Chapter Five

Half a day’s ride from Southern Street was where she finally built her life. Free from the poverty-stricken family she grew up in. She wasn’t going to recall any of that past today. She had come too far to look back. A shame the only remnant of her family was that voluble sister of hers. Their relationship was attacked from a very early age when their mother drew unhealthy comparisons between them. Either one was better than the other or the other was just not good enough according to her standards. It was no surprise the two sisters grew up with the spitting image of their mother. One of them taking her shrewishness and the other taking her insatiability.

Today she finally had her own home where she called the shots. However, it didn’t turn out half as good as she hoped it would be. She had done everything she knows how to have that perfect family picture fully displayed on her wall. As a respectable deaconess, her home was subject to public unauthorized inspection any time, any day. That pressure was enough for her to bring up her children in a certain way and now, she was reaping what she sowed. None of them wanted her close at all. They were filial enough to honor every family meeting she called for except the youngest who totally cut everyone out.

Every family gathering turned out to be more screen time for the people who attended rather than a chance to relate as family. Someone once described them as a corporate family. That stung deeply. It wasn’t what she wanted but it was what she made with those little seeds of piety, sternness and cold love she’d usually defend as tough love. Whether it was cold or tough, none of her kids felt the love. She did not know that where flaws met with warmth and compassion, love sprouted- that love she was craving for now.

The thing is, who could blame her? Her husband was hardly around to bring warmth to her. He always claimed to have church worker’s meeting but they both knew the only work he did so late in the night was the one in his mistresses’ beds. Refusing to give herself to him after she found out for the first time what he did on the so-called night shifts, he decided to wave the flag of his infidelity in her face and blame her for it. The only reason why she denied him that pleasure was simple: she didn’t want to contract any disease. That’d be stupid of her. He wasn’t worth that kind of risk especially when he humiliated her with his promiscuity.

“She’s not able to keep her husband happy?”

“She’s all bluff and nothing more”

These remarks were passed behind her almost every Sunday at church and she felt the only way she could keep their family name out of the mud was by behaving the way she did, but that cost her way too much than what she bargained for. Every child at their church knew of her excessive generosity but didn’t know it was debiting elsewhere- her home. Teenagers loved to share their secrets with her since she was a counselor herself but they didn’t know her own children have never uttered a word in confidentiality with her, except for the youngest who tried it and even with that, she lives with the regrets till date.

Her perfect family shook when Bertha, her competitive sister and her kids came to live with them in their beautiful mansion at Oakland. She had come to visit for a few days but it turned out to be weeks, months and now, years. Life was never the same since then.

She fought the longing to call her daughter. How she wished she could hear one of them call her, “Mom” without it sounding plastic. She had gotten so used to the formal names so much that hearing it again made her go nuts. Had she not bore each one of them in her womb, nurturing them for nine whole months? Did she not clean their mess when they could barely move a limb? Did she not breast feed each one as advised by doctors to do in order to bond with the child? Was this the thanks her children were giving her for all that ordeal? 

The only sounds she heard that morning were the soft creaks from the door hinges whenever the wind blew through her windows. Bertha may be stepping out again or Jamie, she thought. She resented her so much for stepping into her house and taking over everything. One thing plagued her for ten whole years and that was when her sister forced her hand to go against her own daughter to favor her son. Since that day, she knew she had lost her daughter for good.

“Mom…” a tear rolled down from her eyes that day. And that was the only time that word bore the meaning she craved for. It sounded as real as she hoped it to be. She felt how that one word contained all of her daughter’s desperate wishes for her to believe her but she got nothing like that from her that day. She still lives with that guilt.

The faces which stared at her were cold, disdainful and mocking. She remembered the look of pain in her daughter’s face as she stood before her. She could feel her heart breaking as her sister, Bertha continued spouting nonsense about her daughter’s supposed lewdness in the presence of everyone. She shook uncontrollably with rage only because she couldn’t defend her as a mother should and she hated herself for it since that day. If only she stood her ground sixteen years ago before that time, perhaps she wouldn’t have felt so intimidated by her.

The loneliness was deafening and she didn’t need to be alone to feel that way. After all, she had her vociferous sister around to fill her house. She hungered for the warm hugs kids gave to their mothers. And it was going to get much more depressing this weekend, which would be Mother’s Day. The only wishes she could expect would be the ones the preacher will occasionally chip in during his sermon, the ones from the church executives and members and of course, from the youth ministry. Being such a role model for the youth and adults alike, she had received innumerable citations from the various groups which she displayed on her walls with pride. Regardless, of all the spaces her framed citations could fill, none of them fitted the blank walls in her heart.

“Jesus, I know I did what I thought was best but you must help me… I sacrificed my family for your ministry, Lord…” her voice wavered as she wept quietly, leaning on one of the dining chairs.

Almost immediately, it’s as if her thoughts had something different to say. 

“For my ministry or your reputation?” It did come as a thought but she still felt the rap on her body. That was the mystery about the faith she had- how thoughts could be influenced by the God they worshiped, nudging them on what to do and what not to do. At this point of her life, she knew she had neglected that still small voice for many years and she always deceived herself that she’d never done such a thing.

She wasn’t ready to allow herself to feel guilty for all the efforts she’d poured into being the woman she was now. But was she proud of who she had become? 

She looked like the role of a Christian but she wasn’t playing the character at all. The only thing she had ever done was worship herself and she didn’t get there overnight. In fact, it all started with subtle signs of trying so hard to look good to impress people every Sunday, and yes, to anyone who complimented, she’d give those humble speeches, “It’s just the favor of the Lord”, “By His grace”, “God is good” etc. when she knew that deep down in her heart, she was the only one who deserved the credit for looking like those celebrity moms. Now, she was paying the price. Her youngest daughter had brought her humiliation by her lifestyle and she couldn’t scold her for it because for the first time in her life, she finally accepted that she had to put down the mask and face her real self as it is.

The thought of her felt like a strangle on her neck. She coughed a bit more than usual and held her head feeling defeated at failing in her role to train up the child the way she should go. 

Her third daughter, Cookie, helped her with her last girl’s contact but her confidence came down to zero after she dialed the number. She erased the digits and called Yvette’s instead. It beeped. Her heart felt a mix of happiness and a tinge of the fear of rejection. She picked and her heart skipped.

“Hi dear…?” Even she couldn’t believe she just said that. The other voice on the phone wanted to be sure she got the right recipient.

“Hello? Sally?”

“Yes, Yvette”, knowing she couldn’t keep up with that blarney. 

“Yes, Sally. What’s up?” She asked.

She had to think of something good to say, otherwise she would waste another chance to get her when she really needs her. Meanwhile all she wanted was to hear her kids relate with her in an endearing way. 

“Sally? Is everything alright?” 

“Yes…” she cleared her throat. 

“I’m organizing a family dinner this Sunday, be there?” Her voice sounded hoarse.

That’s really not how she wanted her  words to sound. Her throat was constricted from all those coughs she’d been having for the past few days. 

“… Yes, ma’am” Yvette hesitated before replying.

“Anything else?” She added flatly. And she knew what her daughter meant was for her to get off the line.

“Inform Richmond. I’ll speak to Kayden myself”

“Yes, ma’am. Bye” Yvette said and she hung up. 

Sally felt ashamed to have had such an awkward moment with her own daughter and now she wondered if it’d be a good idea to call the other.

****

Many years ago what should have been a beautiful love story turned sour when she lost her lover to death at such a young age. At the age of sixteen she already had a love child as a symbol of the love they shared. She never expected a child from the relationship but the presence of him made her feel so confident that she thought together they could get through anything. However, what she did not expect was the uncertainties of life- like death.

The first few years of their lives after his death proved rather difficult and more so when her son grew to his early teen years. The absence of his father and the hurt she felt over all those years of the pain of bereavement made it impossible for her to be the best mother. Parenting became a laborious task for her when she hardly saw that modeled in her own life. Day after day she’d hear different stories of the wreck her son had caused- doing drugs with the hooligans in their neighborhood or breaking into people’s homes or faking an ID, the list was endless. Seeing him hangout with feckless young adults only painted a blur image of what he really needed in his life- a father.

“I want to know my father,” he’d often request but she never said a word about hi because of the pain that came with it. The pain of having the world she dreamed shattered overnight.

The last accusation on her son was what tore them both apart. He got arrested and she disappeared without a trace, refusing to see him again but that brought another pain she realized many years later. 

“Ms. Naomi?” Someone interrupted her. 

“My dear,” she replied a bit flustered.  Keisha hardly saw her so deep in thoughts.

“When did you get in?”

“A while ago,” 

“I’m sorry. I wanted to speak with you about something but I’m not feeling so good right now, we’ll talk later” she groped for her walking stick under their counter and excused herself. 

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