I knew there was no stopping my grandmother when she felt strongly about something.
“Girl, if yuh want to have yuh pickney, have it, but don’t look pon mi son fi any help, because it won’t be there. Yuh have to stand up on yuh own foot.”
“Mama, ah don’t think yuh have any right to—”
Mama cut her off. “Glory, yuh don’t own mi mouth and mi have a right to speak when mi want to.”
I went back into the kitchen, determined not to catch my mother’s eye.
“Please, don’t fight. I don’t want him to hear,” Joanne pleaded.
“Hear what?” Freddie asked matter-of-factly as he strolled into the kitchen to get another beer.
“Nothing, just woman talk,” Glory said.
Mama confronted him. “Why yuh want de girl dash away her pickney?” she demanded.
My uncle’s eyes looked mean. Joanne’s looked scared. Tears dripped onto her white cotton dress.
“Yuh talking behind mi back? Didn’t we agree dat dis was between us?” he shouted.
I clutched my hands and waited for the next move.
“How unnu like cow down woman so?” Mama asked. “Is a pity she tek up wid yuh and mi sorry mi never warn her, but mi think yuh change. Ah shoulda know better, for zebra cyaan change dem stripe. Look on de lovely pickney yuh have in Jamaica and not even a penny yuh would send fi buy food fi him.”
My uncle’s eyes flashed to Glory.
“Mama,” my mother warned. But my grandmother sucked her teeth. I went to the bathroom and came out with some tissues for Joanne. The poor girl had begun to tremble. I made myself small in a corner of the kitchen and prayed that Mama would quiet, for she was only making the situation worse.
“That’s enough, Mama, stop interfering in mi life,” Uncle Freddie said abruptly, his eyes fire hot.
“Yuh think yuh can shut mi up?”
“To hell wid you,” he blazed at her. And he pulled Joanne roughly from the chair, grabbed their things andstormed out the door. Glory ran after him, mumbling, “Calm down, Freddie, calm down.”
Sid and Justin continued to watch the boxing match on television, cheering on their favourites as if nothing had happened. My grandmother sat down on a kitchen chair, a cigarette between her lips and a self-righteous look on her face. I kissed her on the side of her neck and went to our bedroom.
Uncle Freddie never came to Sunday dinner again. Uncle Peppie and Aunt Val came to a few more, then one Sunday Val called to tell us that her sister and her husband were in town and they were entertaining at home. Mama didn’t seem to care, but I had lived with her for so long that I knew better. She was at the stove turning the fried chicken, Glory was at the kitchen counter helping with the coleslaw salad, and I was grating the carrots for juice. Sid sat in front of the television watching sports.
“We have enough chicken here for tomorrow dinner, and enough to mek a sandwich for yuh and Sid to tek to work, so nothing won’t waste. It will save mi cooking tomorrow and ah can iron Sid shirts and a few of your things dat sitting dere in de wash basket.”
“Don’t worry yuhself, Mama, relax. I can do them one evening,” Glory said, totally out of character. Mama didn’t miss a beat.
“Since when yuh like fi iron?”
“Is not dat, Mama, ah just think yuh should be outside enjoying de summer weather. There is a nice park round de corner.”
“Okay, me and Molly will go,” Mama answered. She waited as if she knew the conversation wasn’t finished. Glory said nothing more.
At the dinner table that evening, Glory announced that we were invited to dinner at Aunt Val’s the first Sunday of the following month.
“To what do we owe dis honour?” Mama asked, her voice subdued.
“Nothing, Mama. Val just want to entertain at her place, and yuh cook for us so much Sundays dat she thought it would be a nice change.”
“I see.”
Sid and I exchanged quick glances.
“De rice and peas tasty, Mother Galloway,” he said.
“Thank yuh, mi son,” she
“Girl, if yuh want to have yuh pickney, have it, but don’t look pon mi son fi any help, because it won’t be there. Yuh have to stand up on yuh own foot.”
“Mama, ah don’t think yuh have any right to—”
Mama cut her off. “Glory, yuh don’t own mi mouth and mi have a right to speak when mi want to.”
I went back into the kitchen, determined not to catch my mother’s eye.
“Please, don’t fight. I don’t want him to hear,” Joanne pleaded.
“Hear what?” Freddie asked matter-of-factly as he strolled into the kitchen to get another beer.
“Nothing, just woman talk,” Glory said.
Mama confronted him. “Why yuh want de girl dash away her pickney?” she demanded.
My uncle’s eyes looked mean. Joanne’s looked scared. Tears dripped onto her white cotton dress.
“Yuh talking behind mi back? Didn’t we agree dat dis was between us?” he shouted.
I clutched my hands and waited for the next move.
“How unnu like cow down woman so?” Mama asked. “Is a pity she tek up wid yuh and mi sorry mi never warn her, but mi think yuh change. Ah shoulda know better, for zebra cyaan change dem stripe. Look on de lovely pickney yuh have in Jamaica and not even a penny yuh would send fi buy food fi him.”
My uncle’s eyes flashed to Glory.
“Mama,” my mother warned. But my grandmother sucked her teeth. I went to the bathroom and came out with some tissues for Joanne. The poor girl had begun to tremble. I made myself small in a corner of the kitchen and prayed that Mama would quiet, for she was only making the situation worse.
“That’s enough, Mama, stop interfering in mi life,” Uncle Freddie said abruptly, his eyes fire hot.
“Yuh think yuh can shut mi up?”
“To hell wid you,” he blazed at her. And he pulled Joanne roughly from the chair, grabbed their things andstormed out the door. Glory ran after him, mumbling, “Calm down, Freddie, calm down.”
Sid and Justin continued to watch the boxing match on television, cheering on their favourites as if nothing had happened. My grandmother sat down on a kitchen chair, a cigarette between her lips and a self-righteous look on her face. I kissed her on the side of her neck and went to our bedroom.
Uncle Freddie never came to Sunday dinner again. Uncle Peppie and Aunt Val came to a few more, then one Sunday Val called to tell us that her sister and her husband were in town and they were entertaining at home. Mama didn’t seem to care, but I had lived with her for so long that I knew better. She was at the stove turning the fried chicken, Glory was at the kitchen counter helping with the coleslaw salad, and I was grating the carrots for juice. Sid sat in front of the television watching sports.
“We have enough chicken here for tomorrow dinner, and enough to mek a sandwich for yuh and Sid to tek to work, so nothing won’t waste. It will save mi cooking tomorrow and ah can iron Sid shirts and a few of your things dat sitting dere in de wash basket.”
“Don’t worry yuhself, Mama, relax. I can do them one evening,” Glory said, totally out of character. Mama didn’t miss a beat.
“Since when yuh like fi iron?”
“Is not dat, Mama, ah just think yuh should be outside enjoying de summer weather. There is a nice park round de corner.”
“Okay, me and Molly will go,” Mama answered. She waited as if she knew the conversation wasn’t finished. Glory said nothing more.
At the dinner table that evening, Glory announced that we were invited to dinner at Aunt Val’s the first Sunday of the following month.
“To what do we owe dis honour?” Mama asked, her voice subdued.
“Nothing, Mama. Val just want to entertain at her place, and yuh cook for us so much Sundays dat she thought it would be a nice change.”
“I see.”
Sid and I exchanged quick glances.
“De rice and peas tasty, Mother Galloway,” he said.
“Thank yuh, mi son,” she
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