Mr. Tan

Chapter 10: No Cure For June Bug's Itch

 I've been working steady shifts at Earl's Place for a month now. My baby belly is starting to show more and I find myself spending some of my hard earned money buying cheap maternity clothing at a strip mall. Some of my jeans don't even fit because my once narrow hips begin to fill out and my breast are tinder and a bit sore to the touch. Earl lets me take more breaks when I feel I need it. It's now mid March and on most days I find myself coming home to an empty house. My mamma completely gave up looking for work and she has been cut off of food stamps cause she stopped making monthly visits to the welfare office that was out of town, which meant on most days the fridge and cupboards were almost bare. My mamma knew that I was being paid cash instead of getting a paycheck, so whenever I came home on Fridays, she'd have her hand out asking for a 10 there or a 20 here. Since I needed to eat, I'd usually stop at a diner that would let customers eat on credit and get myself a plate of food since I was usually at home alone anyway. Sometimes Earl would send me home with a brown paper bags with leftover food. I'd stash what money I had left in an old rainbow sock that lost it's mate long ago and hide it between my mattress and box spring. Sometimes, I'd have as much as 200 dollars. I'd use the money to pay for transportation to my prenatal check-ups. So outside of paying for transportation to the clinic, buying whatever food I could afford, and buying maternity wear, I didn't have money for much else. I didn't take too much charity and I refused to end up on welfare, so as my Grandma use to say "where there's a will, there's a way". In my most desperate hours, I would take the bus to the cemetery where she is buried and just talk to her like she was still alive and breathing and right next to me. My mamma never came to visit her cause she claimed she didn't have the time to or that cemeteries gave her the creeps. I wondered if Grandma Eden was still alive, would she be ashamed or proud of me. I know that if she saw mamma, she'd turn in her grave.

 Mamma and Clyde spent less and less time at home. Sometimes I'd be by myself for two to three days at a time. Sometimes I'd find notes around the house written in my mama's hand writing saying "be back soon and be good". Mama's physical appearance went straight to hell. Her once flawless coco brown skin was marred with acne and strange scars that resembled cat scratches. Her once exuberant eyes were now tired looking, bloodshot and with deep shadows underneath them. She managed to lose a tooth at the very front of her mouth on the top row and her beautiful lips looked to be covered in weird scars and she was always getting cold sores. Her hair that she always took pride in was now short, matted in some parts and somehow managed to stick up all over her head. She would cover it up with one of Clyde's baseball caps or a cheap wig occasionally. Her hands were always shaking and now she talked fast, sometimes so fast that she would stumble over her own words. Her clothes, oh God, her clothing, her beautiful wardrobe somehow managed to morph into cheap and revealing clothing that was bought at a dollar store. Whenever she was at home, she'd trudge around in the same gross looking pajama pants and dingy looking tank tops that wreaked of sweat and stale cigarette smoke. Whenever mamma did leave, she'd leave with Clyde wearing one of her thrown together outfits that made her look like a street walker, a ton of make-up and a cheap wig that she bought from one of her new "friends" that sold them hot out of her car. I remember that day shortly after I came in from work, mama and her new friend came bursting into the front door, obviously drunk and laughing hysterically at whatever they were talking about. I barely had enough time to sit on the couch and close my eyes for a quick nap till I heard them come in, with Clyde in tow behind them. She was a thin caramel colored black woman with high cheek bones wearing a hot pink halter top that showed her mid section and a pair of tight black denim jeans. Both of her arms were covered in colorful tattoos. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a thick afro puff. Her and my mamma were just about the same height. My feet hurt and I had a slight headache, so the last thing I felt like doing was having to deal with mamma and her loud friend.