"Chyna-Mariee Williams." My mother shouted my name at the top of her lungs.
I shot around the corner of the house and onto the front porch where my mother crouched over a broken flower pot.
My heart beat quickened and I knew I was in big trouble. The five year old brain within my skull, struggled to come up with an explanation for the broken pieces of clay and loose soil strewn across the wooden porch.
"What did I tell your ass about running around on my porch? Now look what ya ass done did. You done broke my shit, and you know you did. Get this shit up. I'm not about to clean up your mess." I could only manage to look guilty and point my eyes down at the ground.
"What the hell you staring at your feet for? Get your ass over here and get this shit up. I'm not playing with you."
I'm only paralysed. The thoughts that bounced around in my mind had me considering a second opinion. If I did go over to pick up the broken pieces of flower pot, my mother would probably knock the life out of me. I could probably get out of it if I just thought hard enough.
"So you not gonna do it? Hmm---okay. Let's see what you do when I lay this belt across ya ass."
She went into the house and the screened door slammed behind her. Before I knew it, tears started to race down my face. I slowly walked over to the mess and began to separate the sharp pieces of broken clay from the soil and dying flowers. Somehow I managed to cut my finger and at that moment I heard the screen door open and slam against the front of the house. Before, I could manage to get a knee off the ground, a loud 'crack' sounded through the air. The sting that crawled up my back was a lot louder.
My tear stained face became moist again, as I let out a huge yelp and attempted to lift myself into a stand. But I failed miserably. The belt was already assaulting my back again. I was struggling to gain my balance, because each pelt across my back sent me into a state of pure shock and agony. My legs weakened, and I found myself curled up into the fetal position. The belt whacked across my figure sending a searing pain up my arm and side. I could no longer take the pain and since I could not run, I decided to roll myself down the wooden steps and into the slightly damp grass.
My mother did not follow me. Instead she stood on the edge of the first step and stared down at me, the belt hanging at her side.
"That's right roll ya ass down them steps like a big ass log. With ya fat ass.You better not ever disrespect me again lil' girl or you got another thing comin'." She mumbled something under her breath and then I heard the screen door open and close behind her.
A laugh finds it's way out of me, as I think of my five year old self. I really was none-the-wiser. If only I had just done what my mother told me to do, there would have been a lot more days I didn't fall asleep with a sore ass.
Hmmm. I miss my mom. A tear tickles the brim of my lower eyelid and threatens to fall. No matter how much wrong I did, my mom still loved me the same. Even though sometimes she was a little harsh---- somehow I really miss that too. I'd rather she was here than my alcoholic of a dad.
My mother was always a woman of her word. If she said she was gonna do something she did it. It didn't matter if their was a change of the situation or circumstance. Although, she was usually doing something sinful.
She was my best friend and my worst enemy. Some people might even say she was a bully, but I feel like she loved me more than anyone else ever did. Even if her love wasn't really love. I like to think that it was real.
When she was alive, she always had this vibe about her. I could tell that she was hurting inside but her sternness and her piercing eyes always caused me to forget. I wish that I had never forgotten. I wish I had always paid attention.
My nose joins the waterworks, and I'm left with tears and snot running into the corners of my mouth and down my chin. I'm so sorry, mother. I push my face down into my pillow and cry myself to sleep.
When I wake, I'm met with the strong smell of whiskey and cigarettes. I hear the sound of a glass being knocked over and footsteps heading toward the kitchen.
Dad's awake! Damn, I wish he was still asleep. Then I wouldn't have to see his drunken figure chugging down full bottles of alcohol. Watching him drink just makes me sick to my stomach.
In a swift motion, I throw my thin top sheet to the side and scramble to put on my shoes and jacket. Maybe I can sneak outside while he's in the kitchen doing whatever. I tiptoe towards the front door, glancing behind me with every step to make sure he's still distracted. My hand reaches for the nob and I'm frozen with terror as the atmosphere shifts into one engulfed in anger and misery.
