threatened, "like they
put down dogs if you don't tell me where you were." "I was with Louella and Dedra. We went to eat
and then we went to a movie and then we went to
Frank and Bob's just like we always do."
Daddy lowered her slowly.
"I'm tired of you coming home drunk," he said. "People drink because they're unhappy," she
spit back at him.
"Why are you so unhappy? If you got yourself a
job, maybe or..."
"Oh, a job. What kind of a job could I get. huh?
You want me working in some department store or at
a fast-food place?"
Her face crumpled as she started to sob. "I wasted myself. I should be on a magazine
cover or doing advertisements. I should be somebody
instead of... of what I am," she moaned. -. But do you
care?" she asked, pulling herself up and tightening her
lips. "No. You and your music and your stupid work
hours."
"I'm doing my best for us and..."
"Best," she muttered. "You don't care about
what's happening here. We got a daughter who's like
some deaf-and-dumb person, who should be making
me proud, and I blame that all on you, you!" "She's a beautiful girl, a talented girl. She's
going to make us proud. Lena."
"Right. I go and work on her and get her a date
and it all falls apart." "You know that wasn't her
fault."
"I know, It was mine," she screamed at him.
"Who else would you blame?"
"Nobody's blaming anybody, Lena."
"Leave me alone," she said. "I'm sick. I'm not
feeling good."
"Why should you after what you did to
yourself'?""
"You did it to me," she accused.
"Me?"
"You made me pregnant when I was young and
beautiful and had a chance. Cameron. And then you
promised to do things for me, but look at what you've
done... nothing. Nothing but tie a lead weight around
my neck.
"I'm drowning!" she screamed at him. Then she
seized her stomach, doubled over and hurried to the
bathroom.
He stood there looking after her, his face as
broken and sad as I had ever seen it. He felt my eves
and turned to my doorway.
We looked at each other.
Was I the weight Mama said was around her
neck? Did he hate for me to have heard such a thing? The pain in his eves was too great for me to
take.
I closed the door softly and returned to bed, to
the darkness and to the pursuit of fugitive sleep.
6 Out of Tune
There were many times when the mood and atmosphere in our house resembled an undertaker's parlor. I call it morgue silence because to me everyone who is infected with it seems to be imitating the dead. I've been to funerals where people sit in the presence of the corpse and keep their eyes so still and empty, I imagined they have just deposited the shell of their bodies in the funeral hall for a while and then have one off to kill some time at some livelier place.
However, when the singing started, it was always like everyone had turned into Lazarus and risen from the grave. As a little girl. I was so impressed with the energy and the emotion some people exhibited at these wakes that I often wondered if they wouldn't revive the dead man or woman whose eyes would suddenly snap open and then sit up in the coffin and begin to join in the singing, Once, I imagined it so vividly. I thought it actually had happened. Mama saw me sitting there with my eyes so wide and full of amazement, it made her nervous. She insisted on taking me home because she thought the funeral was making me crazy.
"And she's crazy enough with her elective mutism," she told Daddy. She loved using that term ever since she had first heard Mrs. Waite use it at the parent-teacher conference.
Everyone was an elective mute in my home the morning after Mama's late night out. We had morgue silence. Mama didn't rise from her bed, but she wasn't asleep. I looked in and saw her staring up at the ceiling, her lips tightly drawn like a slash across her face. Daddy sipped his coffee and stared at the wall. I felt as if I had to tiptoe about the apartment, getting ready for school. He didn't say anything until I was ready to leave.
"I've got a double shift today," he told me.
put down dogs if you don't tell me where you were." "I was with Louella and Dedra. We went to eat
and then we went to a movie and then we went to
Frank and Bob's just like we always do."
Daddy lowered her slowly.
"I'm tired of you coming home drunk," he said. "People drink because they're unhappy," she
spit back at him.
"Why are you so unhappy? If you got yourself a
job, maybe or..."
"Oh, a job. What kind of a job could I get. huh?
You want me working in some department store or at
a fast-food place?"
Her face crumpled as she started to sob. "I wasted myself. I should be on a magazine
cover or doing advertisements. I should be somebody
instead of... of what I am," she moaned. -. But do you
care?" she asked, pulling herself up and tightening her
lips. "No. You and your music and your stupid work
hours."
"I'm doing my best for us and..."
"Best," she muttered. "You don't care about
what's happening here. We got a daughter who's like
some deaf-and-dumb person, who should be making
me proud, and I blame that all on you, you!" "She's a beautiful girl, a talented girl. She's
going to make us proud. Lena."
"Right. I go and work on her and get her a date
and it all falls apart." "You know that wasn't her
fault."
"I know, It was mine," she screamed at him.
"Who else would you blame?"
"Nobody's blaming anybody, Lena."
"Leave me alone," she said. "I'm sick. I'm not
feeling good."
"Why should you after what you did to
yourself'?""
"You did it to me," she accused.
"Me?"
"You made me pregnant when I was young and
beautiful and had a chance. Cameron. And then you
promised to do things for me, but look at what you've
done... nothing. Nothing but tie a lead weight around
my neck.
"I'm drowning!" she screamed at him. Then she
seized her stomach, doubled over and hurried to the
bathroom.
He stood there looking after her, his face as
broken and sad as I had ever seen it. He felt my eves
and turned to my doorway.
We looked at each other.
Was I the weight Mama said was around her
neck? Did he hate for me to have heard such a thing? The pain in his eves was too great for me to
take.
I closed the door softly and returned to bed, to
the darkness and to the pursuit of fugitive sleep.
6 Out of Tune
There were many times when the mood and atmosphere in our house resembled an undertaker's parlor. I call it morgue silence because to me everyone who is infected with it seems to be imitating the dead. I've been to funerals where people sit in the presence of the corpse and keep their eyes so still and empty, I imagined they have just deposited the shell of their bodies in the funeral hall for a while and then have one off to kill some time at some livelier place.
However, when the singing started, it was always like everyone had turned into Lazarus and risen from the grave. As a little girl. I was so impressed with the energy and the emotion some people exhibited at these wakes that I often wondered if they wouldn't revive the dead man or woman whose eyes would suddenly snap open and then sit up in the coffin and begin to join in the singing, Once, I imagined it so vividly. I thought it actually had happened. Mama saw me sitting there with my eyes so wide and full of amazement, it made her nervous. She insisted on taking me home because she thought the funeral was making me crazy.
"And she's crazy enough with her elective mutism," she told Daddy. She loved using that term ever since she had first heard Mrs. Waite use it at the parent-teacher conference.
Everyone was an elective mute in my home the morning after Mama's late night out. We had morgue silence. Mama didn't rise from her bed, but she wasn't asleep. I looked in and saw her staring up at the ceiling, her lips tightly drawn like a slash across her face. Daddy sipped his coffee and stared at the wall. I felt as if I had to tiptoe about the apartment, getting ready for school. He didn't say anything until I was ready to leave.
"I've got a double shift today," he told me.
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