Mama was Not the Same
“M...Mama?” Sam quietly crept into the kitchen like the sun trying to break through a storm.
His Mama was not the same since his daddy’s arrest. All of her worst fears were realised without the benefit of even one naysayer in her husband’s whole indictment process, except him. She wasn’t even sure the state counsel was on his side. No physical evidence to at least put him in the same place as the robbery that left one cashier dead. Just shaky, in her mind, coerced, eyewitness statements, and there he was, locked behind bars, their lives ruined.
“What do you want?” Came the irritated reply, as she slammed the subsequent wine cooler bottle next to the previous one, “you’re suppose to be in bed.” She sniffed and finally looked up at him, his eyes shocking her with the remembrance of her husband and it angered her. She scowled at her only offspring. It often isn’t anger that can cause us to be so cold with those we love, it’s fear. She feared for her son, and she made every effort to escape this terror, long night binges to prove it.
I guess it’s innocence that can cause a child to leap feet first into a furnace prepped and ready to consume them, “I...I w...want to go b...back to Ch...Chicago, Mom, I hate it here!”
Anger bubbled up like the fizzy drinks shaken too much. She was shaken too much, and unfortunately for Sam, he was in the way. He was soaked in the fury of her reaction and the next thing he knew he was on the floor with a welt on the side of his face, “sorry mama! I’m sorry!” Tears like burning lava down his cheeks, his eyes aching for the reason that could explain why she was so cold.
“Che…chem..” Nana came striding in. She might as well have been on a white horse and without saying a word, scooped up her grandson the best she could in her frailty and starred evenly at her daughter in law. “Mona, we know things are tough, and I love you like my own daughter, but there are some things I will not stand for.”
It wasn’t a time for words or excuses. Like a whirlwind Sam’s mother cleaned up her mess and left the kitchen and scuttled out with a “yes, Mum.” Sam’s eyes lost trying to keep up with her in her escape. His sad expression transferred to his Grandmother, tears at the brink of another disaster.
“Sam, off to bed with you,” Nana smiled weakly and gave her grandson a slight squeeze from the sided “I’ll make you some of your favourite French toast for breakfast, get!”