Rap music reverberated through the kitchen’s ceiling like a sonic boom. Jennifer sprang from the dilapidated kitchen chair, and a blast of heat from the opened screened door greeted her. She stared at herself in the wall mirror behind the kitchen table, as sweat trickled down her smooth milk chocolate face, staining her meticulously applied, honey- amber, Fashion Fair Foundation. She sat back at the table, and turned the small fan with the rusty blades toward her face. "Bill," she yelled, and gave her head a vehement shake. Her long dark auburn hair slid around her delicate round shoulders.
"Darn his hide!" She retrieved the broom from the pantry, and banged the ceiling with the handle. "Cut the noise, Bill." She banged again, harder. "Lower the volume."
A stupid boy. What a headache! Nutcase . . .acting like a ghetto punk. Leave the loud sound outside. Why can’t I live in a nicer neighborhood? New Jersey Avenue stinks with dope peddlers, roustabouts, and homeless men lurking to cop a buck.
"Darn, the gravy boiled over!" Smoke hit her full in the eyes and penetrated her nostrils.
A dark forest of lashes blinked over hazel brown eyes several times, and she lifted the pot from the stove before she could clearly see the gravy spilling on her new, blue polyester, and poplin mini skirt. The hot liquid ran like molten lava on the right of her skirt.
"Sweet Jesus, my leg!" her loud, sharp, penetrating cry shot throughout the house. She held the hem to prevent the rest of the scalding liquid burning her leg and bolted like lightening to the faucet to douse her skin.
The pain throbbed and clawed its way from the thigh to the tip of her knee. "Lord, why me, simply because I’m the first born?" Grand mamma passed this cursed legacy to Mamma; the eldest takes over when the mother works outside the home.
She shut her eyes a moment, opened them and stared at a big white blister with a red ring underneath.
Why here? In this kitchen? In this life? Among all this heat, with a fan circulating hot air, a person could get sick. The question kept repeating in her brain. Everything in the kitchen made her sick; the rumples of linoleum, faded kitchen curtains, peeling salad spoons from the wall design, and the double cracked porcelain sink, all caused her an indefinable sense of an ill-being.
Because of the heat and little light from the kitchen window, all of the plants in the kitchen died. She bit her lip to stop tears forming in her eyes. She despised their impoverished condition: the scramble of mice in the walls, the dismal blue faded wall paint, dreary worn carpeting in each of their rooms, the rickety plastic coated beds, kitchen and four bedrooms, the basement with its huge gas water heater, which didn’t work properly, and its cold damp concrete floor, made doing laundry there, a distasteful chore. In size and structure, the house was built on legs of brick and cement. Any storm could shake its foundation.
Some day her dreams of going to New York would become a reality, and she’d leave this house and its oppressive boundaries.
"Bill, Tanya, come to dinner," she called, and sat rubbing her leg with olive oil. "Open the oven and fix your food. Start doing for yourselves." Why should she care for a lazy sister and brother, a meanspirited, invalid stepfather, and work a nine to three-job ever day? Tanya and Bill get to rest, and what about her? She loves her family, but should she sacrifice her life? Shouldn’t her hopes and dreams become a reality?
CHAPTER 1
The front door opened and closed as Jennifer limped to the foyer. "Mamma? Hard day?"
"Can’t get any worse than this sopping day," Mamma answered.
"After the dry spell, I suppose the flowers needed a drink," Jennifer said. "The ailing mulberry bushes appear stunted and yellow."
"Living proof my good-for-nothing son ain’t watered no flowers or cut the grass."
"Don’t worry yourself, Mamma. Go to the kitchen and rest." She took Mamma’s wet faded raincoat, and water soaked oxfords and socks. "Sit by the oven and dry yourself."
Mamma, lifted her nose in the air and sniffed the aroma. "The chicken smells delicious."
Jennifer limped to the kitchen, prepared a plate of stewed chicken, gravy and rice, collard
greens with fat back, and corn bread. She placed the plate in front of Mamma.
Mamma’s eyes widened, when she noticed Jennifer’s limp. "Lord, today! What happened?"
"I burned myself cooking dinner."
Mamma leaned and lifted her leg. "Does it hurt?"
"Imagine rubbing salt in a wound," she said, and gave a little whimper to accentuate her words.
"Stay off your leg tonight. I’ll take Jack’s supper to him."
"Thanks, Mamma." Another big headache taken from this day. Taking care of Mr. Jack is revolting. Curse the day he fell and injured his spine while welding a ship in the Baltimore Harbor. Mamma will support Mr. Jack for the rest of his life, and so will she if she doesn’t do something to change the situation.
She listened to the fuss Bill and Tanya made in the living room and it unnerved her. "If you don’t get your butts in here-- you better. Can you all do nothing besides eating, sleeping and causing confusion? Store the left overs in the refrigerator."
"Dag, Jennifer, I got homework."
"Help your sister, boy." Mamma, pointed her finger at him and sucked her teeth in
exasperation. "Make yourself useful."
"Yes, Mamma." Bill tightened his lips and frowned at Jennifer.
Mamma gave Tanya a stern look. "Wash the dishes tonight. "
Tanya scowled and gave Jennifer a keep-your-mouth-shut glare.
Jennifer gave Tanya a half smile and announced, "I’m going to bed early tonight." She marched to her room, hurled herself in bed and sank in the cold, lumpy mattress.
Hours later, shouting awoke her and she sat straight up in bed. " What a dream!" she said aloud. A loud bang brought her back to reality. "Jesus, Mr. Jack, loves to haul me out of my sleep. Can’t Mamma tend to her husband’s needs?"
Her one hundred and ten pounds made two of the worn steps creak as she shuffled to the
first door at the top of the stairs. "What a nightmare." She climbed the stairs to the second floor in a slow manner, and hesitated a moment.No need to rush in so fast. When she opens his door, he’s liable to throw a shoe or anything because of his long wait.
Why sleep on the first level? Can’t get far enough away from him? He won’t be satisfied till he wears her to a frazzle. She listened outside his room then tapped the door. Don’t hear nothing. "Want something, Mr. Jack?"
"Open the door, gal. Hurry! I’m thirsty."
His skinny form arose in bed, and Jennifer squinted going toward him. "Don’t see nothing in this room," she declared. That night light makes him appear more emaciated than usual. Must ‘a lost more muscle tone, living in that bed for three years?
"Hot night. No breezes blowing through the window," he complained. "This house . . . so hot . . . the walls sweat"
"The weather man predicted ninety-five degrees." She raised the vinyl shade higher. "Not a breath of wind is stirring." She tied the dingy, white cotton draperies in a knot, then viewed the wall thermometer. "Eighty-five degrees."
"Hot . . . always in the summer and cold in the winter." He pushed himself up in bed, and
fanned his face with a handkerchief. "Damn brick construction."
She gazed at Mr. Jack’s skinny bare chest, then at her mamma, snoring in spite of his noise.
"Don’t eyeball me, gal," he said, staring back at her. "Git me the water."
She rushed at the sound of his angry voice and entered the bathroom to run the cold water
faucet. When she approached his bed, her intentions of filling his cup and heading back to her room terminated.
"Lazy, you giving me tap water?" His baritone voice echoed through the room, "git the pitcher from the frigid air."
"Yes sir, Mr. Jack." She headed downstairs. Get this, do that . . .think I’m his personal maid? Got news for him. He’d better enjoy it now ‘cause it won’t last.
The old refrigerator hummed and she kicked its side. Rusty old junk don’t keep nothing cold. Hardly makes ice cubes. She opened the refrigerator and touched the pitcher. Better cool the water with these few pieces of ice. Lord knows she couldn’t stand hearing his mouth again.
The ice in the pitcher melted as she hobbled upstairs and handed a glass to him.
He snatched the glass, and spilled half the water on the bed. "You gonna’ stand there? Git a towel and fetch a pillow."
She shoved the pillow under his back and darted from the room. "Humph," once in a while, he could say thanks. Jennifer threw her body in bed and tried to get comfortable before she drifted into wisps of
sleep, until her alarm sounded. "My God, six o’clock already?" She stifled her alarm, slid out of bed, and into the shower. The warm water washed away her tiredness and the ache between her shoulders. Seven-thirty, she set four plates and the food on the table.
"Morning, Baby," Mamma said and planted a kiss on Jennifer’s cheek. "Hmm. Smelled flap jacks all the way upstairs. Made ‘em like I taught you."
"Mornings, Mamma, early bird."
"Child, this here’s Mr. Charley’s golf day. He expects a big breakfast before he hits the balls. Where you workin’ today, baby?"
"Cosmetics."
"You might see me. Ms. Hagen loves Sears’ cosmetics."
"You driving her, Mamma?"
"Who else? She ain’t never gonna put her foot on no peddle again. Mr. Charlie don’t stand
for her drivin’ after she drove on the front yard fence."
"What time? I want to know so I can display the special for her."
"After the cookin’, cleanin’ and washin. She hurried to finish eating. "Ain’t got
time for eatin’ more ‘n one flap jack. Gotta’ catch the forty-five bus." She set her plate in the sink and got ready to leave. "Better get them young-uns’ outta’ bed. Don’t need teachers’ callin’ on the
job."
"Yes, Ma’am," she said, going to the stairs and calling to her sister and brother, then, returning to the kitchen to finish eating. "A phone call irritates Ms. Hagen?"
"Les’ your folk’s dead or dyin’, can’t nobody talk on the phone but her, and ain’t no sittin’ in her house neither."
Tanya and Bill bounded into the kitchen, and landed in the chair at the head of the table.
Tanya hit him and he returned the blow to her arm.
"Lord ‘a mercy, boy. Wanna’ get slap clear into next week? Act a gentleman; take the next
seat."
"But, Mamma, I get Pappa’s chair." He flopped in the next chair, his bottom lip stuck out.
"I’m the man of the house now."
"None a’ these chairs belong to Mr. Jack," Tanya said. "Because he’s bedridden don’t make you the man."
" Is Pappa getting well?" He asked.
Jennifer clucked her tongue and declared, "Don’t see how, refusing to use his wheelchair, won’t get out of bed, won’t help himself or take therapy."
"Don’t say such," Mamma said. "He gonna’ lick that arthritic spine yet."
"Seven-thirty, Mamma." Jennifer shook her head sadly, and thought, Mr. Jack Blade would love to suffer arthritis. From his picture, at age forty, he appeared well built, muscular, with a tiny waist and a stomach one could set a football inside. Not handsome, like her daddy, but his big brown eyes, round clean shaven face, pug nose, and deep honey complexion made him passable. His dazzling smile made his eyes lighten. Now he’s a mean old goat, bitter and demanding.
"I can’t stay listening to y’all." Mamma dashed to get her raincoat and umbrella. "Remember, on time, for school."
"Yes, Mamma," they sang in unison, waiting for her to leave so they could take their time.
Jennifer prepared a plate of pancakes for Mr. Jack. The way he liked: plenty of syrup, strawberry jam, and two pats of butter. "You all better finish eating by the time, I get back." She carried the tray upstairs and placed it in Mr. Jack’s lap.
"Late breakfast again? What took you so long?"
"Got two hands and I used them this morning." Why should she take his nastiness? He never appreciates nothing no matter how hard she tries. "I’m doing my best working alone around
here."
He frowned and rolled his eyes in her direction."You an’ Martha aught to make them lazy kids help." He raised himself more in bed and gazed at her. "When I ran things, I made ‘em, walk the line."
Jennifer’s mood changed sharp and angry, and she threw words at him like stones. "If you
can do better, get out of bed and do something."
"Smart ass! Getting too big for your britches?"
"I’m eighteen, if you mean my age, and doing my best working inside and outside this house." She gazed at him with loathing, swelling like bile from one’s belly. "Your medical bills
take money, and I’m telling you my $216.00 a week disappears before I get the check."
A vain in his neck pulsed and swelled. His nostrils flared with fury and he slammed his fist into his opened palm. "You damn, high and mighty little--- "
He knew Mamma would hear about him cussing, because she sure would tell her. Taking care of him, when she could go to college, made her react angrily to the challenge in his voice, and she didn’t care about hurting him. "Your pension and compensation don’t support this family."
Startled hurt turned into red-hot anger. He clenched his teeth and his fury exploded. "You don’t know shit about nothing." He almost fell out of bed. "Told Martha about your smart mouth.
When your mamma asked about me marrying ‘er, you said no."
"She asked for my honest opinion and I answered her." She gasped, and her breath sizzled in her throat. "Get out of bed and use your hands."
He raised himself halfway out of bed. "What the hell can I do with hands?"
"You feed yourself don’t you? Use your wheelchair."
His sorrow and self-pity engulfed him, "I live to see the day things don’t go as you plan."
Jennifer shuttered at the thought and shriveled a little at his chilled, brittle expression. "If my plans fail, I’ll keep fighting till my last breath for plan B." She turned on her heels and stalked out of the room, not turning to see his miserable stare.
"Ms. knows it all," he yelled. "Like to see what you’d do in my place."
"Self-indulgent loser," she yelled back "I wouldn’t lay around in bed all day."
She entered the kitchen to find Tanya and Bill arguing over the last pancake. "Move! You heard what Mamma said. Another bunch of losers. Neither one of you like school." Tanya advances to the eleventh grade, Bill to the ninth, only if they finish summer school. "Both of you are going through the motions, not learning a thing."
Tanya peered at Jennifer out of the corner of her eyes, sopped the last piece of pancake in syrup, and stuffed it in her mouth with her fingers.
"You eat like a country heathen. Hurry!"
"We got time to catch the last school bus to Dunbar," Bill said, gulped his milk, then ran to get his books.
"Better get to school if you don’t want Mamma’s back hand." She pushed them outside, locked the front door, and scurried to New York Avenue to catch the downtown bus.
She caught the bus and reached for a bus transfer to Wisconsin Avenue, hoping to arrive at work before the anticipated rain. Massed black clouds gathered over a few white and brought gusting winds. She knew the weather man could be unpredictable at times and instead of rain, the sun
would creep out from behind the blackness to fill the skies with bright radiance that would last all day.
Then maybe, the weather man was correct. She didn’t hear the whistling of the Blue Jays or
the Cardinals this morning. That’s one way that she could tell when it was about to rain; the birds loved to perch on the floribunda tree, outside her window, where they often searched for seed. When it rained, they stayed away.
She hopped on the second bus before it sped away. This bus, crowded as usual, smells of stale perfume, after shave, and halitosis.She had an attack of nausea and worse standing next to someone needing dental hygiene treatment.
The smoke detector, above the door, blared and added irritation to her already frayed nerves.
