Wearing the Blackbelt: Hard Lessons Learned From A Simple Life

Confirmations

“Confirmations”

I had to pee. I had been ignoring my urge for hours. Now I could see the sun was up and peeking through my dusty rose colored blinds. The two homemade quilts that were necessarily placed on all of our beds in the winter were wrapped around me like a cocoon. After years of sleeping in the bed with my sister, I was finally in my own room and one of the downsides to that was that I couldn’t snuggle up to her chubby thighs for warmth or rub my ashy feet against hers for a little comfort. I was alone in my own little nest.

Tiny little pains were starting to shoot through my pelvic area. I had to go. I stuck my head out of the covers, resting my chin on a small light blue patch of the quilt that must have been one of my granddaddy's old work shirts. It was thin and slightly faded but coupled with the cushioning of the quilt, it and the other pieces of worn clothing, collectively made comfortable bedding. The air I inhaled felt like ice and smelled like fried bacon. This meant momma was not too far away in the kitchen. I rolled my body quickly over to the opposite side of my full sized bed allowing my legs to feel the cool sheets and preparing the rest of my body for what was coming next. I slid on my thick socks that were always lying on the floor next to my bed because I could never sleep in socks. Once they were snuggled over my feet, I jogged out of the room.

I headed straight for the bathroom, throwing a “good mornin’” to momma in the kitchen on my way. Once I was set free, I stopped back in the kitchen and stood in front of the open oven. I gladly welcomed the gaseous heat. I heard momma’s light giggles coming up behind me. She was on her cordless phone. Now, cordless phones were old innovations but for momma, it was a luxury. The heavy black rotary still hung in the hallway next to the utility room. It would be an “antique” one day, she always said.

It was barely seven o’clock on a Saturday morning but that didn’t deter my momma and her friends from gossiping on the phone. Sometimes I thought that they rolled out of bed and even before brushing their teeth, they would call each other. Momma had four good friends, Miss Linda, Ann, Missionary Powe and Sister Yvonne. They were close like sisters. Thick as thieves, as they said.

I heard the bacon sizzle in the cast iron skillet as momma flipped it. She skillfully scrambled the eggs, flipped the meat and kept the grits from sticking to the pot all while balancing the phone on her shoulder.

I tried to listen in on her conversation. Whatever they were talking about sounded pretty juicy compared to the usual “Chile, I’m so broke” and “Honey, I dreamed about”’s. Momma must have sensed that I wasn’t in the kitchen to keep her company because she popped me on my shoulder. That was her voiceless way of saying ‘Get out of grown folks’ business. She didn’t mean it, but momma’s palm always stung like a wasp regardless of how little force she put behind it. Momma had many voiceless ways of putting the fear of disobedience into her children. There was the not so light slap on the shoulder, the look that asked ‘do you wanna whoopin?’ and the stance with one fist on her hip. Momma was a gentle woman, but firm with her kids. We could talk to her and joke with her. Sometimes she would even joke with us. But when momma meant business, it was best to be about business.

“Get away from that stove, girl,” she fussed and moved back to her conversation and cooking.

My bones still had a chill. I could make a fire, but I was always afraid to do it. So I’d pretend that I couldn’t do it so that someone else would take the risk of getting burned. In the den, daddy already had the task under control. I only saw the back of him. His giant back and shoulders were bent into an almost perfect arch in front of the wood heater. He was fully dressed for work with his faded overalls, black and red checkerboard shirt, dirty brown work boots and denim jacket with the wool lining. He worked on his job at Lassiter Lumber for a living five days a week. On Saturdays, he worked for himself. On Sundays, he worked for the Lord.