Lily, that was my mother, she was the most frivolous woman I ever knew. I never called her Mama or Mommy or even Mom. Just Lily. That's cause my Auntie Babe was the one that raised me.
       I remember one time I had to stay with Lily when I was 'bout seven or eight. Auntie Babe was a goin' be helping a neighbor friend birth a baby. She said once the labor started, she didn't know how long it'd be. That it'd better if'n I was out the way. So Auntie Babe and me, we walked the five miles to the edge of town where Lily's little bungalow sat.
       Lily was a gettin' ready to see the Colonel. She sat on an itty-bitty little round chair with the softest pink fabric I ever felt. All she had on was this lacy slip thing. In front of the chair was a table with drawers on each side and a big round mirror hung on the wall. I watched Lily line her eyes with a tiny little paint brush. Powder her face till she looked like the dead raised back to life. Sweep pink powder over her cheeks. Course at the time I didn't know what any of that stuff was. Then she painted her lips.
       I leaned in close to watch her.
       "Pearl! Get back. You're blockin' my light and I can't see what all I'm doing here."
       I jumped back at the sound of her voice and when I did, well, I clean knocked over a little blue bottle with a funny bulb sitting sideways on top. The bottle broke and the air filled with a sweet, sweet smell. So sweet it 'bout made me puke.
       "Damn it! Look what you did. What the hell is wrong with you? Can't you leave well 'nough lone for even a minute?"
       She opened all the drapes and the windows in her bedroom. Didn't even put nothing on over her slip. Just threw up those sashes and let the world see what it could.
       I was a pickin' up the broken bits of blue from the floor fast as I could. Too fast, I guess, cause I cut myself. Blood started dripping down on the floor. A musky smell mixing in a bit with that sickenin' sweet smell.
       "Now what you done, Pearl? You drop those pieces of glass right now and march on into the bathroom. I'll be there in a minute. And don't you touch nothing."
       I hung my head and wrapped my good hand round the hand with the cut.
       "I"m just a tryin' to help," I mumbled.
       "Don't bother me none with your helpin'! Get on into the bathroom like I told you or you'll be sorry. Damn sorry!"
       As I trudged off to the bathroom, I could hear Lily cussin' and a swearin'. Her voice was risin' and the words was coming faster and faster.
       In the bathroom, I held my hand over the sink and turned on the cold water. Held my cut hand under the water and watched it run red down the drain. I must'a cut it pretty good cause it was still a runnin' pink when Lily finally came in. She'd put on a silk robe over her slip. She had nylon stockin's on by now and a pair of high-heeled shoes. I'd never seen stockin's up close and without thinkin' reached out to touch them. A tiny bit of blood marked the spot.
       Lily didn't say a word. She just grabbed me by the wrist and yanked. I tripped along behind her as fast as I could but it weren't fast enough. I stumbled down the stairs. Lily let go my hand so she wouldn't fall too. I landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs just as the door bell rang. The Colonel was here.
       "Just a minute, honey." Lily's voice rang out in a song just as though she was the bluebird of happiness herself.
       Lily pulled me up by one arm and dragged me over to a door under the stairs. She opened the door and pushed me in.
       "I better not hear one single word out of you, missy!"
       I stayed all that night in the dark space under the stairs. I could hear the Colonel's deep voice. Lily's giggle. I could hear 'em dance and later I could hear 'em a walkin' up the stairs right over my head. I prayed for hours that the neighbor's babe would come quick. I didn't make no noise, ceptin' I cried myself to sleep.
       Turned out the neighbor was a havin' false labor that day. Her little babe didn't come into the world for over a week. I counted every minute of every day til I could go home to Auntie Babe.  

__________________________________________________________

about the author:
Diane lives with her husband and young daughter at the edge of the high desert. Now free of the constraints of a long paralegal career, she learns new lessons daily in how to be a mother and revels in playing with words to make stories.
E-mail: dmhampshire (at) yahoo (dot) com  

__________________________________________________________

home