Eleven
MAMA PARKED IN front of the house and turned to me questioningly.
Mainly because I was brooding, leaning against the car window, not saying a word.
“Apart from the fact that you’re not talking to me, are you okay?”
I shrugged with a sigh.
“Is it that bad?”
“Yes.”
“I went out with the man, Josie. I am not going to marry him.”
It was a week since our fight.
“Oh, Ma, it’s not that,” I said, facing her. “How do you put up with me when I treat you so bad?”
“Oh my God, is this my daughter talking?” she laughed.
“No, I mean it. God, you spend all your life bringing me up, wasting your youth on a selfish person, yet you never complain.”
“Josie, are you possessed? I’ve never heard you being this humble.”
“I wasn’t worth it, Mama. You should have gone through with the abortion.”
“Oh, stop it, for God’s sake! I had you, Josephine, because I wanted to. I have never ever regretted having you, except when you threw that meat loaf away knowing there are children starving in the world.”
“I put too much oregano in it anyway,” I sighed, looking out the window.
“I’m tired of fighting you. I need a rest.”
“Your grandmother said that to me too. Maybe we should all give each other a rest.”
I took her hand and squeezed it.
“I’m changing, Mama. I’m growing up. I’m finally seeing the light.”
“I’m glad of that, but to tell you quite honestly, you’re not that bad a person. Personally I think you’re basically a . . . nice person.”
“Don’t choke on the words,” I said, rolling my eyes as she leaned over to kiss me.
“I miss not touching you when we’re angry with each other.”
“Can I ask you a favor?” I said, facing her.
“Ask away.”
“I’ve been asked out to the movies on Saturday night by a boy and I really would like to go.”
“Is that what all this buttering up has been about?”
I shook my head, determined that she believe me.
“No way, Mama. If you say no, I’ll accept it. I told you. I’m tired of fighting you. You’re too tough for me.”
She leaned back in the seat and sighed.
“John Barton?”
“No. Jacob Coote.”
She frowned, pensively.
“Jacob Coote? Isn’t he the boy who threw eggs at you once?”
“I know it sounds suspicious, but he really is nice. He’s very deep when he wants to be.”
“Jose, you know how I feel about letting you go out with boys I don’t know. At least I’m familiar with John Barton from debating.”
“Mama, have I ever been interested in anyone foolish?”
“You hang around with Sera. That’s enough evidence to consider you foolish,” she said in a dry tone. “I’ll think about it, okay.”
“I appreciate that.”
We got out of the car, grabbing all the groceries. Mrs. Sahd, the old lady next door, was on her knees in her garden, still in her dressing gown although it was four in the afternoon. Her dressing gown is like a security blanket to her. I’m sure they’ll bury her in it.
“Where’s my little Josie? I never see her anymore,” she said, standing up and walking to the fence.
“It’s a very busy year for her, Mrs. Sahd. It’s very hard to get into university these days if you don’t study,” Mama said, kissing her on both cheeks.
“Look at her. I remember when she was this high,” she said, holding her hand as high as her thigh.
Very unlikely that she remembers me that size because she’s five feet tall herself.
“Send her over some time, Christina. I’m an old woman. I like the company.”
“Of course, Mrs. Sahd. Josie loves the company as well.”
I pinched Mama on her side and she moved away.
“I need to talk to you about those boys, Christina. They are very noisy.
The music is much too loud.”
“I’ll talk to them, Mrs. Sahd. I promise.”
“Rupert is very upset by them too. He came home the other night with nerves, Christina. I had to put a sedative in his cat food. It was because of the noise, Christina.”
“Leave things to me, Mrs. Sahd,” Mama said, taking her hand and squeezing it before walking toward our terrace.
“God knows what else she feeds that cat. He looks like he’s on steroids,”
I whispered as she continued to wave to us.
Mama checked for the mail and walked up the stairs.
“Did Elvis Presley try to get you into bed?” I asked her.
“It’s Paul Presilio.” She smiled, unlocking the ground-floor door. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but yes, he did.”
I looked at her, horrified, and stopped in my tracks.
“Did you tell him that there is an AIDS epidemic going around? God, what a creep to even try.”
“Jacob Coote will probably try it on you, young lady, so you’d better have the same opinion.”
“I’ll tell him that if it’s not on, it’s not on.”
“You will tell him to keep away from you or your mother will shoot him.”
“Women are being told to carry condoms in their handbags. Someone told me that wearing one is a bit like taking a shower with your clothes on.”
“Who told you?”
“Just someone,” I said airily, rushing up the stairs.
“I don’t know if I like you discussing condoms with strange men, Josephine,” she yelled after me.
“Mama, this is the nineties. In the twenty-first century they’ll be blowing condoms up on Romper Room and playing ‘punch, punch, punch the ball’ with them. Face it, the age of innocence is gone. We abused the act of sex and now God’s sitting back and having the laugh of his life.”
“I don’t think He works that way, Jose.”
“Well, however He works isn’t the issue. The issue is that because of AIDS, sex will now become the most-talked-about topic in this world, so if you want to start dating, young lady, get used to it,” I teased.
“Yes, Mum,” she mocked.
“And, Mama?”
“Yep.”
“You mightn’t regret things you’ve done in your life, but I sure do regret things I say,” I said as apologetically as I could.
She smiled gently from the bottom of the stairs.
“We just have to learn to meet each other halfway, okay?”
I nodded and descended the stairs. And met her halfway.
