4

“Dang it,” I said, hitting the steering wheel with frustration upon seeing the truck of my on-again, off-again boyfriend,

Leon, in the driveway. I wasn’t in the mood to make nice with him today. I just wanted to go to my bedroom and listen to Nina

Simone’s newest album on my record player. It had arrived in the mail the other day, and I’d been saving it for a day like

this. One where I needed to relax and get carried away by the music. Instead, I’d have to entertain Leon. He wasn’t a demanding

boyfriend at all, but he required some attention—attention I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to give. My mind was still

filled with thoughts of my brothers, the boys at the group home, especially Chad, and my inability to bear children.

Leon was fifty-five years old, and we knew each other from church. “Boyfriend” wasn’t the most accurate title for Leon—perhaps “gentleman caller” would be a better moniker for him. I’d started quasi-dating Leon a few months after the hysterectomy. He wasn’t my type necessarily, but he was safe. He was the father of three children and the grandfather of seven. He wasn’t seeking a wife to start a family with; he was seeking companionship. One Sunday after church, he asked me if I’d go have ice cream with him. From there, it became our routine. We’d shared a few awkward kisses, but mainly I filled a void left by his deceased wife, and he made me feel a little less alone. Sometimes.

I knew that Mama had called him. As a truck driver, Leon was on the road Monday through Friday, which worked fine for me since

the group home consumed my weekdays and at times my weekends, depending on what crisis we were dealing with or trying to avoid.

I wondered what he was doing in town on a Tuesday. Mama met me at the door with a huge grin on her face.

“Brother Leon is here,” she said as if I wouldn’t recognize his truck. I suppose I should have been happy she was smiling

after the news we got today.

When I’d first told her Leon had asked me to be his girlfriend, she had nearly shouted with excitement because I was getting

serious about someone. I was grateful that she liked Leon and that they got along so well. Probably because he would sit and

watch endless hours of mindless television with her. It was nothing for us all to be in the living room sitting on the couch,

with Leon between me and Mama. I’d be reading a book while she and Leon would cackle over The Jackie Gleason Show or The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour . Sometimes it felt like “Brother Leon” was more Mama’s boyfriend than he was mine.

“Just Leon,” I muttered. “His name is Leon. You didn’t have to call him.”

Mama shook her head disapprovingly. “If a woman has a man, she needs to lean on him during the hard times. It lets a man know he’s important. Lean on your man, Katia.”

I sighed heavily. I wasn’t about to pick a fight with her. Definitely not on a day like this. “Okay, Mama.”

Mama looked me up and down. From that look alone, I knew where this conversation was going. Where it always went with Mama

when she took a good look at me: my appearance.

“If you hurry to the kitchen,” she said in a loud whisper, looking around as if there was someone close by to overhear our

conversation. There wasn’t. She reached up and touched my hair. “I can take out the straightening comb and touch up those

naps. I just don’t know why you want to let your hair look like this. You weren’t raised to have a nappy head. I straightened

your hair every Saturday when you were growing up. This bird’s nest on your head is an insult to me and to your daddy’s memory.

God only knows how you got the attention of a man like Brother Leon looking like this!”

I felt something bubble up inside me. At first I thought it was anger, but I’d heard this particular diatribe before. No,

what I was feeling was good old-fashioned hurt. I knew Mama loved me and only wanted the best for me, but right now I needed

her to stop nagging me about my appearance and focus on the fact that I was her one and only daughter, and through thick and

thin, I had always stood by her without complaint. That was what I needed from her, but for me to say those words out loud

would have crushed her spirit, so I said nothing.

“Katia girl,” Mama said. “You heard what I said?”

“Yes, Mama. I heard you,” I said, squaring my shoulders as defiantly as I could. “And like it or not, I did. Get his attention, that is. Nappy hair and all. This hairstyle speaks to me. If it is all the same to you, I think I will leave it just the way it is.”

I’d started wearing my hair in an Afro when I saw a picture of Nina Simone in a magazine a couple of years ago. It was like

looking at myself, from her eyes to her nose, from her thick, luscious lips to her dark brown skin. That picture made me feel

seen more than any picture I’d encountered of Diahann Carroll or Lena Horne. They were beautiful Negro women, but they made

me feel more invisible because I knew that no matter how many times I straightened my hair or tried to diet and lose weight,

I’d never look like them. Nina Simone wasn’t a big woman like me, but she was beautiful and talented and, from the sound of

her music, free. Free in ways I only hoped to be someday.

When I had gone to the barbershop my daddy used to go to and sat in the chair with the cutout from the magazine in my hands,

shaking with excitement, I felt exhilarated as long pieces of hair fell to my shoulders. Mama was scandalized, but my brothers

called me a Nubian queen. It saddened me that Mama looked at me and saw something to be ashamed of, in spite of all my accomplishments.

Mama shook her head and grumbled. “Too many good-looking women out here in these streets who would love a man like Brother

Leon. You ought to try harder, Katia. You’re no spring chicken. If you play this thing right with Brother Leon, he might just

ask you to marry him. I might never see my boys get married, but you...” Her voice quivered as she stopped speaking and

wiped away tears.

I had a mouthful of things to say, but I didn’t. Mama needed to get her mind off the boys, and talking about my nappy hair and my last-ditch effort to gain a husband was the perfect distraction. So I smiled, gave her a quick hug, kissed her cheek, and walked past her into the house. She sighed as I passed by.

When I got inside, Leon was standing there waiting for me. He was a nice-looking man for his age. Not a gray hair on his head,

and his skin was as dark and smooth as a teenager’s. The only thing that belied his age was his thick, Coca-Cola bottle glasses.

I was shocked he could drive big trucks with his poor vision, but as far as I knew, he’d never even received a parking ticket,

let alone had an accident. Knock on wood.

As always, he was impeccably dressed in a pair of black polyester slacks, a white button-down shirt, a tie, and a red-and-black

tweed jacket. He was so persnickety he wouldn’t even remove his jacket or loosen his tie when he came over to visit. I always

told him he was overdressed, but he said a man needed to look his best when he came courting. I could appreciate that, but

I never worried about such things. If I was home, I’d be dressed in a pair of pants and a turtleneck sweater or a large muumuu,

much to Mama’s chagrin. That didn’t seem to bother Leon. Of course nothing seemed to bother Leon. His emotional gauge was

forever set at a comfortable seventy-five degrees.

He approached me and kissed my cheek.

“Are you okay?” he asked in his low-and-slow southern drawl.

Before I could stop myself, I burst into tears. I was overwhelmed at his innocent question.

“Now, now,” he said, pulling me into an awkward embrace while patting my back. It was the kind of embrace a well-meaning stranger gives to another person—not the way a boyfriend hugs his girlfriend. “Don’t get yourself sick. Now, now.”

I pulled away, brushing the tears away angrily. I hated getting emotional. “I’m fine, Leon. Just tired. Maybe you could come

back tomorrow?”

“I guess I could,” he said slowly, “but your mama made meat loaf and tonight’s I Dream of Jeannie and The Jerry Lewis Show . I never get to watch them when I’m on the road, and your mama...”

“Never mind,” I said quickly. “You stay. I’m going to go take a bubble bath and change.”

He perked up. “Do you want us to wait on dinner?”

I didn’t have time to answer before Mama walked back inside. “Everything’s ready and if we don’t eat now, we’ll miss Cronkite

at five thirty. He tells the news the best.”

“Don’t worry about me,” I said, moving around Leon. “I’m not hungry anyway. Y’all enjoy your food and your television.”

“Are you sure?” Leon called out to me, but all I did was wave and continue toward my bedroom. I went inside and gathered up

the silk pajamas and matching robe I’d gifted myself on my last birthday. Mama could entertain Leon. I had no intention of

returning to that living room tonight.

I picked up my newest book from my nightstand, Valley of the Dolls , by Jacqueline Susann. I’d been waiting to read it for a while. I knew Mama and “Brother Leon” would be appalled by my reading such things, but I made no apologies to anyone for my looks or my reading tastes. Reading had always been my escape, and when I first discovered Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D. H. Lawrence during college, I became hooked on sexy romance novels. I’d long ago resigned myself to being confidant

and best buddy to cute guys, never their girlfriend. I had female friends who’d leave me in the company of their boyfriends

and whisper, “Keep an eye on him for me. Make sure no other ladies get fresh.” Never once did they think I might be one of those other ladies getting fresh with their man. So I poured my attention into my books, and from them, I lived vicariously through the heroines’

lives.

I made my way to the bathroom, put Nina Simone Sings the Blues on the record player I kept beside the tub, and started my bath, pouring in a liberal amount of Badedas bubble bath, a gift

from the twins our last Christmas together. I turned up Nina just loud enough for me to hear the mournful wail of the harmonica,

the guitar, and her sultry voice. Once the tub was nearly overflowing with bubbles, I undressed and slid into the water as

I softly sang along with the album’s first song, “Do I Move You?” The lyrics were so risqué. I tried to imagine listening

to the album with Leon and almost laughed out loud. He was definitely a prude when it came to such things. One time, while

we were sitting in the living room, I put Aretha Franklin on the record player, and he insisted I turn it off. Said she was

blaspheming God and her daddy, the Reverend C. L. Franklin, with her “nasty woman” music. After that, I kept my music and

my reading preferences to myself.

I sank deeper into the water, allowing my head to become completely immersed, something I couldn’t do back in my press-and-curl days. When I came back up for air, I was more relaxed than I had felt in days. It was like baptism, going underneath that water—everything from the last few hours washed away.

I reached for my bath cloth and began to wash every part of my body. I tried not to judge the rolls of fat or the stretch

marks from my constant gaining and losing and regaining of weight. My favorite cousin and dear friend, Alicia, fussed at me

for talking badly about my weight and figure. She was a big woman too, but she carried her weight with far more confidence

than I did. I also tried not to pay attention to the huge scar on my belly, where they’d cut and removed all possibility of

motherhood in the traditional sense. I grabbed the towel on the rack next to the tub and dried my hands. Then I reached for

my novel and started reading: “The temperature hit ninety degrees the day she arrived.”

***

“Girl, is you drowned in there?” Mama’s voice called out from the other side of the door, causing me to jump. The water was

now cold, and my book was completely submerged. I jerked it out of the water but it was ruined. I chucked it into the garbage

can. I’d have to get another copy. Thankfully, it wasn’t a library book.

I looked at the clock on the wall. It said 8:05 p.m. I had read and then slept straight through Cronkite and I Dream of Jeannie .

“I’m fine, Mama,” I called back to her. “I just fell asleep. Be out in a second.” I stepped out of the tub and dried off. My skin was wrinkled from too much soaking. I slathered myself with Vaseline and then Jergens lotion, hoping the two products working together would revive my skin. I rubbed some Tussy deodorant on my armpits and then put on my pajamas, robe, and house slippers. When I walked out of the bathroom, Mama was still standing by the door, causing me to jump again.

“Lord, you scared me, Mama. I said I was fine.”

“Brother Leon left,” she said in an accusatory voice. “He watched the news and I Dream of Jeannie with me, but when you didn’t bother to come back out, he said it was best he head on home. You ought to be ashamed, Katia.”

Even though I’d evidently had a nice, long nap, I was still tired, and I didn’t feel up to arguing with Mama. I was sorry

that Leon probably left with his feelings hurt, but he would understand. One apology from me would clear everything up. It

always did. But I wasn’t going to call him tonight. I almost said, “I didn’t invite him over,” but I knew that would lead

to more words, so I kept that comeback to myself.

“I’m going to bed.” I inched around her and walked toward my bedroom, but she was on my heels, yammering away about “Brother

Leon.”

“I just don’t know why you treat that man so disrespectful,” she said as we entered my bedroom. “He ain’t showed you nothing

but the greatest care and love, and all you do is push him away. Do you want to be alone the rest of your life?”

I took a deep breath and forced myself to smile. “I’ll never be alone, Mama. I’ve got you, and if you count the boys at the group home, well, my cup truly does runneth over, with no shortage of people in my life.” I didn’t mention my brothers. I didn’t want to upset Mama, but my words still seemed to cause her grief.

Mama wiped tears from her eyes. “I’m not gone live forever, girl. And we don’t know about your bro... your bro...”

I reached out and pulled Mama close. I couldn’t stand to see her distraught. As much as she wounded my soul with some of her

careless words, when it came to her, my protective nature would rival any mama bear. Before Daddy died, he made me promise

to take care of Mama and the boys, and that was what I tried to do.

I gently stepped back so I could see her fully. Then I wiped her tears with a handkerchief I had in my robe pocket.

“What was I Dream of Jeannie about tonight?” If I could get her talking about her shows, I could get her to dry her tears. “Come get in the bed with me

and tell me all about it.”

We both climbed into my bed, something we used to do after Daddy died. Many a night, Mama would cry herself to sleep, her

thin body pressed against my larger, thicker frame. I’d always been a big girl, but when Daddy took sick, I ate everything

in sight, trying to fill the empty spaces his dying was leaving exposed.

“Lord, that Major Nelson is always doing something to vex poor Jeannie,” Mama started, sniffling loudly. “He went and tricked her so he could go out with an old girlfriend. If I was her, I would just stay in that bottle and forget about Major Nelson. He don’t mean her no good. You can tell by his eyes he ain’t no good man. That’s what Brother Leon said. He said you can always tell by a man’s eyes if he ’bout something, and that Major Nelson ain’t about nothing.”

“Do tell,” I said. “Then what?” Suddenly I was wide-awake again. My stack of books was calling my name. I figured that Mama

would either grow tired of talking and fall asleep or go back to the living room and finish watching The Jerry Lewis Show . But she did neither. Instead, she rolled onto her elbow and looked at me.

“I’m not going to be here forever, baby,” she said, repeating her earlier sentiment. “I don’t want you living your whole life

without knowing the love of a man. You deserve that and more, Katia. Every woman deserves it, but especially you.”

“What about you then, since every woman deserves love? Don’t you want the love of a man again?” I asked. Mama was only sixty,

but as far as I knew, she’d never talked romantically to another man since Daddy. More than I wanted a man for myself, I wished

she could find someone. Just like she said I deserved someone to love me, I felt the same way about her.

A smile crossed her face. “I don’t need no other man. Your daddy was enough. I want you to experience that kind of love, Katia.

I don’t even care if it’s not with Brother Leon. If he doesn’t make you feel warm all over like those nasty books you like

to read do, then find a man who does.”

I opened and then closed my mouth. I had no clue Mama knew about the subject matter of the books I read, but more than that,

I never thought Mama would ever say I should consider seeing someone else other than “Brother Leon.” The way she’d been telling

it, I should have married him several yesterdays ago.

“Mama, I don’t know what to say.”

She reached over and stroked the side of my face. “You deserve happiness, Katia. Large helpings of happiness. I need at least

one of my children to get their hands on some happiness. Will you try?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. What else could I say? Hearing her speak so sweetly and tenderly about her desire for me to experience

love like she and Daddy had was more than I could ever have hoped to hear her say. This was the mama I needed. I knew the

criticisms were all born out of love, but sometimes I just needed her to love on me.

Silently, I reached over and pulled her close, and that was how we lay until we both dozed off to sleep.