~momma’s rain~excerpt~chapter one~ Momma is getting ready to go to work. She is speaking to her oldest of four children, Timmy, telling him to tend to his three younger siblings. Six-year-old Jerry has been punished and is standing in the corner for eating the last two slices of the family’s bread. It’s a cold winter night. Momma is saying goodbye to her children. ~for life is a fiction~ ~birth~ ~a sad truth~ ~death~ ~a just reward~ ~still children smile~ ~chapter one~ ~children in passing~ ~I don’t like country western music~ Billings Montana Winter, 1957 Momma came in, picked Lisa up and kissed her chubby cheek. She glanced at the boys. “You guys behave yourselves and no going outside. Keep the door locked. Daddy will be right back to fix you something to eat. Lisa’s other diaper is soaking in the toilet. Rinse it out and hang it by the stove, Timmy. If she needs changed before it’s dry go ahead and use a dishtowel instead of a diaper. There’s one hanging from the oven handle on the stove.” She set Lisa on the couch, gave Timmy a reassuring smile, and hurried away. The front door slammed shut. The children heard the sound of Daddy’s old truck starting up and pulling away from the curb. Jerry turned around, stared imploringly at Timmy. “Let me out of the corner.” Tears brimmed up in Timmy’s eyes. He bit down on his sore finger to stop them. “I can’t, Jerry. He’ll find out then we’ll all be in trouble.” “How’s he gonna find out?” Jerry challenged. “Who’s gonna tell?” Peter sat on the edge of the couch. “I will,” he said, a cruel grin on his little-boy face. “I’ll tell ‘cause you took the bread an’ got me in trouble. It’s all your fault. You knocked me off the couch when I was sleepin’.” Jerry took a step from the corner, threatened Peter with a raised fist. “I’ll pound your face, you little brat! You ate half!” Timmy ran between them, pulled Jerry’s arms behind his back and forced him back into the corner. He gave Jerry’s head a swift bump against the wall for good measure. “Stay there! Don’t be picking on smaller kids!” “Yeah!” Peter agreed smugly. “You’re a stealer, Jerry. You’re bad!” Lisa began to wail. She was hungry, upset by all the commotion. Timmy picked her up and she stuffed a thumb in her mouth. She snuggled against his chest and closed her eyes, sucking contentedly. Daddy didn’t come home after taking Momma to work. The children were hungry, and there was nothing in the house to eat. Timmy pumped some water and they sipped at it but water is a poor substitute for food. Lisa and Peter cried and Jerry moaned and groaned, then finally slid down the wall and rested in a bony pile. Timmy roamed around the confines of the shack, despairing for a crumb but, as on many a previous night, there were none. The night was long and the radio was singing. His siblings asleep, Timmy went into the kitchen and sat at the table. He rested his head on his arms, ignored the growling of his stomach and drifted into a troubled rest. A few hours later he heard a rattling at the door. He stepped quietly across the room and peeked out the window. It was Momma come home from work. As he unlocked and opened the door, a car pulled away. It was soon lost in its’ own steamy exhaust in the freezing winter night. “Where’s Daddy?” Momma asked upon entering the house. “He never came back,” Timmy replied, “I been worried.” She kissed him on the forehead and handed him a heavy paper bag. It was greasy wet, close to falling apart. “Never mind your Daddy for now,” she said, “Thank God for the Big Boy.” Big Boy was the restaurant where Momma worked as a waitress. She wasn’t allowed to take food home but she would bus the tables she waited on and dump the leftovers from the plates in a bag she kept hidden in the kitchen. On nights when Alvin, the cook, brought her home she could sneak the bag out past the owner. The next trick was getting it past Daddy; he didn’t approve of his family eating garbage. Momma touched Timmy’s face with her cold hands and kissed him again. She glanced at the clock radio wailing Country Western, Marty Robbins all dressed up for the dance. “Twelve thirty,” she murmured, “He’s probably at the bar. That gives us ‘til two to eat. You start sorting and fixing. I’ll get the kids.” Timmy set the bag on the table and opened it. Though it was full of rotting salad, coffee grounds, and cigarette butts, all he noticed was the smell of food and best of all... meat! He grabbed a piece of chicken fried steak and wolfed it down, coffee grounds, cigarette ashes and all. He had never tasted better food. Momma came back into the kitchen and smiled at him while he wiped his face on his shirt- sleeve. “They look so peaceful, I decided to let them sleep while we get everything ready,” she whispered. “Tonight we’ll have a feast. I see you found some of the steak. It was the Big Boy special today. There’s lots of it in there.” They worked together, mother and son, to scrape cigarette ashes, egg yolk, coffee grounds, and soggy napkin off the meat, and began to warm it in a pan on the old stove. Experts at this, they even managed to salvage some mashed potatoes and corn on the cob from the bottom of the bag. The cigarette butts went in Mommas apron pocket to be worked on later. They didn’t have to wake the younger children as it turned out. Peter and Lisa came stumbling into the kitchen, their noses following the aroma of food cooking even before their eyes were ready to open. Momma smiled. “Go get Jerry,” she said to Timmy. Jerry was standing up straight and stiff, nose stuffed into the corner. He flinched when Timmy touched his arm. “Come on, Jerry,” he whispered excitedly, “Momma brought some really good stuff home from work for us to eat.” Jerry turned his head from the corner; eyes big and round, he stared at Timmy. His mouth made one word. “Daddy?” Timmy tugged at his shirtsleeve. “Come on, Daddy’s not home yet. You better hurry up!” “Wait!” Jerry pleaded. “Is she... Is she in a good mood?” “The best,” Timmy replied, “Now come on.” Jerry shielded his eyes from the light as they entered the kitchen. They ate and ate, then sat around burping and smiling like contented chipmunks. wordwulf queloquepasa/wordwulf Inquiries: wordwulf@gmail & bar publishing barpublishing1@yahoo ©2014 graphic artwork music & words conceived by & property of tom (WordWulf) sterner 2014© ~also available at Amazon &~ ~momma’s rain @ smashwords~
Posted on: Fri, 07 Mar 2014 00:11:04 +0000
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