Chapter Seven
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mother Nature
“M ama, I’m in the parking lot. See you in a little bit.” Nadia ended the call after leaving the voice message. She sat in her car for a bit, listening to ‘Good Good,’ by Usher, Summer Walker and 21 Savage. She grabbed her vape, but decided to put it down and just simmer in the moment. She whispered the lyrics to the song while snapping her finger to the slow, easy beat. After the tune ended, she grabbed her black and white snakeskin purse from the passenger seat, removed her key ring with the pink rabbit foot, got out of her car, locked it with her fob, and hightailed it towards her mother’s townhome.
Once she reached the door, she slid her copy of her mother’s house key into the lock and entered the dwelling. Inside, the cool air gave her chill bumps, and the alarm was going off. Mama always keeps it cold as a polar bear’s tits up in here… She locked the front door and went to the kitchen, her silver and white Skechers sneakers squeaking on the floor as she headed to the control panel to turn off the security system.
Laying her purse onto the kitchen table, she stood there for a minute and took a few deep breaths. It had been several weeks since she’d been by, and the last visit she’d made was short and sweet as possible. She looked about to see if anything had changed since her last time here. Maybe a new end table, or vase?
Nope. Mama’s home was the same. Mostly all white furniture and wall colors. Looked like a blank canvas. Few signs of life. Cold like the air conditioning that blew through. The place had all updated stainless-steel appliances, and little in the lines of décor. To the average eye, it was a lovely place, but it didn’t breathe. It didn’t move. It had no vibe. No flavor. No soul.
One cat palm plant lovingly named Lady, due to a ladybug that had been on it when it was purchased, had been growing in a corner for three years now, where a window blew abundant sunny kisses. At the deep kitchen basin, she pumped some soap on her hands and rinsed them off with hot water, then dried them on a paper towel. She tossed the thing in the trash and opened the refrigerator door, finding a bottle of water, and sat on a white bar stool at the kitchen counter.
Instead of messing around on her phone while she waited for her mother to arrive, she reached for one of the magazines on the counter. Nadia looked at the half-torn label on the front of the periodical that displayed her mother’s name and address, then glossed over the shiny cover in colors of amber and orange. Mama’s subscription to 002 Houston.
She flipped through the pages, her mouth instantly watering at the sight of the fancy food from various local restaurants, plated in ornamental ways. Moments later, she heard her mother’s key in the door. She turned around in the chair to face her. Waiting. Mama walked right past the kitchen as if she hadn’t noticed her there, but she knew she had. Nothing got past that woman. With a loud sigh and heavy thud, Mama’s toolbox and bag hit the coffee table, as it always did for years. That toolbox, big, red and heavy, was Mama’s pride and joy. She’d been an electrician for over thirty years.
“Mama,” Nadia called out with a smile. “Have a good day at work?”
“This dumb man blew a fuse by fuckin’ around with too many things plugged into an outlet in his first-floor bathroom. He didn’t notice ’til this mornin’ that his refrigerator was out. Groceries spoiled. He checked the fuse box but didn’t see nothin’ wrong, so he figured it was electrical. Turned around and called us and booked an appointment. Now, a normal person would say, ‘Well hell, I ain’t have no problems until my wife plugged in her hairdryer. Didn’t put two and two together.” She shrugged, then slipped out of her jacket. “So I go to the fuse box, flip his switch, then five minutes later hand him a bill. I was nice, ain’t make fun or give him a hard time and even knocked a bit off ’cause of the coupon we had.”
“Don’t tell me, he got mad that he had to pay anything at all?”
“Baby girl, you already know. I ain’t the help!” Mama stormed across the room and turned down the air. “Little stocky pig-nosed White dude, about yea high.” She put her hand out, indicating his diminutive stature. “This mothafucka, Nadia, had an attitude soon as I cast a shadow on his front do’e. Seing a woman and immediately thought whatever… I’ve seen that look ten thousand times. He was all up on me the whole time. Watchin’.”
“Probably thought you were going to steal something.” Nadia snorted, turning back to the magazine.
“Of course he did. Once he saw I wasn’t no con artist, he eased up a bit, but then when I told him what the problem was, he laughed it off and just thought I was gon’ leave. Like that was the end of the story. I set him straight. Ol’ boy wanted to get in my face because I still charged for drivin’ over there, problem solving, and my time. I work for a company just like most people, and they want their due. He felt like it should’ve been free. Shiiiid. Took ere’thang in me not to cuss his ass out.” Mama snatched the remote control off the coffee table and turned on the television.
“Ain’t nothing in this life free, ’cept death and aggravation.”
Mama’s whole face spread into a smile. “That’s right, baby. I taught you well.”
The tall, brown-skinned woman with straight, shoulder-length salt and pepper hair pulled back into a ponytail, stomped into the kitchen, and turned the water on to wash her dirty hands. After they were good and wet, she pumped three dollops of sudsy soap into her palms, vigorously rubbed them together, then rinsed.
“You talk to your grandmama? She asked ’bout you the other day.”
“I haven’t talked to Nana in a couple of weeks. I knew she was recovering from her surgery, so I didn’t want to get on her nerves too much. She was tryna sleep the last two times I called.”
Nadia was close to her maternal grandmother. They had a lot of great conversations and good times, but Nana had been having problems with her arthritis and headaches. Mama reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of beer. Moments later, the top was off, and she guzzled half of it down in a matter of seconds.
“You hungry?” Mama asked after belching.
“No. I ate a couple of hours ago.” Mama nodded in understanding then sat across from her. Her dingy blue jumpsuit with the company name, ‘Ace Electric Heating and Air’ and her first name, JoAnn, sewn on it was something that Nadia had seen for years. Mama mainly worked for several properties around town who hired her to do the electrical repairs in their rentals, but every now and again, the company would send her out to emergency calls such as this. It was always something, but the money was consistent, so the woman seldom complained.
“You gotta work tonight?” Mama questioned after a brief silence.
“Storm comin’ in, so I decided to call off. I’m not pressed for the money or anything. I can skip a day or two.”
“You called off?” Mama’s voice rose as if surprised.
“You know I don’t like getting caught in no storm.” She turned another page of the magazine. Brazilian food .
“Hmph,” Mama huffed, then mumbled something she didn’t catch. Her eyes narrowed as she ran her hand up and down the beer bottle, caressing it like a lover. “What? You scared of a lil’ rain for? Just drive slowly, and don’t be switching lanes all crazy, treating it like some twerking contest.”
“I just don’t like it is all.” She shrugged. She hated lying to Mama, but also disliked talking about things that hurt her as that conversation normally didn’t go anywhere but downhill fast. All Mama would do was tell her to tighten up. Straighten up. Woman up. Fear wasn’t in the woman’s vocabulary. Fear was a four lettered ‘F’ word. Literally. When Nadia was a little girl, if she cried after falling and busting her knee, or got upset about a lost toy, Mama would raise hell. Mama despised tears. She made iron look like melted butter, and mountains look like pebbles tossed about in sand.
“You are still afraid because of that car accident you had in the rain in Atlanta, ain’t you?”
The room suddenly felt colder than ever. Nadia kept her gaze on the open magazine, focusing on the image of an elegant couple sitting at a table covered in white linen, smiling at one another while holding the stems of fancy champagne flutes.
“It was impactful.” She kept her eyes on that smiling couple. The two paid actors or models who pretended to be in love, and out on the town.
“Impactful?” Mama sucked her teeth, reached into the breast pocket of her uniform, and took out her cigarettes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? A meteor hitting the Earth is impactful. That was four years ago. You had some cuts and bruises. You lived.” She leaned back, looking somewhat disgusted. “So you just gonna let some rain talk you outta some money?”
Here we go. “You don’t even like me dancing, so what does it matter?”
“I don’t like you doin’ that shit. Ain’t nothin’ changed.” Mama lit her cigarette then took a drag and blew smoke out the corner of her mouth. “You out here busting it wide open for a bunch of mothafuckas who ain’t about shit. Got wives that they lied to and told they had to work late, or they’re standing behind some pulpit preachin’ the word, talking about how bad lust is, but just the night before they were sitting in some cheap plastic chair that’s probably got dried jerk sauce on it, and I don’t mean from no Jerk Chicken appetizer, either.” She rolled her eyes. “…Sittin’ there all hard and sweaty, smellin’ like piss, getting turned on by women like my daughter—who wouldn’t fuck them in their real life, if yo’ life depended on it. Throwin’ money away at some fantasy! You’re just a wet dream.” Mama sucked her teeth.
“Movies are a fantasy, even the realistic ones. TVs shows, sitcoms, soap operas, game shows even, are all fantasies. It’s not real. It’s scripted. Rehearsed. Amusement parks are fantasies, and people pay for that too, Mama. There is no Mickey Mouse in real life, and there are no princesses living in tall pink castles, either. But it’s okay to dream. Even if it’s wet…” Mama grunted and tapped her cigarette. Ashes fell into the ashtray that sat between them. “You love going to the movies. Unless it’s a biography, and ev en that has some creative license, none of that shit on that screen is real, Mama. Fantasies… sometimes that’s all we have.” Nadia shrugged. “I’m not knockin’ nobody’s coping mechanisms just to get through life. We all need to escape every now and again.”
“Lookin’ at naked asses bouncing to music ain’t no copin’ mechanism, and it ain’t no fantasy. It’s exploitation. It helps no-good mothafuckas cheat. Puts ideals in their head. If it was just dancin’ and you were fully clothed, that would be one thing. But you strip down. They see every thing… from your roota to your toota.”
“Some men just enjoy being in the company of beautiful women, Mama. My body is only being looked at, not given away or even sold. I’m not a prostitute and besides, not everyone’s story is the same.”
“It’s all about lust, like I said, so the story is the same. Don’t matter that the book cover is different—the chapters all read identical, the pictures are carbon copies, and the ending is never a surprise. Music. Drinks. Drugs. Ass. Tits. Pussy. That’s it, that’s all.” She tapped her cigarette into the ashtray again. “Most of those bastards got ass at home. Why they need to see yours? Why don’t they shove some of that money into their own girlfriends’ or wives’ G-strings? I’m certain they’d appreciate it.”
“That’s where the fantasy comes in. Sometimes their wives don’t look at them the way I do. We don’t know them, so we can play up to how they wish to be perceived. Their wives and girlfriends don’t dance for them and make them feel like they’re the center of their worlds. Because they don’t want to, or they can’t. ”
“…And they shouldn’t want to. I raised you, Nadia, to never love a man more than he loves you, and never love nobody more than you love yourself. It’s not selfish, it’s survival. It’s best not to love they asses at all, ’cause men don’t know how to love. They can’t even spell love.” Nadia closed the magazine and reached for another. “Their whole existence revolves around what a bitch can do for them. What she can cook for them. Clean up for them. Suck off for them. Indentured servitude. Slavery still exists. It’s the woman. We’re the slaves. First to a White slave master, then to our men. Take, take, take. Seldom give, except for plenty of grief. All these guys care about is money a woman brings to the table, and what orders she can obey.
“Shit, we built the damn table and set it, too! Our religion has been used against us. Your father became a preacher on account of him realizing he could manipulate people by saying it’s the word of God. The purposeful misinterpretations of the Bible is the worst thing to ever happen to humankind.” That pizza looks good. She flipped a page. “It’s been used to teach us to tear each other apart, to always go wit’ the man’s side against other women, and to fight each other for some dusty ol’ dick. We call our daughters fast, and blame them when grown ass men flirt with ’em, or worse. How we even know God a man, huh? Callin’ Him Father. If He created us, then he’s a woman. That’s what makes sense.”
“Why do you think that?” Nadia removed a glass lid from a matching candy bowl and popped a mint into her mouth, sucking loudly.
“Women give birth, not men! That’s why. How we gonna be somebody’s children, but never came from a womb? That’s patriarchy. A bunch of bull!”
“God isn’t human.”
“Right, so why should it be a He?! To control us. We don’t assign a gender at all, and if we just must, why not call God, Mama?! Mama brings life into this world. We’re the incubator. No seed can do anything without first being put into the soil, and given sunlight and rain. Semen has no life without us, and yet women create every time we open our damn eyes, and even in our sleep!” Mama’s words shook that entire room.
The woman was crazy. She was opinionated and harsh, at times downright rude, but one thing was certain: she was also smart and a thinker, whether Nadia disagreed with her or not. The way she put ideas together was thought provoking to say the least. That couldn’t be taken away.
“Nadia.” She crushed her cigarette in the ashtray and shook her head. “They been lyin’ to us since that ugly story of Adam and Eve. For all we know, Adam ate that damn apple, if there even was one, and we’ve been bamboozled.”
Nadia was used to her mother going off like this. Since she was a little girl, Mama had made it perfectly clear that she was at war with God. Religion. Bible folks. The woman had been raised in the church, and had been a devoted Christian up until she gave birth to her second child, Nelson. She loved God, and claimed to still love God, but now, she had questions. Some of Mama’s points, wild or not, couldn’t be easily rejected. They had merit, and deserved exploration. Nadia dismissed most of them, but held onto a few. Occasionally, Mama would say something that would make her pause. Give her food for thought. She also knew that this was how her mother dealt with her animosity towards men, or mankind in general.
Mama didn’t hate men—that would mean she still cared about them, or desired them on some level. But she would simply look past them in a crowd, as if they were a tree standing in her way, or just the invisible air itself. She merely saw no use for them.
Men are only needed to make babies… she’d say, adding that the world is already overpopulated, anyway. Men are stronger and can build things. Mama said women can build too, and, in fact, build better. The machines can do the heavy lifting. She’d taught Nadia how to change tires, put oil in cars, bake a fantastic cake, plunge a toilet, fix a leaking sink, change a fuse, sew on a button, kill a bug or set it free, and drive a stick like a pro. Yet, despite all of this, the woman didn’t look how people imagined she would. She had a real pretty face, and rough hands, still gorgeous in middle age, with deep dimples, a pretty smile, and clear skin with a radiant, rich hue.
She’d caught plenty of men’s eyes in her youth, and her attractive looks kept them coming. Her eyes were big and round, dark brown with naturally long lashes, and her lips were full, pouty, and a shade of plum, mostly from smoking so much. Oddly though, it only looked like dark lipstick on her. The perfect dark wine stain. She was tall and slightly muscular about the arms, and when she spoke, even when she was talking about something funny or lighthearted, her tone always had bite. Mama was habitually angry, but showed flashes of mercy to the ones she loved. Just enough to not appear cold-hearted to her core. She was intimidating. Gifted. Brash. Determined.
Everything she set her mind to do, she did it, and usually well. There were chunks of Mama’s past missing though. Pieces she didn’t share. Gaps in time. After Nadia’s little brother, Nelson, left for the military, she’d rarely seen her mother entertain anyone from the male gender. Nadia rarely knew of any men Mama dated after her divorce from her father, but she must’ve because she’d gotten pregnant and given birth to her brother three years after she’d been born. Nelson came into the world, but Mama never talked about his father. In fact, she didn’t even know her brother’s dad’s name. Mama refused to speak on it.
“Mama, you said women backstab other women for a man. How do you think that plays out? Give me an example.” She looked up from the magazine. Their eyes met.
Mama gave her a brutal and unfriendly stare, but she knew it wasn’t designed for her.
“Women put men before themselves, thinking they’re more important than us just ’cause of what is between their legs. We hurt one another because we’ve been brainwashed. Throw our own worth away and lift them up high. We call men kings that haven’t run nothin’ but their mouths. It could be small shit, like giving them the big piece of chicken while the kids get crumbs. What matters is how he treats his family, and what he does to provide. Then and only then should his ass be getting a big piece of anything. Bein’ born wit’ balls don’t make you no leader. Don’t make you no better.” Mama’s tone lowered and she calmed, but her eyes darkened.
“Sometimes, Mama, I think love is overrated.” A soft cloud of sadness hovered over her head.
“It is. Most men are liabilities because all that testosterone done made them feel like they gotta rule over women to get acknowledged, feel powerful, and like somebody. What women are calling narcissistic is what most men are, period. We just found a fancy psychological name for it. Out of every ten men, only one of them is half-way normal, and that’s not saying much.”
“Mama, you know you made that statistic up.” Nadia chuckled, grabbing her bottle of water. “Narcissism is real. My ex is one. I know another man that’s not, though. At least he wasn’t a long time ago.” The image of Lennox filled her mind. “Your theory might hold water, though.” She shrugged.
Most men ain’t shit. I don’t want to add to Mama’s indignation though.
“Listen to me. Even men know they’re useless, Nadia. That’s why they lie to us, play on our nurturing instincts, so they can use us for our natural resources. Our wombs. Our intelligence. Our ability to take care of everyone and everything. They’re abusive overgrown children! Believing the lies they’ve told us has been our downfall, and we gonna keep fallin’ for it. We keep tripping over each other as we plummet to Hell. You think I’m evil and bitter, don’t you?” She offered a watered-down smile.
“You’re not evil, but you are bitter, even though not everything you said today was wrong. I don’t know why you’re bitter. I mean, I know what my father did, but besides him, I have no context. No clue. You don’t talk to me. Not about stuff like that.”
“…Ain’t no reason to burden you with my private affairs.” Her jaw tightened.
“Mama, your private affairs are no burden. When I was a child and would ask you things about yourself, you’d tell me to stay in a child’s place. I’m grown now. I’d love to know more about what makes you you .”
Mama’s world was framed in dark shades of blue, with no light at the end of the tunnel. The woman saw no gray areas. Just a sea of darkness. She spent most of her time working, being in school to learn how to make more money, or dedicating herself to her chosen occupation. She was one of the hardest and most self-disciplined women she knew.
When Nadia and Nelson were little, Mama often disappeared into her bedroom with her music turned up high. That was her alone time. Her dating life, so to speak. Mama didn’t keep no man. There was no guy sitting at their table or on their couch when they’d get in from school. It was clear that this was by choice. But Mama did keep a daily schedule and followed it, made sure they did too, and she kept a clean house, while taking care of her children. She’d been authoritarian, hard to get close to, but at times funny. Lunches were packed. Clothes were ironed. Hair was combed. She showed love through action, seldom saying the words.
“What do you want to know?”
Nadia was surprised by this invitation. She closed the magazine and set it aside, this time not reaching for another.
“Why did you hate it when me or Nelson would cry in front of you? Kids cry.”
It was like Mama couldn’t understand sadness. Couldn’t stand to even hear someone crying, or falling to pieces. Or maybe she understood it too well, but refused to discuss it. She might have thought that even uttering the truth of any pain she endured would somehow give it power over her life, once again.
“I know kids cry. I didn’t hate when you’d weep.” Mama looked downright confused by such an accusation. Maybe she had no idea that she’d behaved that way for all of those years? Was she that lacking in self-awareness?
“It sure felt like it. Mama, you used to always say, ‘Don’t let nobody turn you into a victim twice.’ ”
“Yeah, I remember that. The first time someone hurts you, well, they did what they did. It happened. It cut you deep. The second time someone hurts you, you were already warned. You ain’t no pig, so stop rollin’ in slop. Learn your lesson before you have to get down in that mud and drown.”
“Did another man, besides my daddy, get you down in the mud and make you drown?”
Mama got up from her seat, grabbed another beer, and sat down with it.
“Nadia, why do you think the women your customers are in relationships with ignore them, and they come to your place of business instead? Besides you stating earlier that they know the real them, and it’s a fantasy and all.”
Nadia ran her hand along the side of her neck and massaged a kink.
“Because women nowadays have too much to do and no time to cater to a man’s ego and pride. She’s raising children, helping to take care of grandchildren in some cases, working in and outside of the home. She got a full plate, and playing make-believe to a husband isn’t on the agenda. The last thing she wants to do is look at the man standin’ at the end of the bed butt naked, pot belly sticking out, talkin’ about, ‘Gimme some.’”
Mama glared at her, then they both burst out laughing. She watched as the woman who brought her into the world gulped the rest of the beer, then tossed it into the nearby recycle bin.
“Nadia, everybody has a storm they’re tryna avoid. I’ve got mine. You’ve got yours. You shouldn’t let some shit you survived already turn you into a victim again. Storm… hard rain. It comes. It eventually will stop. But you still replayin’ all that in your mind. It’s controlling you. You got a lot of me in you, whether you want to admit it or not. You can blame me for a lot of things. Some of ’em are my fault. Many aren’t. You can blame your father, too. But there’s no one left to blame now for any failures in your life, at your big age, but you .”
“I never said I blamed you for anything.”
“You ain’t have to… you just sometimes enjoyed it when I was down in the mud…” Her face flushed. “We all get pushed down in the mud, baby, at least a time or two, ’cause we didn’t heed the warning from God the first time. It wasn’t just one man that tried to kill my soul—it was many. It’s their nature. Startin’ with the way my daddy trea ted my mama, all the way ’til I dealt with Nelson’s father. You tell me I don’t talk to you, but the way I see it, the details ain’t necessary, and they’re mine to hold.”
“But Mama I need you to tell me why you—”
“I told you once, and I’ll tell you again. I don’t hate men, and I don’t expect you to, either. I just don’t love or like them much. And that’s what they can’t tolerate. The idea of having no control over me. To that, I tell all those penis carriers to suck my left ovary, and if they can’t stand me, well then take a load off and sit the fuck down then…”