Terror Town: Childhood Interrupted

Terror Town Child Interrupted Prologue

Amina

1981

Momma was sucking on that glass thing again. Amina focused on her mother's actions through sleepy eyes.

Little Amina never took long naps. As a result, she always got yelled at for waking up in the middle of something going on at their house. Parties, fights, pipe smoking, you name it.

Amina rubbed her eyes as she lay on the makeshift bed Momma made for her in the middle of the dining room floor. Her head faced the kitchen where Momma was, so she was able to watch her undetected.

Three double-folded, twin-sized bed sheets and a thin blanket were supposed to keep her warm and comfortable. They didn't. Her side tingled with numbness, but she wasn't going to bother Momma with complaints. If she did, Momma would yell. She didn't want Momma to be upset with her. 

Flirty laughter escaped Momma's smiling lips whenever they weren't wrapped around the glass thing. Her smooth, peanut butter colored skin glowed under the faint fluorescent light of the kitchen where she stood which was adjacent to the dining room where Amina lay.

Seeing Momma happy made Amina happy. Momma wasn't happy often and she wasn't going to mess that up with selfish complaints of discomfort. Absent-mindedly, her fingers darted in and out of the holes in the blanket which reeked of old urine, cigarettes and what Amina was too young to recognize as after-sex sweat. The smells from the blanket settled on her fingers and found their way to her nose when she picked it. Amina didn't cringe, though. She had become accustomed to such smells.

Why wouldn't Momma share the glass thing with her? Smoke escaped Momma's full lips and disappeared into the air. She gyrated her hips in her tan, tight-fitted bell bottoms that accented her small waist and laughed. Mystery fingers, attached to a body out of Amina's range of sight, ran through Momma's neatly shaped Jheri curl afro then traced a path down her green turtleneck as she rested her butt on the kitchen counter. The mystery fingers explored Momma's lower back gently. A man's face came into view as it leaned over to kiss Momma. She giggled and met him halfway to complete the kiss.

Amina shifted positions on her thin pallet. The turd brown sofa that was to the right of her, opposite the dining room opening into the living room, became her focal point. It sagged heavily in the middle appearing to display an evil grin, mocking her and her back pain. The sofa would be lopsided if Momma hadn't put a small Bible underneath one of the ends. Amina wasn't allowed to sleep on the precious couch. It was for "grown folks" as Momma put it. So, she had to sleep on the hardwood floor in the middle of the dining room while people stepped over and around her, sometimes on her, until her big sister made it home from school. Momma didn't want her in the bedroom she shared with her sister alone when they had company, which was most of the time.

"Momma need to keep a close eye on you when all these motherfuckas in the house 'cause I don't trust 'em," Momma would explain when she whined about wanting to be in her room.

A glimpse of the mid-afternoon sun managed to push past the blue bedsheet that was nailed to the dining room window and caught Amina's attention. There was an old folding table in her line of sight to the window and its promise of fresh air and freedom. The table would sit directly in the middle of the dining room if Amina hadn't occupied that space. It wobbled easily, so guests put their cups on the floor next to them to avoid spilling their drinks when they used it for card games or rolling weed. Three worn folding chairs rested against the dingy, green wall near the entrance of the dining room waiting to be used. Below the window, just behind the folding table were milk crates filled with albums. Momma listened to all kinds of music. When she was having fun, she played fast music to dance to. She played sad music when one of her boyfriend's left her with a black eye or busted lip.