Times I Did Not Stand Up for My Mother
I don't tell her about seeing my father. He shows up for my next game, too, and he nods again when I come to the plate. This time I nod back, barely, but I do. And I go three-for-three in that game, with another home run and two doubles.
We go on like this for several weeks- He sits. He watches. And I hit the ball like it is two feet wide. Finally, after a road game in which I hit two more home runs, he is waiting by the team bus. He wears a blue windbreaker over a white turtleneck. I notice the gray in his sideburns. He lifts his chin when he sees me, as if fighting the fact that I am now taller than him. These are the first words he says:
"Ask your coach if I can drive you back to campus. "
I could do anything at this moment. I could spit. I could tell him to go to hell. I could ignore him, the way he ignored us.
I could say something about my mother.
Instead, I do what he asks me to do. I seek permission to skip the bus ride home. He is respecting the authority of my coach, I am respecting the authority of my father, and this is how the world makes sense, all of us behaving like men.
"I DON'T KNOW, Posey," Miss Thelma said, "it's gonna take a miracle. "
She was looking into a handheld mirror. My mother unloaded small jars and jeweled cases.
"Well, this is my miracle bag," she said. "Yeah? Y'all got a cure for cancer in there? "
My mother held up a bottle. "I've got moisturizer. " Miss Thelma laughed.
"You think it's silly, Posey? " "What's that, honey? "
"Wanting to look good—at this point? "
"There's nothing wrong with it, if that's what you mean. "
"Well, you see, my boys and girls are out there, that's all. And their little ones. And I wish I could look healthy for them, you know? I don't like to make 'em fret, seeing me look like some old dishrag. "
My mother rubbed moisturizer on Miss Thelma's face, making wide circular motions with her palms.
"You could never look like a dishrag”, she said. "Oh, talk to me, Posey. "
They laughed again.
"I miss them Saturdays, sometimes," Miss Thelma said. "We had some fun, didn't we? "
"We did at that," my mother said.
"We did at that," Miss Thelma agreed.
She closed her eyes as my mother's hands did their work.
"Chickadoo, your mama is the best partner I ever had. " I wasn't sure what she meant.
"You worked at the beauty parlor? " I said. My mother grinned.
"Naw, " Miss Thelma said. "I couldn't make nobody look better if I tried. "
My mother capped the moisturizer bottle and picked up a new jar. She undid the top, and dabbed a small sponge into its contents.
"What? " I said. "I don't get it. "
She held up the sponge like an artist about to put brush to canvas. "We cleaned houses together, Charley," she said.
Upon seeing the look on my face, she waved her fingers dismissively. "How do you think I put you kids through college?"
BY MY SOPHOMORE YEAR, I’d packed on twelve pounds of muscle, and my hitting reflected it. My batting average among college players was in the top fifty in the nation. At my father's urging, I played in several tournaments which were showcases for professional scouts, older men who sat in the stands with notebooks and cigars. One day, one of hem approached us after a game.
"This your boy? " he asked my father.
My father nodded suspiciously. The man had thinning hair and a bulbous nose, and his undershirt was visible through his lightweight sweater.
"I'm with the St. Louis Cardinals organization. " "That right? " my father said.
I wanted to leap through my skin.
"We may have a spot at catcher, 'A' ball. " "That right? " my father said.
"We'll keep an eye on your boy, if he's interested. "
The man sniffed deeply, a wet, noisy sound. He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose.
"The thing is," my father said, "Pittsburgh has the inside track. They've been scouting him for a while.”
The man studied my father's jaw, which worked over the gum he' was chewing. "That right? " the man said.
OF COURSE, ALL this was news to me, and when the man departed, I hounded my father with questions. When did this happen? Was that guy for real? Was Pittsburgh really scouting me?
"What if they are? " he said. "It don't change what you gotta do, Chick. You stay in those cages, work with your coaches, and be ready when the time comes. Let me take care of the rest. "
I nodded obediently. My mind was racing. "What about school? "
He scratched his chin. "What about it? "
I flashed on my mother's face, walking me through the library. I tried not to think about it.
"The St. Louis Caaardinals, " my father drawled, long and slow. He ground his shoe into the grass. Then he actually grinned. I felt so proud I got goose bumps. He asked if I wanted a beer and I said yeah, and we went and had one together, as men do.
"DAD CAME TO a game. "
I was on the pay phone in the dorm. Thi was well after my father's first visit, but it had taken me that long to find the courage to tell her.
"Oh, " my mother Anally said.
"By himself," I quickly added. For some reason, that seemed important. "Did you tell your sister?"
“No. “
Another long silence.
"Don't let anything affect your studying, Charley. " "I won't. "
"That's the most important thing. " "I know. "
"An education is everything, Charley. An education is how you'll make something of yourself. "
I kept waiting for more. I kept waiting for some horrible story about some horrible thing. I kept waiting the way all children of divorce wait, for evidence to tip my scales, a tilt in the floor that made me choose one side over the other. But my mother never spoke about the reason my father left. She never once took the bait Roberta and I dangled before her, looking for hate or bitterness. All she did was swallow. She swallowed the words, she swallowed the conversation. Whatever had happened between them, she swallowed that, too.
"Is it OK that me and Dad see each other? " "Dad and I," she corrected.
"Dad and I, " I said, exasperated. "Is it?” She exhaled.
"You're not a little boy anymore, Charley. " Why did I feel like one?
LOOKING BACK ON that now, there is so much I didn't know. I didn't know how she really took that news. I didn't know if it angered her or scared her. I certainly didn't know that while I was having beers with my father, the bills back home were being paid, in part, by my mother cleaning houses with a woman who once cleaned ours.
I watched the two of them now in the bedroom, Miss Thelma upright against the pillows, my mother working her makeup sponges and her eyeliner pencils.
"Why didn't you tell me? " I asked. "Tell you what? " my mother said.
"That you had to, you know, for money—? "
"Mop floors? Do laundry? " My mother chuckled. "I don't know. Maybe because of the way you're looking at me now. "
She sighed. "You were always proud, Charley. " "I was not! " I snapped.
She lifted her eyebrows then returned to Miss Thelma's face. Under her breath she mumbled, "If you say so. "
"Don't do that! " I said. "Do what? "
"If you say so. That. "
"I didn't say anything, Charley. " "Yes, you did! "
"Don't yell. "
"I wasn't proud! Just because I— "
My voice cracked. What was I doing? A half a day with my dead mother, and we were back to arguing?
"Ain't no shame in needing work, Chickadoo, " Miss Thelma said. "But the only work I knew was what I'd been doing. And your mom said, 'Well, what about that?' I said, 'Posey, you want to be somebody's cleaning woman?' And she said, 'Thelma, if you ain't above cleaning a house, why should / be?' Remember that, Posey? "
My mother inhaled. "I didn't say' ain't.' "
Miss Thelma howled with laughter. "Naw, naw, that's right, you didn't. I'm sure of that. You didn't say 'ain't.' "
They were both laughing now. My mother was trying to work under Miss Thelma's eyes.
"Hold still, " she said, but they kept on laughing.
"I THINK MOM should get married again," Roberta said. This was one time when I called home from college. "What are you talking about? "
"She's still pretty. But nobody stays pretty forever. She's not as thin as she used to be. "
"She doesn't want to get married. " "How do you know? "
"She doesn't need to get married, Roberta, OK? "
"If she doesn't get somebody soon, nobody is gonna want her. " "Stop it. "
"She wears a girdle now, Charley. I saw it. " "I don't care, Roberta! God! "
"You think you're so cool because you go to college. " "Cut it out. "
"Did you ever hear that song 'Yummy, Yummy, Yummy'? I think it's so stupid. How come they play it all the time?"
"Is she talking to you about getting married? " "Maybe."
"Roberta, I'm not kidding. What did she say?"
"Nothing, OK? But who knows where the hell Dad is. And Mom shouldn't have to be by herself all the time. "
"Stop cursing," I said.
"I can say whatever I want, Charley. You're not my boss. "
She was fifteen. I was twenty. She had no idea about my father. I had seen him and talked to him. She wanted my mother happy. I wanted her to stay the same.
It had been nine years since that Saturday morning when my mother crushed the corn puffs in the palm of her hand. Nine years since we'd all been a family.
In college, I had a course in Latin, and one day the word "divorce" came up. I always figured it came from some root that meant "divide. " In truth, it comes from "divertere," which means "to divert. "
I believe that. All divorce does is divert you, taking you away from everything you thought you knew and everything you thought you wanted and steering you into all kinds of other stuff, like discussions about your mother's girdle and whether she should marry someone else.