Food Stamp Chronicles

When Charles left me for Chaka, I thought it was because he wanted a darker more natural woman, but during the divorce proceedings his lawyer stood behind the podium and cited irreconcilable differences. Just like that the sham was over. The ten years I spent being his maid, doctor, and sex slave were finally gone. The only thing that cut was when the judge shot me a glaring look instructing me to leave the marriage the same way I came. I never tried to plead with Charles or the Judge, while they sat in the courtroom both round as Humpty Dumpty. The judge’s sunburned forehead and Charles’s burnt black skin revealed their love of leisure and outdoor activities. Hell for all I knew, they could have been golfing buddies because with the ol’ judge’s help, Charles had scored a hole-in-one. While driving to the home that we had built together, my stomach twisted and

turned like someone was on the inside doing a line-dance. Why I never took my foster mother’s advice, I never knew. When she came to our wedding, she pulled me aside and said, “Ebony, whatever you do, don’t let that man put everything in his name.” That

piece of advice I never used, so when Judge Dumpty said to leave the same way I came, I knew that meant leaving behind the Mercedes and the two-story Spanish-style home that was filled with my essence from the bottom up. The welcome mat out front, I had hand-selected from Bed Bath and Beyond, the arches, I co-designed, and the granite kitchen countertops and island were additions all my own.

​Fighting back the tears as the salt water worked its way down my face, I pulled up to the circular driveway to see a group of brown moving boxes scattered across the front lawn. My son, JaCobi, was still at school, so I knew that boxes had nothing to do with him. Pulling closer I saw my coral Donna Karan shirt-dress and Burberry belt resting comfortably on the ground. Beside Charles’s car, there was a champagne-colored Maybach with mirror-tinted windows and vanity plates that read, “Rich Btch”. The blood pumping through my veins became ice cold and my hands shook as I removed the keys from the ignition. “Everything okay over there?” My neighbor, chatty Kathy, asked the question with a look of concern and intrigue on her face. Her look paralleled mine as I waved and nodded in an effort to blow her off. All my attention was turned to the pictures, trophies, knick-knacks, and other mementos from our lives that were placed in boxes like Thursday’s trash.

​With the situation finally sinking in, I fumbled the keys until I found the one that fit the lock. Rotating to the right as I’d done everyday since Charles took the blindfold off and surprised me with our dream home; however, unlike all the times before, there was no clicking sound. I tried the deadbolt, but got nothing. When I started beating, I still wasn’t convinced that he’d changed the locks. He opened the door and beside him stood Chaka. She isn’t beautiful by any stretch of the imagination. Her hair is short and wavy, some kind of chemical process, I guessed. Her skin is like the blackness of death and her eyes are as big as moons. With her hand on her imaginary hip and her soup-cooler lips poked out, she stood beside Charles and said, “Can we help you?” My heart began to beat so fast, I thought it might leap from my chest. It was like I was having an out-of-body experience because before I knew it, I had pulled Chaka through the door by her neck and was on top of her pounding her face with the Hide-A-Key rock. There was a five-second delay before Charles made his first attempt at pulling us apart. After I broke every Lee Press-On nail I had on his face, I then commenced to working Ms. Chaka over. Some part of me felt bad about what I was doing because she wasn’t the one I was mad at. The truth is it was all Charles’s fault, but when she came and answered the door wearing my bathrobe with the smell of sex still lingering in the air, I pounced on her like I was the baddest bitch in the jungle. Yolanda laughs as I finish telling her the story. JaCobi and I have been here for two weeks, but this is the first time I’ve had the energy to talk about what went down.

​-Girl, had you not bailed me out of jail, I don’t know where we’d be.

​-Now Ebony, you know we go way back. You should have called me and I would

have got Man-Man and nem to come whoop Charles’s ass.

-Yeah, I know then we all would have needed somebody to bail us out.

Laughter escapes my lips, as I pass her the bottle of vodka. Staying with Yolanda takes me back to my childhood with her joking and cutting up all the time, and not to mention she can mix a drink like nobody’s business.

​-What’s on the menu for tonight?

​-Oh girl, it’s Mexican night. It’s quesadillas and margaritas all around.

Yolanda says this as she pretends to Salsa around the room. This is the second time in a week we are going to have Mexican night, the first time I woke up the next morning feeling like I had been on the losing end of a bar fight leading me to promise God that I’d never tango with Jose` Cuervo again.

​-I’ll probably go easy on the tequila tonight; I’ve got to get out and try to find a

place for me and Cobi tomorrow.

​-Oh, I didn’t tell you, I already hooked that up. My cousin Tee Tee says there are

​some vacancies near her place. She lives on the Southside, but she say the rent is

​cheap and they take Section 8 if you got the voucher.

I’m glad to have a friend like Yolanda. The women I associated with when I was with Charles were perpetrators, fake, like they were created from chocolate pudding. They leased new cars every few months and had Korean hair sewn in their heads down to the crack of their asses. They called their husbands names like, “Daddy, Papa, and Mr. Big”, while draining their bank accounts and sneaking to the ghetto to buy “Mary Jane” from the pants-sagging B-bop boys in the hood. They wouldn’t know real-life if it walked up and bitch-slapped them. Not me though, I haven’t stepped foot in the hood since Charles rescued me and JaCobi almost eleven years ago.

***********

Back home in my garden tub where I’m surrounded by lily-white teacup candles, I sit resting my mind, while my back chills against the ice-cold porcelain. A soothing melody from Sade fills the air, as I finish my second glass of Merlot since making it home for the day. The sleepy jazz notes and wine are giving me just the release I need.

- BAM! BAM!

​-MOM! MOM!

Startled by JaCobi, I jump to my feet and wipe the slobber that is trickling down my face and dig the matter from my waking eyes.

​-What’s wrong baby?

JaCobi is seventeen, tall with a muscular build, an overall carbon copy of his no-good virginity-stealing daddy. Upon opening the door, I can see the despair in his face.

​-Jahira’s pregnant Mama.

His voice, sounding half grown-up and half infantile, cracks under the weight of the situation.

​-You sure it’s yours baby?

​-She say, she ain’t been wit nobody else.

There’s not much I can say to comfort him. The truth is in the last two weeks my world has gone from sugar to shit, and I am running on empty in the advice department, so I offer him the words that I wish his daddy’s mother would have given his daddy.

-If it is your baby, then it’s gonna be a Houghton. You going to take care of them, and I’m going to take care of you.

As Cobi kisses my forehead before leaving the room, I wipe his tears away hoping that this revelation is just a part of a dream. Feeling lower than I’ve felt in a long time, I slide from the bed and sit on my knees pressing my body against the edge. The moonlight creeps through the window like a cat burglar and illuminates my hands. I bring the whiteness of my palms together and clasp my yellow fingers as I close my eyes just like I’d learned in Sunday school.

​-God, now I know I haven’t come to you in a long while, but desperate times call

for desperate measures. That no-good Charles you sent me done left me and Cobi

high and dry, so I was wondering: Since I don’t harass you every Wednesday and

Sunday like the rest of the sinners, could you do me a favor and make this mess

go away. Amen. P.S. I’m sorry for putting the beat-down on ol’ Chaka, but you

have to admit she was asking for it!

Getting off my knees I feel a little lighter. I pull back the black and white checkered comforter, and as I doze off I wonder why God gives men physical strength, while making women carry all the weight.

​Waking up the next morning, I look out the window and the clouds seem to have disappeared. Yesterday’s sky was unbearable and depressing, but today, today the sky is a breathtaking-blue and the sun looks like it’s bursting with laughter. Throwing one leg and then the other over the side of the bed, I sit on the edge and try to reach deep inside for the energy to raise myself up.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

KNOCK!

​-Come in.

​-Damn, girl, you look like death warmed over.

​-Then I look good compared to the way I feel.

Yolanda comes in the room with her Hawaiian Silky #5 pulled back in a ponytail. It’s a fuchsia color that makes her yellow skin color look even brighter. She’s wearing a blue and white track suit and kicks with a metallic swoosh sign down the side. The pants are so tight; the seams look like they’re holding on for dear life. She’s not fat but big-boned, an hourglass shape if you add half an hour to it.

​-Get up girl, time waits for no woman.

​-I know, I know. I told you that tequila is no friend to me though.

​-You wasn’t saying that last night when you was standing in the middle of

the front room trying to hula hoop and balance a shot glass on your nose.

-Girl you always trying to call somebody out. I’M UP I’M UP! OK!

-Good, Cobi done already ate breakfast and caught a ride to school. There’s some

grits and toast in the kitchen with salt, pepper, cheese, and butter just the way you

like it. I even threw in a little cinnamon-raisin toast, so get your ass up and

let’s get this show on the road.

I hate that I didn’t get to see Cobi before he went to school, but Yolanda would tell me if something was wrong with him. She walks from the room and the swishing sound of her track suit makes me think she’s going to start a fire between her legs. After she’s gone her perfume, a vanilla and musk scent, invades my nose.

Where only minutes earlier I was glued to the bed, my stomach now takes over my mind and sends me to the bathroom laying me over the porcelain throne. I look around, and I think this is a cute bathroom. Yolanda has good taste. I’m gonna die in this bathroom. I’m gonna to die in this bathroom. Finally, my stomach decides I’ve been punished long enough. Drenched in sweat, I pick myself up from the cold wet floor and realize my panties are wet. I pull the shower curtain back and lock the door. The steam quickly feels the room and the foggy mirror works as a magnet drawing my finger to it. I write, “This too shall pass”. It ends up looking more like tis tos hall pas. HE knows what I mean. I fall back against the toilet, and as I undress I look down and I laugh. I laugh and laugh and laugh and cry and laugh and cry and laugh and cry and cry and cry. Yep from sugar to shit I think as I pull the night shirt over my head and step into the steaming shower. The water hits my body jerking me awake in an orgasmic fashion. Every drop feeling like a French kiss on my flesh giving me the climactic release I’d been longing for. Stepping from the shower, I feel fresh, new, and ready to start my day. I borrow a pair of sweats from JaCobi’s bag and put on a white Mossimo hoodie, and black and grey Puma’s.

READY!

​-You don’t want the grits?

​-Hell Naw! Only if I want to go back in there for another round.

​-Ebony, you know you crazy girl.

​-So where we going first?

​-My cousin Tee Tee is waiting for us to come by.

​-Let’s hit it then.

Getting in the car, Yolanda rummages through the middle console and says, “Yep this is it. Just what we need, some mood music.” She starts the car and places the disc in the player. Before we even back out, she flails both limbs in the air, while waving her arms and head from side to side and singing, “She’s a brick house, yeah she’s mighty mighty just lettin’ all hang out”. I said, “Girl you show do”. With the music playing and the laughter from a good friend tickling my heart, I start to feel like everything is going to be alright.

I’m expecting to go to some place where all the houses look like rows of white dominoes with bars instead of dots, but as we pull up, Tee Tee’s spot has curb appeal. Getting out of the car, the rose bushes are perfectly pruned, and I can’t help but notice the four-door Impala with mirror tinted windows sitting in the front yard. The glistening chrome stars spinning mid-center of the polished wheels have a hypnotizing effect on me as the ignition stops. The flyest touch however, is the chameleon paint, some of the freshest I’ve seen, with the color changing from ocean-water blue to sea-green in Nature’s light. I glance at Yolanda as she shakes her head and giggles, while telling me Tee Tee just got back from taking the kids to daycare. Getting out of the car, Tee Tee damns God and throws her hands in the air. She is wearing a denim Fendi jumpsuit with jumbo-sized gold hoops in each ear. The woven platinum chain around her neck carries a charm with calligraphy-styled letters spelling T-E-E T-E-E. She finishes her look with cherry-colored lipstick on her teeth and a twisted piece of quick-weave on top of her head.

Wzup cuzzo?

She reaches out toward Yolanda, but instead of a hug they slap each other’s hand. First they slap the front side, then the backs, and the ritual ends with a yell of “OOO OOP” and some dap. The sound begins high, then goes low, and ends up high again sounding like a beached whale.

​-This here is Ebony, and Ebony this is Teeosha, but everybody call her Tee Tee.

Her head goes up and down in an effort to size me up. One thing you learn growing up in the system is how to fight. Tee Tee smiles and gives me some dap, but her eyes tell me we are about two minutes from starring in one of those videos that have names like “Boogey Down Beatdown” or “Freshest Fights in the Hood”.

​-So yellabone, cuz tells me you looking for a place to stay.

​-Yeah, but I can’t afford nothing like this, girl. I don’t even have a job.

​-Hell, I ain’t got no job now either, but I gots me a voucher, and that’s better than

a job any day of the week.

I didn’t come over here for this ghetto-speak, but I humor her as we walk through the front door.

​Inside it’s one surprise after another. The first thing I notice is the honey-colored hardwood floors and cathedral ceiling throughout the front room all the way to the kitchen. She drops her Prada bag on the Italian leather sofa that’s adjacent to the matching over-sized chair and ottoman. I must say the girl’s got taste. It’s only 10 o’clock in the morning, but after Yolanda’s begging wears her down, Tee Tee breaks out her blender.

​-Now that’s what I’m talking ‘bout!

​-What’s what you are talking about?

​-Tee Tee’s gonna give us some Pink Panties.

​-What the hell is some pink panties, yall two are over here tripping.

They both roar with laughter. Tee Tee laughs so hard, she drops the whipped cream as she pulls it from the fridge.

​-Ebony, you gonna make me piss myself,girl

​-Yeah, I’m a regular freaking comedian.

It turns out, Pink Panties is a frozen mixed-drink made with ice, frozen pink-lemonade, Redi-Whipp, and anything clear from the bootlegger. So while we sip and talk it still feels like we’re interviewing each other. Sitting eye-to-eye someone might think we were old high school sports stars trying to score on the other. I tell her what life was like bouncing around between four different foster homes in six years, about how my first love, Rashaad, gave me JaCobi, but most importantly I tell her how Charles rode in like a black Robin Hood in his candy-apple red Mustang GT and saved my life. When I tell her about the foster homes, she volleys back with her cousin finding her mama dead on the toilet with a crack pipe in her hand. When I tell her about Rashaad, she lobs back with the fact that her oldest child was fathered by her rapist.

​-Sluurrrp! Mmmm that’s good girl.

It’s like the dead rising as Yolanda stirs from the magazine long enough to finish off her drink and ask for more. Looking at the arabesque clock on the wall, I realize that Time rode the bench during me and Tee Tee’s little game. She tells me the first thing I need to do is go to the government services office. When she says this, Yolanda rolls her neck around looking at both me and Tee Tee.

​-The government what? Girl, don’t you mean the welfare office. Hell we all

adults here, who you sugar-coating for?

-Look, it seems like your girl needs help since Mr. Robin Hood done kicked her

ass to the curb. I ain’t sugar-coating nothing. I’m trying to kick some knowledge

to her before she go out there and tell the wrong person the wrong thing.

Tee Tee decides to drive us to the place. We travel south, and along the way the scenery looks like images from a flip book with the facades of the buildings changing rapidly, becoming less inviting, and more depressing the further south we go. The tall become small and the beautiful become nothing more than dilapidated shacks until finally the car stops. While whipping the Impala into a handicap spot, she reaches in the glove box for the hang tag and looks confidently at me and Yolanda like, “yeah and so”. After being on a three-day bender or so it seems, my balance is off and I slide from the car motioning to Yolanda and Tee Tee that I’m going to be sick. Yolanda holds my hair back, while Tee Tee questions its authenticity.

-Girl, who do your weave? It looks real as hell.

-What weave, Ebony’s got Cherokee all up in her family’s branches.

Reaching in my purse for something to clean up with, I close my eyes and send one up to the Maker.

​I get it okay, no more drinking. You sure don’t pull no punches. AMEN!

Open your eyes girl!

The cousins yell at me as I wobble between them feeling faint. Tee Tee gives Yolanda a look like, “you better get your girl together”. Pushing me back and then facing me, Yolanda stands looking at me and running her fingers through my hair, as she adjusts the hood on the back of my sweatshirt.

​-You alright? Yeah she’s alright. Look at you. Lightweight. That’s what I’mma

start calling you. Lightweight.

While trying to feign amusement with Yolanda’s new nickname for me, I try to pull myself together, and we go through the front doors of the welfare office. The inside is set up like a brokerage firm with cubicles and telephones everywhere. I drag myself to the number dispenser and limp to the window to sign my name. With the pen wobbling, I write Ebony Houghton-Winslow on line number 5, and as I start to walk away a moment of clarity seeps through, and I go back and scratch out the hyphen and Winslow. Looking across the crowded room and then back at my number, it hits me that I’m going to become acquainted and real soon with the bathroom at the welfare office. Yolanda and Tee Tee are in a deep conversation with a mocha-skinned brother who is holding a young boy between his legs. As he swings the boy back and forth, Yolanda and Tee Tee hang on to his every word like if he dribbles spit, they’ll be right there to clean it up. Making a rubbing motion on both my head and my stomach, I point and let them know my next destination.

I don’t realize I’m sleep until Tee Tee pushes the stall open. Straddling the seat backwards, I raise my head from where it rested on my arms like a slumbering infant child.

​-Yellabone, you alright in there? You ain’t hear them your name out front.

​-TELL THEM I’M COMING! TELL THEM I SICK! HELL, JUST TELL THEM

SOMETHING!

I yell at Tee Tee, but my frustration is not with her. I’m pissed at Charles and Chaka’s life-stealing asses, at JaCobi for not putting a muzzle on that dog, but most of the anger I reserve for myself for not listening to Mama Sheena when she came to the wedding. I should have made him put the house in both of our names. Who am I kidding though; I was so happy when Charles pulled up to that drive-thru window.

​-Where are you?

​-What you mean where am I? Where’d you bring me to?

​-I mean where u go just then? Look like you spacing out over there.

Once again I pick myself up. My days are running together and having to keep picking myself up causes me to experience déjà vu. I think of Cobi and the fact that he may be a father soon; this alone gives me the strength I need to trudge ahead.

****************

Mrs. Houghton is it?

​-No it’s Miss Houghton.

​-Well, Miss Houghton, my name is Mrs. White, and I need you to tell me why

you are here today.

Her tone makes me want to jump across the table on her. All I hear is BLAH! BLAH! BLAH! I become anxious as I have flashbacks of me and Chaka’s showdown while watching lily-White’s lips move. She sits across from me, her eyes giving me the once-over while she stares judging me in her K-mart suit and Pay-less shoes. Her make-up looks as if she applied it while on a mad dash to work this morning. I imagine she was rushing around trying to make sure that her “step-ford” children made it to school on time, oh and she probably couldn’t get out the door without a little hanky-panky with her husband, Opie.

-My family and I need a place to stay.

-How many people are in this family?

​-Four

I give the lily some fuzzy math. Truth is, I don’t even know if Cobi is the father of that child.

​-Well, I’ll need to make copies of the driver’s licenses and socials’s of all the

family members.

​-What if I don’t have either one?

Lily looks up from the manila folder containing the paperwork like she just developed a bad taste in her mouth. I look around the room as her questions no longer require a history report but can be answered by the nodding and shaking of my head. On her desk I see a 4 x 6 photo in a plexi-glass frame. The photo is a shot of Lily, Opie, and their two red-haired freckle-faced twins. Yeah, I know she’s judging me. The smug look and the bass in her voice lets me know that she thinks she’s got me figured out. This bitch don’t know shit.

​-Right now, it’s just me and my son. He and his girl are having a baby though and

I plan for them to live with us.

She mumbles something like, “you people are all alike”. My foot starts fidgeting and my hand starts to get that itch. I begin to feel sorry for her. She doesn’t know what Charles has put me through or that my blood has been replaced by vodka and tequila every night for the last few weeks. Deciding that I better calm my nerves, I block her out and call on my new found friend.

​ Look, you made me, so I know you know what I’m about to do. The judge said if I

came back to court over some mess then he would throw the book at me. With

that being said, why are you testing me through this white lady? I’ll get myself

together; just don’t put more on me than I can bare.

-Hello! Hello! Miss Houghton, did you hear what I said?

Yes, I can hear her. I can hear her tell me that a family consists of only biological relatives, married relatives, adopted relatives, and basically anyone who has a picture I.D. and a social security card, and I can hear her tell me without telling me that my son’s baby-mama and bastard child do not fit the bill.

​-Well I guess that’s it Miss Houghton.

​-Well what do I do now?

​-You wait while I work the paperwork into the system.

​-What do I do until then?

​-What are you doing now?

​-Look, I’m barely maintaining.

​-Are you hungry or homeless? You sure don’t look like it, but if you are I can find

a bed for you and your son at the women’s shelter.

​-Hell No! my child will never live in nobody’s group home.

​-Suit yourself Miss Houghton.

Pushing back from the desk I realize my buzz is gone and in the same moment it sinks in; everything is gone. The house, car, and bank accounts are all gone. Homeless? We are homeless, but I’ll never put JaCobi through what I went through growing up. Some way, some how, we will make it through this.

****************

Mail come yet?

​-Nope, I told you, Rufus don’t make it over this way til’ bout 1 o’clock on the

First of the month.

With a month gone by, Yolanda and I sit on the stoop in front of her building. Since leaving the welfare office, everyday Monday through Friday I wait for Rufus to bring the mail. It’s a one-person job, but Yolanda was laid off from the Toyota plant two weeks after we got here, so now we both sit and wait.

​-For May, it’s show hot out here.

​-Girl, if you think it’s hot now, wait til July comes. We’ll be able to scramble

eggs on the asphalt.

Yolanda’s jokes, which were funny in the beginning, start to wear on my nerves. Where I used to roar with laughter, I now only offer a hint of a smile, and whoever said two grown women shouldn’t keep house together must have lived with somebody like Yolanda.

It’s not just the jokes; it’s the way she prances around in front of JaCobi. Last night she came from the shower wearing only a towel, or I should say the towel was wearing her. Cobi and I were sitting at the table playing Tunk, and here she comes walking through looking like a half-wrapped tamale. I’m no fool, since finding out Jahira really is pregnant; I’ve been on JaCobi like white on rice, and the other day I had to call her out too. I was like,

​-Dang Yolanda, you think you can cover up? You see JaCobi in here.

​-It ain’t like he ain’t never seen ass and titties before. He do got a baby on the

way, don’t you boo.

She says this as she winks at JaCobi. He smiles like getting pussy from a high-school hoe is something to write home about. I smack him in the back of his head and his smile turns upside down. Yolanda continues to walk in the room with her yellow flesh jiggling like lemon jello.

​-That look like Rufus coming up the street.

Yolanda points toward the mail truck parking on the curb a few blocks up the street. Rufus comes from the truck wearing a burgundy and crème pin-stripped suit with red alligator shoes.

​-What’s Rufus wearing?

​-Girl, he been dressing like that since he got his promotion. He told me the other

day that he is now in charge of alphabetizing the weekly circulars, so he wants to

dress the part.

-A mess, girl. Rufus is a hot mess.

-In that suit he looks like an inferno.

Sometimes I can’t help it, and this is one of those times. I laugh so hard I tumble off the side of the stoop. I pick myself up and go in the apartment to pee and make sure none escaped as I played spectator to Yolanda’s stand-up routine. Just as I make it back outside I see Rufus chatting up Yolanda. Rufus is like the uncle who comes to the family reunion just to get drunk and chase after his nieces. Today his pimp-suit is adorned by a plethora of gold chains making him look like the offspring of Mr. T and The Mack. The odor of his cologne hits me before I come through the screen door and chokes me with a scent of Old Spice and stale bread.

​-Whatcha got for me today Rufus?

​-I gots the whole world for a pretty lil’ thang like yourself.

​-You better go on from here with that mess; I just got rid of a three-legged

donkey, and I ain’t trying to be a fool for another one.

He smiles his snaggle-tooth smile and lifts his arm to hand me the mail with my name on it. I look down at the envelope and see that it’s from the welfare office. Sensing that something good is on the inside, I deliver a kiss to Rufus’s sweaty forehead.

​-Girl, you done gone crazy, or is that letter from Publisher’s Clearing House?

​-Mind ya business, and thanks Rufus.

I turn and run up the steps back into the apartment and to the only place in the whole building that offers a little privacy.

​Once in the bathroom I make sure to lock the door because at Yolanda’s sometimes going to the bathroom isn’t even a solitary event. I’m not sure if the word modesty is even in her vocabulary. Taking my fingernail, I run it across the crevice and pull the piece of paper out:

​Miss Hougton: We regret to inform you that your application for housing has been denied due to your lack of employment. We advise that you seek employment and reapply in 60 days. Enclosed are listings for local shelters and food banks. Your food stamp card is also attached, and the pin number is 0806. The benefits will be applied according to a schedule that coincides with the last four digits of your social security number. You should get yours on the 10th.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Janice White, caseworker

Before I can wrap my mind around what I just read, I hear a knock at the door.

​-So, what’s the good news?

At first it’s a low humming sound and it gets louder and louder until it sounds like the combination of a moaning widow and a yelping dog. With tears burning my eyes, I hop from the toilet seat in a rage. Continuing to block out Yolanda as she beats on the door, I fling the drawers open on the cabinet under the sink. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but when I find it, when I find it I’ll know. I bend my knees and open the cabinet’s double doors and toss out the four-pack of Charmin, the Blue Magic hair-grease, and other various hair and cleaning products until I see a shiny pair of scissors with a lime-green handle. I grab the scissors and walk to the mirror. I can hear Yolanda pleading with me to open the door. I stand before the mirror like I’m in a trance. I grab the most revealing strands of my mulatto DNA, the stringy white-girl hair that never quite matched my yellow-brown skin tone, and I sever myself from the memories of my childhood and my failed marriage. I cut and cut and cut until the tresses that once grazed the nape of my neck now hang just an inch from my scalp all over my head. Like a light bulb going off, I remember seeing Cobi’s clippers, and I rummage in the cabinet until I find them again. Turning them on it sounds like a muted lawnmower. The buzzing begins. By the time I finish, Yolanda has opened the lock with an ice-pick and is standing just to the right of me. With both of us starring at my pale head in the mirror, Yolanda leans shaking her head and says, “Girl, I think you done gone and lost your ever-loving mind.”

​When JaCobi comes home it’s like hearing an echo.

​-Mama! I think you need to see somebody. It’s just not right. Here take this.

He pulls a red and white do-rag from his pocket and ties it around my head. In his eyes, I see tears welling up, but I can’t remember a time he let me see him cry. This time is no different.

​-What are you doing Mama? Why you let that nigga get to you like this?

My whole body is numb as I look up at my son, my son, who is now becoming a man way too soon, my son who was just starting first grade when Charles took us from West 52nd to Buckhead Avenue, my son stares at me and his look says, “how did we get here?”

Snapping out of my subdued state, I snatch the rag from my head and leap to the floor where we stand face to face.

​-LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT THE MESS I’VE MADE OF YOUR LIFE! Baby,

you shouldn’t have to be sleeping on nobody’s couch. My whole life, I’ve tried

to do whatever I could to make sure you’re life was better than mine. And now,

I’ve screwed everything up.

Cobi lets out a roar so loud it shakes the floor. He then grabs both of my shoulders and shakes me like he’s trying to wake me up. My seventeen year-old son stands before me like he’s the parent and I’m the child. When he sees the look of shock on my face, he releases his grip and turns to walk from the room.

​-WAIT!

​-For what? You want me to stay here and watch you fall apart. I’ve got my own

shit going on, or did you forget about that. The whole world doesn’t revolve

around you, Mama.

The words slice through me like a knife. I stand in the middle of the floor like a lost child. I then drop to my knees and question HE who sits high and looks low.

​Is that all you got?

**************

​ A few days go by and I look at the calendar hanging on the wall. Circled in red ink is Saturday May 10th. Picking up the phone on the nightstand, I grab the food stamp card from my purse. I call the number on the back and punch in the pin number. An automated voice comes on and says, “You have a balance of $ 250”. For the first time in weeks I give a smile that’s unrehearsed. Hopping from the bed, I look at the digital Timex clock on the nightstand and think that it’s awfully quiet to be 10 o’clock in the morning. I put on my slippers and robe and walk from the room. Not seeing Cobi on the couch leads me to believe he got up early and went to the gym like he has been every other Saturday. Yolanda’s door is ajar, so I decide to peek in and see if she’s still home. Pushing the door open, I see two sets of feet hanging from the bed. One pair I instantly realize to be Yolanda’s if from nothing more than the frog tattoo on her ankle. The other pair seems to be surprisingly familiar as well. As I tip-toe a little closer, I can see that the middle toe on both feet is the same length as the big toe. I think, “That fucking bitch.” I tip-toe from the room and pace back and forth in front of the door until I decide to go to the kitchen and get a pitcher of cold water. When I walk back through the door, my mind still isn’t wrapped around the idea of throwing the water on the bed. I do it anyway.

​-WHAAT THE FUUCK?

​-WHOSE, WHAT’S THERE?

They both jump from the bed, with Yolanda screaming first and JaCobi swinging his arms like a windmill in the air to fight off his attacker. She’s stunned when she sees it’s me, and the cold water works like an electrical current because before I know it Yolanda’s jiggly flesh pins me against the wall. Somehow, I manage to punch her in the stomach causing her to fall back against the bed. While JaCobi searches for something to cover himself up with, Yolanda charges at me like she’s a bull and I’m a rodeo clown. Being quicker and more agile, I fake to the right, and she hits her head on the sharp edge of the brown dresser. Sitting there in the floor bucking naked, she touches her fattened lip and places her hand on her forehead. Bringing her hand down, she sees its crimson color. No one moves for almost five minutes. Her eyes murder me over and over, but she never gets up. I look over at JaCobi and dare him to walk by me.

​-GET YOUR SHIT AND GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!

​-GLADLY, YOU FUCKING RAPIST!

I storm from the room and realize I don’t hear Cobi behind me.

Boy, you better bring your narrow ass on.

He comes through the door waddling like a penguin with a pillow covering his not-so manhood. I don’t understand men; I mean first Charles and now JaCobi. Why in the hell can’t they just keep it in their pants? While I stuff what’s left of our belongings in large black trash bags, JaCobi gets dressed. I can’t bring myself to look at him or speak to him, and in less then 10 minutes everything we came to Yolanda’s with I have packed in seven trash bags, two duffle bags, and a back pack. I place the key on the glass coffee table and don’t even look towards the bedroom as me and Jacobi walk out the front door.

​Outside, I stop and sit on the stoop. JaCobi stands over me with a puzzled look on his face. With my life piled all around me, I look in my purse and pull out a five dollar bill. I pick myself and the bags up and we walk to the bus stop.

​-Where we going Mama?

Ignoring him I grab the rag from my purse and tie it on my head like a gangster from the hood. We ride the bus until it stops a few blocks from our old neighborhood. JaCobi continues to look puzzled but follows my lead as I pick up the bags and get off. Walking through the neighborhood, I see the white picket fences and flower gardens that make me long for my former life. Approaching the street we used to live on I see my old neighbor Kathy walking her golden retriever.

​-Is that you, Ebony?

Dropping the weight, I reach out to wrap my arms around her. She obliges, but winces at my touch.

​-If you’re heading to the house, Charles and his fiancé are gone on a three-week

cruise to the Bahamas, and he asked me if I would feed and walk the dog while

they are gone.

I pretend that I’ve talked to Charles and that he knew we were coming. For a minute she looks as though she’s not going to bite, but her hesitation subsides, and she and Ollie continue off down the road. We walk ahead a few more feet and I turn and see Kathy stopped at another neighbor’s fence. I hear her say, “She looks like she’s got cancer.”

I smile and think, “yep Kathy’s butt ain’t gonna never change.”

​Once in the yard, I notice that my old welcome mat had been removed and replaced by a monogrammed mat with the initials C & C. The Hide-A-Key rock is no longer there, and of course the locks have been changed. JaCobi stands near me still to scared to make a peep. Not having thought this far ahead, I look around for someway to get inside the house. Turning over some of the decorative stones and potted plants that line the driveway, I still come up empty-handed. From the corner of my left eye, I spot a small jagged stone. I stop and think. One of two things can happen. (A), we will both end up in jail for breaking and entering, or (2), we can get in and turn off the alarm before the police come.

​-CRASH!

I decide it’s really a no-brainer when I look at JaCobi’s stupefied face and at the trash bags everywhere. Quickly, I grab a t-shirt from one of the bags, wrap it around my arm, and feel around for the lock until the door opens. The only chance we have of this working is that I can count on Charles to be the same gullible fool he’d been in the last two years of our marriage. #4456. When the beeping stops, I scream a sigh of relief and JaCobi decides to bring his scary butt through the door.

​-But Mama, what about Jahira and the bab-?

Before he can finish, I slap the taste from his mouth. It is something I’ve never done before, but at the same time it was something I couldn’t stop myself from doing. He storms away walking upstairs to his old room. I drop to the floor and lay there as I cry myself to sleep.

​I awake to the ringing phone. Groggily I crawl on all fours to the direction of the ringing, which is coming from the living room. Before I make it, the ringing stops and rolls over to voicemail. I give up; my body feels like I’ve been in a car wreck, my head looks like I’m going through chemo, I have no money, no car, no place to live, and I have laid my hands on JaCobi, which is something I swore I’d never do. Looking around the room, I see that much hasn’t changed. The rustic leather loveseat and sofa are still in their places and the African art still holds up the wall. Sitting in the China cabinet are a few new additions. I see a pink and yellow Faberge egg with 24KT gold stenciling all around in a zigzag pattern. Next to the egg is a diamond-studded frame with a photo of Charles and Chaka. After the inventory is over, I grab a hold of a chair arm and pull myself to standing position. Feeling light-headed, I take two steps to the right and stumble back two steps before straightening myself up and walking up the stairs to Cobi’s old room.

​When I open the door he’s laying on the bed. Just before we moved out, we had talked about getting him a new king-size bed but that never happened, so hear he lays with his feet hanging off the bed and taking me back to happier times. I start to think, the only time he looks innocent now is when he’s sleeping. Not wanting to wake him, I creep from the room and turn left to go down the hall to the master bedroom. Inside my reflection startles me because in only a month’s time, this room has changed a significant amount. I mean, I didn’t expect Chaka to want to sleep in the same bed me and Charles shared for 10 years, but a vibrating bed and mirrors from ceiling to floor is a bit much.

Wondering if any of my party dresses were still hanging in the closet I stagger towards the double doors. I pull but they’re locked. I feel around the top of the molding over the door and I find a small key. I don’t know what I’m expecting to find, but when I open the doors, I can’t see but a few feet in front of me. The door is being blocked by some kind of large black contraption. Rolling it from the closet, I take a closer look. It has a bicycle seat and a long cylinder-type object hanging down from it. I suppose it’s some type of exercise machine, but the serial sticker on the side says the name Erotica 2000. I double over in laughter. I laugh so hard tears fall from my eyes. I laugh so hard; soon I look up and see JaCobi standing in the doorway wiping sleep from his eyes.

​-What’s that thing, Mama?

​-You see; this here is the Erotica 2000. Don’t you see? I’ve been trying to figure

out what I did wrong and why our marriage didn’t work. But I don’t have to

wonder know more because it’s written here as clear as day. Charles didn’t leave

me because I wasn’t black enough; Charles chose Chaka because she’s a freak.

JaCobi offers a smile, but it seems more like fear than him understanding what I’m talking about. We push the sex machine back into the closet and both walk downstairs.

Pulling open the fridge Cobi rubs his stomach and says, “Dang, they don’t even got no cereal and milk”. I check the time and look outside, and I see the sun is about to clock out for the day. Remembering how my morning started, I look around for my purse to make sure that through all the commotion I still have the food stamp card. Once seeing that it’s securely in my wallet, I go to the phone and call the only person I can think to call.

​When Tee Tee answers the phone, I can barely talk through her laughter.

​-Girl, Yolanda done told me all about it. She always has been a cradle-robber.

After her laughter subsides, I ask if she can come over and take me to the grocery store. With it being the weekend, she tells me the kids are home, and if I don’t mind them riding along, she’ll be here in 30 minutes. Upon walking back in the kitchen, I see Cobi eating some wheat crackers he found in the pantry.

​-I’m hungry Mama and these crackers taste like flavored dirt.

He doesn’t seem to be traumatized by what happened earlier, so I sit down across from him at the table. Just as I sit, the phone begins to ring again. I decide it’s probably best if I don’t answer it. I start to think that maybe Kathy called Charles to check out my story, but that doesn’t even shake me.

Sorry about what happened earlier. I don’t know what came over me. Yes I do.

In the second foster home I was moved to, I was molested by the woman’s

husband. He would wait until his wife went to sleep and then he would come in

my room and run his milky calloused hands all over my body and between my

legs while saying things like, “You sure is a pretty little white-chocolate girl and

Big Daddy gonna make you feel real good”. They were supposed to protect me,

but I started having to protect myself by locking the door. One day I came home

from school and the lock had been removed. I packed up a bag and left that same

day. I was sixteen then and like a breath of fresh air, I found Mama Sheena, and I

gave birth to you there in her bathtub surrounded by her love.

Tears replace words as speech fails JaCobi. He rises from his seat and comes around to the other side of the table where he bends down to wrap his caramel arms around my neck. I didn’t want to lay the family history on him like this, but I didn’t no how else to explain my rage. I feel understanding in his touch and I know we won’t ever have to have this discussion again.

​-You need to call Jahira and make sure her and the baby are okay and let her

know where you are. Please leave out all the messy details too, boy.

-What, you think I’m wet behind the ears?

-I don’t think, I know you are.

After releasing me, he goes to make the call and I have a little talk with Jesus.

​Okay, so maybe I am starting to harass you, but look you’re all we got. I just ask

that you please have mercy on me. Change me lord, change my life, and please

make me whole again. I come to you in Jesus’ name your bull-headed servant. AMEN!

*************

​I hear a horn and look through the venetian blinds and see Tee Tee’s Impala pull up in the driveway. She doesn’t get out. It seems like she’s yelling and then she turns around and passes a lick to a crying child in the back seat. JaCobi decides to await my return, so I grab my list and head out the door. When you have no job and no cash even a trip to the grocery store seems like a luxury, so after my daily devotion I ran upstairs and grabbed one of Chaka’s shirts that still had the tag on it and a pair of high-waisted jeans. I pulled a pair of tan tie-up sandals from one of the trash bags. Pulling off the do-rag, it was like seeing myself for the first time. The loss of my hair hadn’t changed my outer-beauty at all. My face was still there, so I put on a pair of large silver hoop earrings and felt more beautiful than I had in a long time.

​The ride to the grocery store is very trying. Between Tee Tee swerving in and out of lanes, she passes licks to the screaming kids and sends texts messages. I run my finger up and down and across like I’m Catholic. With so much fear in me, I don’t care whose religion I use right now. Riding across the parking lot, Tee Tee searches for a handicap spot but decides on one for expectant mother’s when she sees they’re all filled.

Going around to the other side of the car, I open the back door where Junie B. and Ciara sit pulling at their seatbelts, while the baby, Tuggy, sleeps in his Eddie Bauer car seat. I attempt to unlock Junie B’s buckle when she grabs my hand screaming past me, “mama who dis white girl?” While gently removing her hand from mine, a chuckle escapes into the air from my lips. I continue to take her from the seat with a peace- offering of cotton candy Bubba-Licious from my purse. Battling this four year old becomes like a war, and I quickly become in need of some R and R. In the midst of Tee getting out of the car, she yells back to Junie B, “Naw baby, she ain’t no snowflake; she jus’ look like one.” I didn’t have time to be offended due to the game of Tug-O-War Lil Ray Ray decides to play with me in an attempt to get the gum from my purse. Once everyone is out of the car, we grab a cart and head inside Albertson’s.

Tee Tee takes the two smallest kids and put them in a cart that looks like a racecar and tells me she’s going in the other direction to do some shopping of her own. Lil Ray Ray walks beside her reminding me of JaCobi when he was that age. Looking down at my list, I realize meat is at the top, so I head to the back of the store where the freezers are and my nose is distracted by a buttery smell of heaven. An old lady with glasses and her grey-hair pulled in a bun motions for me to come and sample some rotisserie chicken. I put the chicken in my mouth like I’m a savage. The licking of my fingers that comes next doesn’t do much to dispel my native tendencies. The lemon-pepper flavoring is so good that I simply must have one and place two in the basket.

I’ve always been good with numbers, so I keep a running total in my head. On the way back to the freezer my total is nearing $100 as I’ve tossed in Fruit Loops, Grey Poupon, Nestlé’s Chocolate Syrup, Kellogg’s’ Pop Tarts both the frosted strawberry and the brown sugar kind, Peter Pan Peanut Butter, Wonder Bread, Welch’s grape jelly, Aunt Jemima pancake mix, Pillsbury biscuits and dinner rolls, Stove Top Stuffing, fresh apples and oranges, a gallon of milk, Hidden Valley Ranch, Jiffy Pop popcorn, and a 12 pack of both Coca Cola and Mountain Dew. Arriving at the meat department, I see T-bones and NY Strips lined up for miles. I look at my basket and decide to grab two bottom round steaks and two packages of chopped steak. While detouring to pick up some A-1 sauce, I see Tee Tee smacking one of the kids as they pull something from the shelf.

We meet at the front around the same time. She’s in one lane and I’m in the lane right next to her. While her kids jump over the moon around her, she motions to something in my basket. I see her mouth move, but I don’t hear anything come out. She shakes her head and goes back to swatting at the kids. I take a Whatchamacalit from the side by the magazines and toss it up on the conveyor as the pimple-faced high-schooler says, “That’s going to be $158.43 Ma’am”. While I feel around for the food stamp card, I wonder if I look like somebody’s ma’am. Then I remember, I probably look like something with my shiny yellow head.

I thought I would be embarrassed to use the card, but as I watched Tee Tee, she slid hers through with no problem, so I did the same and punched in the pin. It’s just like old times when I was running to the boutiques swiping Charles’s credit card. I push my cart up, so the girl can put the bagged groceries in the cart, but before I can walk from the door, Pimple-face speaks.

-Ma’am, that’s going to be $8.75

-But, I swiped my card and I know it should have $250 on there.

-Well, I don’t know about that, but this here register says you owe me $8.75.

Our voices get louder and I look over and see Tee Tee and the kids leaving the store. The teenager gets on the loud speaker and calls his twenty-something boss over to explain that I owe them $8.75. After he’s talked high, and low, and done everything but use sign language, I finally understand that I can’t purchase anything hot with food stamps. I look in my purse and see two one-dollar bills and a few coins and then I realize; the embarrassment doesn’t come from using the card; the embarrassment comes from having to stand here while these kids go through my bags and take food from me and my son’s mouth. I feel like breaking right here at the register, but I feel like that’s what they want me to do. They want to break me. Charles and Chaka couldn’t do it, Yolanda couldn’t do it, and I’ll be god-damned if I let these two young crackers do it.

​Meeting Tee Tee outside, she already has the kids strapped in their seat belts being pacified by lollipops. She looks at me like she has a question, but backs off like she already knows the answer. I don’t talk much while we put the groceries in the trunk or on the ride home. I just gaze out the window and watch the trees and the people on the street. I see the winos sitting outside of liquor stores with their brown-bagged longnecks placed to their lips and the “ladies of the night” outside of Bubba’s Soda Shop. I see some ladies in short mini-skirts, plat-formed shoes, and halter tops. Some of them with cornrows some have full-blown motherland afros and luscious lips painted neon red. I watch as they sashay from side to side using their God-given talents to get what they desire. Finally we turn down the street to the house.

With the driveway being round, it takes a minute to get to the top, but when we do, I see JaCobi standing outside. Parked near the front door is a black Crown Victoria. A salt and pepper-haired white man stands talking to Cobi while he holds a little note pad.

If it had been anyone else, I probably would have told Tee Tee to keep driving, but my son is my heart and I can feel my heart is in trouble. Jumping from the car, I race to stand beside him.

​-I’m his mother, can I help you.

​-And, your name would be?

​-Mom, my name is mom and what’s yours?

​-Wait, Mama, you got it all wrong.

​-Shut up boy and get in the house.

JaCobi walks in the door and slams it behind him. I look back at Tee Tee and the kids as they sit in the parked car like they’re watching an episode of Young and the Restless. I motion for her to go on, but she rolls the window down and says, “Girl, I got ya back”, and points to her glove box.

​-Like I was telling your son. I worked with Charles at the firm and we’ve been

trying to contact someone in his family.

-Well, we’re just house-sitting. He and his fiancé are off to the Bahamas for a few

weeks.

Just as I finish I decide to go ahead and invite him in. Tee Tee starts the car and rolls up and stops in front of the door. Looking the man up and down, she lets him know she’s got his number if he acts a fool. She pops the trunk and I open the door and yell for JaCobi to help with the bags. The trench-coat wearing man grabs a couple too, he looks at the broken window, and we go in the house as Tee Tee speeds off, while swiping and swatting in the backseat.

​JaCobi puts the groceries away while I lead the man to the living room. He looks down and sees the broken picture frame and pieces of the Faberge egg scattered in the corner but doesn’t even mention them. I can’t remember when I broke them; all I know is that I never picked them up. I clean a place of the sofa and we both sit down.

​-Now why are you looking for one of Charles’s family members?

​-Like I’ve been trying to tell you. We received a call from the Bahamian

authorities a few days ago, and I’m afraid it’s not good news.

I don’t know why, but my stomach feels like it’s touching my back.

​-Well, what is it? Don’t leave me in suspense.

​-Charles and Ms. Monroe fell overboard while on the cruise.

​-WHAT!

I can’t control my laughter. It’s so overwhelming that JaCobi comes from the kitchen to see what all the commotion’s about. Having already talked to Mr. Trench-coat, JaCobi has a look of worry on his face, while the man sits stone-faced and silent on the couch.

​Mr. Fritz goes on to tell me that apparently Chaka had bought a new hat for the trip and at some point while they walked along the top deck it flew on the deck below. I can see him holding her hand as she tries to reach for the hat. I can see her losing her balance, and I can see them both falling overboard. If that’s not a sight to see, I don’t know what is.

​-Ms. Houghton, are you alright?

​-Mr. Fritz, you have just made my day, no make that my month. You have made

the last few days worth it for sure.

While I continue laughing, we walk to the door and he goes out with a confused look on his face. JaCobi had gone back to putting up the groceries, so I decide to rediscover the house. I run from room to room and strip the windows of the blinds and drapes. I pull every picture of Chaka and Charles from the walls. Next, I go to the bathroom and throw their toothbrushes in the trash. After a moment of temporary insanity, the magnitude of what Trench said hits me like a prizefighter. Falling to the floor, I hit my head on the sink, and I awake when JaCobi slaps me on the cheek.

​We walk downstairs and I smell a familiar smell. It’s like a scent of buttery heaven. I look on the table and see the chicken from the grocery store.

​-Where’d that come from?

​-Oh, that girl from the store brought it by here. She said she guessed you forgot it.

Who would have thought, Tee Tee would turn out to be a good friend? We sit down at the table and JaCobi has prepared a couple of side dishes to go with the chicken. I start to eat my food, but it’s like my hand feels too heavy to complete the task.

​-Bow your head honey.

Jacobi looks at me with the questioning eyes of his father, but obeys and bows his head.

​-Lord, we bless this food that we are about to receive for the nourishment of our

body. We thank you for having mercy on us and never forsaking us. Thank you

for all you do and I will never doubt your power again. AMEN!

​-Amen.

Sitting down at the meal across from my son, I feel like for the first time in a long time I can breathe, and I do.