn out.” Mama places the last index card in the spirit book and pushes it across the table toward me. “Here’s your lesson for the week. Study it well. There will be a test at Netta’s soon.” Mama rises from her stool, walks over to me and kisses me long on the forehead. “I love you, baby. Have a good time at your tea.”
“Thank you, Mama. I love you, too.” I hug her tightly before she exits the small house with Lexi at her heels.
The section Mama has chosen for this week’s lesson, is all about verbal ashe, or the spoken word. This should be an interesting lesson to say the least. I have about an hour before I have to get going. I’ll read as much as I can and take notes to study later. The rest will have to be done tomorrow after work. I don’t have much time to get ready, hair included. Balancing my new priorities with my old ones will take some serious juggling. Hopefully, I’ll get better at it because I can’t keep neglecting my spirit work or Mama.
When I made it back to my mom’s place a couple of hours ago, I took a quick shower and touched up my hair before raiding my mo
m’s dwindling wardrobe. Slowly but surely my mom’s things are making their way over to her boyfriend’s apartment, undoubtedly forcing some of his stuff out. I finally settled on a cream silk skirt suit with a pink shell underneath and pink snakeskin pumps to match. I look so good I wish I had somewhere else to show off my sophisticated clothes. If I don’t look like a lady, then I don’t know who does. We’ll see if Nigel’s mother and her friends agree. I send Jeremy a quick text to let him know I’m thinking about my boo. He’s probably in the deep blue sea riding a wave, or whatever it is they do at the beach all day. Maybe we can meet up tonight after we’re done with both of our busy days.
Not fully realizing what I was getting myself into when I arrived at Nigel’s house twenty minutes ago, I walked into his foyer greeted by thirty or so girls my age and other women in the sorority. I had no idea there would be so many people here, all wondering who I am and where the hell I came from, causing me to feel like an outsider in a house I chill at on the regular. I may look as nice as the other young ladies present, but there’s something about the way people with money walk that I don’t possess. These broads are sizing me up and I’m doing the same thing to them. Now that we’ve all served ourselves tea and cookies, we’re seated in the living room ready to get started.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Mrs. Esop says, gently tapping the side of the petite china teacup she’s holding with an equally dainty silver spoon, officially calling the meeting to order. “We, the lovely ladies of Alpha Delta Rho, would like to welcome you to our first debutante tea, one of many mandatory social gatherings you’ll participate in over the next several weeks.” She places the cup on the coffee table across from where she’s seated on the couch, allowing another elder to continue.
