Remembrance

Laughter filled the air on a cool summer day. We didn’t get many of these since the Texas heat reigned supreme. On this particular day, the sun decided to take a reprieve. It still shined in the clear blue sky, adjusting its rays for my personal comfort. My cousins and I made up a game. We would scurry to the top of the hill and roll down, giggling with delight. We ran up the hill barefoot; our toes invaded by the blades of grass that covered the field. We’d yell out “Ready! Set! Go!” and take turns seeing who’s the fastest. I was careful not to get my yellow sundress too dirty lest I hear Mama fuss. Though the current activity was not helping that effort.

The cow bell rang at Aunt Puddin’s house which meant we all needed to head home for dinner. I waved goodbye to my cousins and made my way home. I smoothed my dress, but no amount would remove the stains from the grass and dirt. Hopefully, she’d be preoccupied cooking dinner that she won’t notice. I ran my hand through the hair puffs on either side of my head and did an appraisal of my shoes.

Our white two-story southern style home came into view. The wooden porch swing gingerly rocking in the wind and the rocking chair on the opposite side competing in its own right. On either side of the steps were my favorite flowers, the marigolds. Adorning a golden yellow hue, my favorite color, they matched my outfit and many of my clothes. Though they didn’t smell the best they were absolutely beautiful. Kind of like me after playing outside all day. I walked up the steps, opened the screen door and was immediately hit with an aroma that made belly growl. I went down the hallway to the kitchen where my brownskin statuesque mother stood over the sink cleaning the greens. The cornbread was baking in the oven while the fried chicken sizzled in the cast iron skillet. I tried countless times to lift that skillet. I mustered all the strength these seven-year-old arms could but to no avail. My mother, however, could lift the heavy metal with ease. I made my way to the fridge to get some water from the pitcher.

“You have fun out there?” said my mother, not looking up from what she was doing.

“Uh huh,” I replied, taking the pitcher out and opening the bottom cupboard.

I wasn’t tall enough to reach the glasses in the top one yet. I would yell for Mama or Daddy to come get me a cup until finally Mama put some in the bottom. She told me these cups are just for you. No matter how many I used, she always had them back into place the next time I opened it up. I retrieved my favorite cup. Daddy made it for me. It was a plan coffee mug, but he painted a yellow marigold on it and gave it to me for my birthday. It’s one of my most treasured possessions.

“Well, I’m glad you had fun,” she started, finally looking up from the greens and set her eyes on me. The smile on her face, instantly fell. “Excuse me, young lady. Come here.”

Eyes wide with terror, I put the pitcher and mug down on the table and walked around it into her full view.

“Makayla Harris, what were you doing? I mean, look at your dress. It’s covered in the outside. What were you doing, bathing in it? What did I tell you about not getting it dirty? Are you gonna say something young lady?”

I honestly didn’t know if I was allowed to speak yet.

“Well…”

“And you bet not lie.”

I blew out air which prompted her face to shift from frustration to the audacity. Didn’t think that one through.

“We were playing. I didn’t think the dress would get dirty, but it did. I’m sorry.”

She stared at me, and I stared back until ultimately, I hung my head in shame. She blew out air this time.

“You’re forgiven. Next time, do as I say okay. And if you’re gonna be playing rough then come back and change into play clothes, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I sulked.

“Come on, give me hug.” She kneeled down and I ran into her embrace. She kissed my cheek and said, “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I pulled back and smiled, full smile with missing teeth included. She smiled back.

“Now go change into your pink dress.”

“Ugh! Pink! Ew!”

“Well, you could have worn your yellow dress if you listened to your mother. Now, go change. I have to finish fixing dinner.”

Mama made this dress, and it was one I wore often. She was a seamstress and could sow anything. Everyone in the neighborhood would bring her clothes to fix and mend. She got so much business, she quit her job as a cashier at the clothing store and sowed full-time. Even though she worked all the time, she would still find time to sow me little stuffed animals and accessories. I greeted all of them as I entered my room. While I was upstairs changing into the bad color, the front door swung open.

“Where are my girls?” my dad’s voice bellowed through the house. I quickly ran down the stairs and launched into his side.

“Hey!!! Well, here’s one of them. How are you my beautiful girl?” his deep voice resonating.

“Good!” I smiled up at him.

“Awww, just good?” he jokingly grimaced. I jumped in front of him.

“I’m great!!!” I yelled.

“That’s better!” he grinned. “You had good day?”

“Yes.”

“Did you mind your mother?”

“Y-y-yes.”

“I’m not too sure about that one.”

“She forgave me.”

“Did you learn your lesson?”

“Uh huh!”

“Well, okay. Now where is my other girl?”

We began to walk towards the kitchen. Upon entering my mama stood at the kitchen island tossing a salad. My dad stopped and just gazed at her in amazement.

“There she is,” he said.

My mother lifted her head and their eyes met. Her cheeks rose and she began to blush as a smile filled her face. They were saying so much and weren’t even speaking. He casually walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, and she rested hers on his shoulders.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she said back.

“Hey! Are we gonna eat?” I chimed in. They ignored me as that went in for a kiss. I turned around, scrunching my face up. Finally, after what seemed like forever, they pulled away.

“Let’s eat,” mama said.

At dinner, Daddy regaled us with tales of the shenanigans that happened at the warehouse. He would get up from the table, stand on his chair and open his arms wide for emphasis. Mama just shook her head. Everyone loves to hear daddy’s stories. He is so animated when he tells them. He makes you feel like you were there. He works at the warehouse, but painting is his passion. All the artwork hanging in our home are his originals. He’s sold a few pieces here there. The vibrant watercolors he uses has every canvas inviting him for an extended stay. My favorite is one he did of me, him and mama. It hangs over the fireplace in the living room.

Daddy cleaned up the dishes while mama helped me take a bath. I told her I could do it myself, but I don’t think she trusts me to get all the places she thinks I’ll miss. To her point, I usually miss something. After I dried off and put my PJs on, my daddy picked me up and dropped me into bed.

“Bedtime story!” I yelled.

“Haven’t you had enough stories today?” Mama reasoned.

“No.”

“Yeah, no.” Daddy agreed. “There’s always time for one more.”

“Well, I’m gonna let you two have it.” Mama relented.

“No mama, you gotta stay for the story.” I pleaded. Me and daddy just looked at her until she sighed and acquiesced.

“What story tonight, sweet pea?” asked daddy.

“The Little Giraffe.”

Daddy told the story of the little giraffe that wanted to see over the wall at the reserve but was too little to see yet. But as time passed and the giraffe got older, the little giraffe, not so little anymore, was finally able to see the lush and beautiful jungle on the other side of the wall. I was trying to fight sleep by the time daddy finished. My eyes grew heavy.

“Goodnight sweet pea,” said daddy as he kissed my forehead.

My mama grabbed my giraffe from the corner, lifted the covers and tucked him in to my arms, holding him tight.

“Goodnight baby,” said mama as she kissed me too.

It was time to sleep. As my parents exited my room, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

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BEEP! BEEP!! All the horns were blaring around me. Traffic in the city is a nightmare but that’s not why I’m upset. I push certain thoughts back in their box. It’s only been a few weeks since I was last back home. My job at the radio station takes up most of my time. I’ve welcomed the pile of work. It’s been a great distraction. That’s all it is though. A distraction.

When I’m close, I see the familiar buildings downtown. It still looks the same just older. More dirt. More rust. More time. I take a right, head up the hill and park. I grab the bouquet of flowers in the passenger seat of the car. I walk and begin to scan until I see what I’m looking for. Who I’m looking for.

The grass had grown over daddy’s grave. The tombstone was the one me and mama picked out for him. I take a flower from the bouquet and lay it on top of it. I miss him so much. We lost him a few years ago. I don’t think either one of us every recovered.

I breathed deep and shifted my eyes to the left of daddy. There was still dirt on mama’s grave. The grass hasn’t had a chance to grow. It’s only been a few weeks though. I exhaled a jagged breath as tears streamed down my cheeks. I know I’ll never recover from this one. Ever. I lay the bouquet on the fresh soil; I get in my car, and I leave.

I pull up to the old house. The house I grew up in. It’s familiar but it’s not. The rocking chair is still there but the porch swing broke years ago and no one ever put It back up. The marigolds have died and withered away. Mama was too sick to keep up with them. I entered the house and it just felt cold. The wear and tear of being lived in and neglect was etched into the walls, counters and stairs. I walked into the kitchen and went to the cupboard that I used when I was a little girl. I kept using it even when I was a teenager. My painted mug that daddy made me is still there. The paint has chipped and cracked in places, but it looks good. Upstairs my room looks just like I left it when I went to college. I opened the closet and began to rummage through. It’s not here. I look up towards the top shelf. Nothing. I look in the corner and there it is. My stuffed giraffe mama made me. Fresh tears began to flow. I hold and examine it. The stitching is frayed, and it has a couple of stains but all in all, fixable. I hold it tight. I wish mama was here to fix it. She taught me well though. I head back downstairs to the living room. I see daddy’s painting of all of us over the fireplace. It’s just me now. I’m alone.