ElizaBlue
Well-Known Member
The next time I awake, it’s me who is alone. I turn my head and listen to the water hitting against the shower tiles. I picture him in the shower, baffled because he cannot find shampoo. I turn and look over at my clock on the bedside table. I cannot believe it’s after 8:00am. Where did the last 3 hours go, I wonder? I hear the water stop. After a moment, he comes back into the bedroom still wet. Why do men not dry off completely when getting out of the shower? His hair is still wet, as well as his back.
“What do you want me to fix for breakfast” he asks as he leans over onto the bed and kisses me. “Ummmm” I moan. “I’ll get breakfast, tell me what you want to eat” I say and close my eyes again and snuggle under the covers.
“(Contents of his response cannot be posted)” He smiles and says. “Yeah okay right." I say "That’s what’s wrong with you now. So really tell me what you want for breakfast.” I say. Honestly I just want to go back to sleep.
I sleepily watch him get dressed, just as if he was going to work back in SC. Company shirt, khaki shorts, belt and tan baseball cap. I reluctantly crawl from under the covers and make my way to the shower. As I pass him he reaches out for me and pulls me to him. My naked body against the texture of his clothing gives me an electric charge. I back away from him. We stare at each other without speaking.
I know this routine, if I don’t stay away from him, none of the work he wants to do will get done today. After showering, I dress and follow the smell of fresh coffee to the kitchen. He’s on the phone talking to a customer. I start breakfast. As he watches me I cook bacon, breakfast pork chops, grits, pancakes, eggs and toast.
He complains that I cook entirely too much food. At the same time sampling some of everything. I tell him for like the 99-50th time. When a woman cooks for a man it’s never too much. Eat it and ask for seconds. It’s as simple as that. I fix his plate and then fix mine.
“Where are the kids” he asks. “Who? Oh those people?” I say. “Well Baby Girl is at work, she had to be there by 8:00am and The Spawn is either still asleep at wherever with whomever or”….I sigh deeply “it’s upstairs still asleep. Either way his eyes are closed and he ain’t worried about eating.” I finish and take a bite of my bacon.
Just then, I hear rumbling and something scrape against the floor upstairs. I hear the thud of still sleepy footsteps stumble to the upstairs landing. “Ma?” it’s The Spawn. Unbelievable. It's not even 9am and he's awake? “Ma?” he calls again. I really hate when he or Baby Girl call me from upstairs when they know they should exert the energy and come downstairs to speak to me face to face. So as a result I don’t answer him.
I hear him on the stairs. “Ma? You cooked breakfast?” he asks. Finally in lieu of SC looking at me like I’m a bad mother, I respond “Yes Sleeping Beauty I cooked breakfast. It wasn’t 3 in the afternoon so I didn’t think you’d be awake yet” I say.
“Well can you just fix me a plate and like bring it to me” he says. I just look at SC, shake my head and don’t respond. “Is he serious?” SC asks. “Of course he is” I say. “If I don’t’ bring it to him which I won’t, he’ll wonder if you would be kind enough to save him the steps.” I say. SC now shakes his head and begins to stir his grits.
“What else do you have to do today?” I ask. “Finish running the wire, drop the phone lines and program the DVR boxes” he says. “Do you think you’ll get it all done today?” I ask. “Yeah, if it doesn’t start raining” he responds.
The Spawn realizing I wasn’t falling for his long lashed, dimpled cheeks, cleft chin pretty boy looks, eventually wanders downstairs to get breakfast. He kisses me good morning and nods at SC and offers a thugged-out good morning of “Wassup?” SC caught in the middle of taking a swallow of orange juice almost spits it out. He returns a mumbled “Hey man, what’s going on?” No doubt hoping for a real answer to his question. He goes back to eating while curiously watching the Spawn as he moves around the kitchen.
The Spawn, dressed in only boxers and pajama bottoms, his tattooed arms and torso look like the comic strip section of the Sunday paper. Baby Girl often teases him that he has every font in Microsoft Office Suite on his body. He fixes a plate loaded down with pancakes, bacon and two pork chops, pours himself an extra large glass of orange juice and takes it back upstairs to his cave.
SC and I finish our breakfast. He takes his empty plate to the kitchen and rinses it in the sink. He carefully places it in the dish rack. He drains the remainder of his orange juice, then rinses the glass and places it next to the plate. I decide to tackle the breakfast dishes.
He turns to me and says “So, did he get permission from you to get all those dag gone tattoos?” I want to say something smart like “of course he did and I’m the one who took him to get them,” but decide not to. “No” I say. “They just sort of accumulated whenever I had to travel to DC, when I got back he’d have a new one” finished with all the explanation I intend to give I turn to begin loading the dishwasher.
I mean I’m not happy he has marked his body up in such a fashion, but it just sometimes irks me when people think parents can force kids to always do what they tell them to. I mean really how would you even go about “giving permission” for someone to get that many tattoos. He is 18 and as far as the tattoo shops are concerned, Momma and her “permission slips needed” stop at the door.
He wraps his arms around me from behind and tells me to stop looking so mean. I guess he could read my face. And I guess my face was not playing poker. I lean back into to him and try to let go. I exhale deeply and realize he didn’t mean anything by his question. He tells me to relax. He squeezes me again and walks out of the kitchen through the dining room.
As I watch him, I pause and realize I am still angry. Not at SC but at The Spawn for getting all the tattoos. For joining a gang. For hanging with the wrong crowd. For graduating early, and being 18th in his class without even trying. For being so intelligent, but yet so dumb. For getting arrested, not once, not twice.... For having other officer's call my home at 4am to say to me "Is The Spawn your kid. For real?" For being a police officer’s kid, raised by two cops and still deciding to wind up in criminal court. Forcing me to for the first time in my career be in the bull-pen with the defense attorney…not the prosecutor.
My anger is misplaced, and I know this. And so does SC. He calls out to me “Relax baby, go read one of your books.” I smile as I hear him take the stairs two at a time. Like a little kid, happy, excited leaping tall buildings two steps at a time. I reflect back on how many times I’ve had to yell at The Spawn for doing the same thing. And... like the black mother-grandmother who somehow lives inside us all regardless of our true age…I admonished him time and time again….
Stop running on the stairs. I am not taking you to the hospital when you break your damn neck. The Spawn being special as only he could be would reach the top of the stairs or maybe the bottom, loudly fall to the floor or throw himself against the wall and wail “Oh now look Ma, I done broke my dang neck. What? You ain’t taking me to the hospital? But Ma...I can’t go to school with a broke neck. Do you know how damaging a broke neck can be for a kid’s self esteem?” I refused to look at him and try not to laugh.
The Spawn sensing I find him somewhat funny, his intuition like a shark smelling blood, would be determined to make me laugh out right. He would limp toward me, his neck being held at an almost impossible angle.
He drools as he continues to limp over to me “Come on, Ma. Let’s go to the hospital and get me another neck…I promise I won’t break it again.” And with that my composure begins to crumble. My smile betrays me and turns into a small laugh. “Please Ma” He blinks rapidly and makes mock failed attempts at holding his head upright. Finally I laugh and push him away, “Boy move outta my face somewhere”.
I hear the patio door open. Startled I watch SC stride into the kitchen from the total opposite direction. Dumbfounded I stare towards the stairs which is where I last saw him. He pecks me on the forehead. “Dang it’s hot up in that attic” he puffs.
“I thought you were still in the attic?” I say. “Don’t tell me there’s two of you?” I say. “Yeah, I bet you’d like that wouldn’t you?” he grins. I playfully raise an eyebrow and smile a mischievous smirk. “What woman?” he looks at me from the doorway. “Nah” I say, “A girl couldn’t handle two of those” I look at him with his fione bow-legs and smile shaking my head. “Whatever” he tells me.
For the next couple of hours he is in and out of a door here, a window there. I hear him walking on the roof, I hear him in the garage. I watch him pace back and forth trying to work out this installation in his head. His phone rings constantly. He answers informing customers, friends and family that he is in Houston, TX.
“Yeah, that’s right I’m with TX, visiting her” and then “Oh I’m wiring” or “…rewiring her house”. I guess it depends on who the caller is. He assures clients he will be back by Monday, so have no fear. Whatever is broken, not working, or in need of installation will be taken care of in short order, as soon as he returns.
I know precisely who the client is when I hear him say, “No Mam, not yet. Yes ma'm, no ma'm. I’m running cable to the upstairs. Yes ma'm. Yes ma’m. I will.” He looks over at me and smiles. Before he can say anything, I say to him “Tell your momma I said Hi” He grins at me and then into the phone he says, “TX said hi momma”. He hangs up and tells me we need to go to Lowes or Home Depot. “Home Depot” I say, “we can go to the one Baby Girl works at”.
“What do you want me to fix for breakfast” he asks as he leans over onto the bed and kisses me. “Ummmm” I moan. “I’ll get breakfast, tell me what you want to eat” I say and close my eyes again and snuggle under the covers.
“(Contents of his response cannot be posted)” He smiles and says. “Yeah okay right." I say "That’s what’s wrong with you now. So really tell me what you want for breakfast.” I say. Honestly I just want to go back to sleep.
I sleepily watch him get dressed, just as if he was going to work back in SC. Company shirt, khaki shorts, belt and tan baseball cap. I reluctantly crawl from under the covers and make my way to the shower. As I pass him he reaches out for me and pulls me to him. My naked body against the texture of his clothing gives me an electric charge. I back away from him. We stare at each other without speaking.
I know this routine, if I don’t stay away from him, none of the work he wants to do will get done today. After showering, I dress and follow the smell of fresh coffee to the kitchen. He’s on the phone talking to a customer. I start breakfast. As he watches me I cook bacon, breakfast pork chops, grits, pancakes, eggs and toast.
He complains that I cook entirely too much food. At the same time sampling some of everything. I tell him for like the 99-50th time. When a woman cooks for a man it’s never too much. Eat it and ask for seconds. It’s as simple as that. I fix his plate and then fix mine.
“Where are the kids” he asks. “Who? Oh those people?” I say. “Well Baby Girl is at work, she had to be there by 8:00am and The Spawn is either still asleep at wherever with whomever or”….I sigh deeply “it’s upstairs still asleep. Either way his eyes are closed and he ain’t worried about eating.” I finish and take a bite of my bacon.
Just then, I hear rumbling and something scrape against the floor upstairs. I hear the thud of still sleepy footsteps stumble to the upstairs landing. “Ma?” it’s The Spawn. Unbelievable. It's not even 9am and he's awake? “Ma?” he calls again. I really hate when he or Baby Girl call me from upstairs when they know they should exert the energy and come downstairs to speak to me face to face. So as a result I don’t answer him.
I hear him on the stairs. “Ma? You cooked breakfast?” he asks. Finally in lieu of SC looking at me like I’m a bad mother, I respond “Yes Sleeping Beauty I cooked breakfast. It wasn’t 3 in the afternoon so I didn’t think you’d be awake yet” I say.
“Well can you just fix me a plate and like bring it to me” he says. I just look at SC, shake my head and don’t respond. “Is he serious?” SC asks. “Of course he is” I say. “If I don’t’ bring it to him which I won’t, he’ll wonder if you would be kind enough to save him the steps.” I say. SC now shakes his head and begins to stir his grits.
“What else do you have to do today?” I ask. “Finish running the wire, drop the phone lines and program the DVR boxes” he says. “Do you think you’ll get it all done today?” I ask. “Yeah, if it doesn’t start raining” he responds.
The Spawn realizing I wasn’t falling for his long lashed, dimpled cheeks, cleft chin pretty boy looks, eventually wanders downstairs to get breakfast. He kisses me good morning and nods at SC and offers a thugged-out good morning of “Wassup?” SC caught in the middle of taking a swallow of orange juice almost spits it out. He returns a mumbled “Hey man, what’s going on?” No doubt hoping for a real answer to his question. He goes back to eating while curiously watching the Spawn as he moves around the kitchen.
The Spawn, dressed in only boxers and pajama bottoms, his tattooed arms and torso look like the comic strip section of the Sunday paper. Baby Girl often teases him that he has every font in Microsoft Office Suite on his body. He fixes a plate loaded down with pancakes, bacon and two pork chops, pours himself an extra large glass of orange juice and takes it back upstairs to his cave.
SC and I finish our breakfast. He takes his empty plate to the kitchen and rinses it in the sink. He carefully places it in the dish rack. He drains the remainder of his orange juice, then rinses the glass and places it next to the plate. I decide to tackle the breakfast dishes.
He turns to me and says “So, did he get permission from you to get all those dag gone tattoos?” I want to say something smart like “of course he did and I’m the one who took him to get them,” but decide not to. “No” I say. “They just sort of accumulated whenever I had to travel to DC, when I got back he’d have a new one” finished with all the explanation I intend to give I turn to begin loading the dishwasher.
I mean I’m not happy he has marked his body up in such a fashion, but it just sometimes irks me when people think parents can force kids to always do what they tell them to. I mean really how would you even go about “giving permission” for someone to get that many tattoos. He is 18 and as far as the tattoo shops are concerned, Momma and her “permission slips needed” stop at the door.
He wraps his arms around me from behind and tells me to stop looking so mean. I guess he could read my face. And I guess my face was not playing poker. I lean back into to him and try to let go. I exhale deeply and realize he didn’t mean anything by his question. He tells me to relax. He squeezes me again and walks out of the kitchen through the dining room.
As I watch him, I pause and realize I am still angry. Not at SC but at The Spawn for getting all the tattoos. For joining a gang. For hanging with the wrong crowd. For graduating early, and being 18th in his class without even trying. For being so intelligent, but yet so dumb. For getting arrested, not once, not twice.... For having other officer's call my home at 4am to say to me "Is The Spawn your kid. For real?" For being a police officer’s kid, raised by two cops and still deciding to wind up in criminal court. Forcing me to for the first time in my career be in the bull-pen with the defense attorney…not the prosecutor.
My anger is misplaced, and I know this. And so does SC. He calls out to me “Relax baby, go read one of your books.” I smile as I hear him take the stairs two at a time. Like a little kid, happy, excited leaping tall buildings two steps at a time. I reflect back on how many times I’ve had to yell at The Spawn for doing the same thing. And... like the black mother-grandmother who somehow lives inside us all regardless of our true age…I admonished him time and time again….
Stop running on the stairs. I am not taking you to the hospital when you break your damn neck. The Spawn being special as only he could be would reach the top of the stairs or maybe the bottom, loudly fall to the floor or throw himself against the wall and wail “Oh now look Ma, I done broke my dang neck. What? You ain’t taking me to the hospital? But Ma...I can’t go to school with a broke neck. Do you know how damaging a broke neck can be for a kid’s self esteem?” I refused to look at him and try not to laugh.
The Spawn sensing I find him somewhat funny, his intuition like a shark smelling blood, would be determined to make me laugh out right. He would limp toward me, his neck being held at an almost impossible angle.
He drools as he continues to limp over to me “Come on, Ma. Let’s go to the hospital and get me another neck…I promise I won’t break it again.” And with that my composure begins to crumble. My smile betrays me and turns into a small laugh. “Please Ma” He blinks rapidly and makes mock failed attempts at holding his head upright. Finally I laugh and push him away, “Boy move outta my face somewhere”.
I hear the patio door open. Startled I watch SC stride into the kitchen from the total opposite direction. Dumbfounded I stare towards the stairs which is where I last saw him. He pecks me on the forehead. “Dang it’s hot up in that attic” he puffs.
“I thought you were still in the attic?” I say. “Don’t tell me there’s two of you?” I say. “Yeah, I bet you’d like that wouldn’t you?” he grins. I playfully raise an eyebrow and smile a mischievous smirk. “What woman?” he looks at me from the doorway. “Nah” I say, “A girl couldn’t handle two of those” I look at him with his fione bow-legs and smile shaking my head. “Whatever” he tells me.
For the next couple of hours he is in and out of a door here, a window there. I hear him walking on the roof, I hear him in the garage. I watch him pace back and forth trying to work out this installation in his head. His phone rings constantly. He answers informing customers, friends and family that he is in Houston, TX.
“Yeah, that’s right I’m with TX, visiting her” and then “Oh I’m wiring” or “…rewiring her house”. I guess it depends on who the caller is. He assures clients he will be back by Monday, so have no fear. Whatever is broken, not working, or in need of installation will be taken care of in short order, as soon as he returns.
I know precisely who the client is when I hear him say, “No Mam, not yet. Yes ma'm, no ma'm. I’m running cable to the upstairs. Yes ma'm. Yes ma’m. I will.” He looks over at me and smiles. Before he can say anything, I say to him “Tell your momma I said Hi” He grins at me and then into the phone he says, “TX said hi momma”. He hangs up and tells me we need to go to Lowes or Home Depot. “Home Depot” I say, “we can go to the one Baby Girl works at”.
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Get it, gurl!
