Being Naomi

Untitled Part 1

Being NaomiBy M.C.Walker

"Running"Vivid as the skyFeet pounding the concreteBarefootHeart racingBlood rushing through my veinsPanic runs thru meAnxiety buildsTension mountsInhaling and exhalingI am runningSwiftlyVacant of emotionVoid of thoughtFluid as the airOpaque as the nightBitterness of my damp skin lingers on my lipsFragile limbs fighting the earthCloth clings to my skinHollow winds race thru meA mere object that can be erasedCease to exist within a blink of an eyeI am runningAloneSingularPantingWhy?Who am I running from?Me

Daddy's Girl

My daddy always told me I was as special as the stars and the moon. He'd sit me on his lap and wrap his gigantic hands around my tiny waist and give me that Cheshire cat smile that I loved so much. I laugh up a storm whenever my daddy came around. I'd tell a joke and he'd tell one too. It was our thing.  Momma called us the laughing giggle boxes.  My daddy always wore a Kangol hat and a gold cross around his neck. It was his signature look besides a dark pair of slacks and a collared shirt.  Whenever I'd ask why he wore the Kangol and the gold cross he'd look me straight in the eyes, and say the hat was his protection from the devil and he always wanted to carry Christ next to his heart. I never fully understood exactly what he meant until later on in life. His words were always flavored with Jack Daniels as his hazel brown eyes gleamed into mine.  He smiles at me and I would feel the butterflies whirling around in my stomach. I was daddy's girl, the superstar of his life. There wasn't a moment that we shared together that he didn't let me know it.  Daddy and momma loved each other. But, they were as different as night and day. Daddy liked to drank his spirits, chase skirts, gamble his earnings, and pray for forgiveness on every third Sunday. My momma was as straight laced as Southern Baptist preacher. She prayed every morning, noon, and night. She prayed so much I often wondered if she got on God and Jesus nerves. Momma always wore her hair in a bun. She hated having to do my hair and Stacey's hair. She said God and the Chinese didn't make a comb thick enough to comb our wool. Momma lived her life by the book. Work, church, and raising her two girls, but her heart made her human and flawed. My grandma never understood what my mother saw in our daddy. She said he had deadbeat written all over him from his rooter to the tooter. I think deep down inside it hurt my mother more than anything when daddy never got down on one knee and professed his undying love for her. Grandma said that does something to a woman. In and out of our lives my daddy went and there was nothing I could do or say about it. I learned the hard way questioning momma will get your teeth knocked out. My momma was the disciplinarian while my daddy spoiled Stacey and I rotten every chance he got. She'd say Stacey and I couldn't do something like take a walk to the park until our chores were done.  Daddy would sneak over and give each of us two dollars for the ice cream truck and insist we leave the dirty dishes in the sink. Dirty dishes would always be dirty dishes.