Momma’s Change

Momma sat at the kitchen table with one leg crossed over the other; her back bowed and her shoulders slouched toward the ground. Her cigarette smoke hung beneath the low ceiling, its movement reminiscent of a mobile over a baby's crib. She looked fatigued in those days, like she had steamed dumplings beneath her eyes. She seemed old to me but she was still a year away from 30. It was late in the morning and she was fresh off one of her shifts at the Good Samaritans Nursing Home. She hated her work there and made it clear with every syllable she uttered about the tasks she was required to do.

“If I have to clean up Merle Watt’s shit one more time I’m going to go fucking crazy. He took a shit in his bed last night that was the size of a baked potato. It’s disgusting. And he just drools all over himself. He can’t even talk,” she said.

She continued to give me the rundown of her night between long drags from a Benson and Hedges Menthol 100. I was stationed a foot and a half away from the television in the living room, transfixed by a program called WWF Superstars, a show that recapped all of the professional wrestling pay-per-view events that we weren’t able to afford.

This is what I’d do when I wasn’t forced to go to church with my great grandparents. They lacked personalities and smelled like stale bread. They also referred to each other as Mr. and Mrs. Ralston. I was convinced that they had been dead for the past 25 years but hadn’t noticed because no one ever called them out on it. I enjoyed my wrestling program much more than sermon with them. The only time I wanted to see John 3:16 was when it was printed on the t-shirt of Stone Cold Steve Austin as he guzzled cans of beer from the top ropes of the ring after victory. I was addicted to wrestling and nothing could break my gaze from the tv except for my mother’s voice, and it even had to work hard to do so.

“Eric! Turn that goddamn TV down and get your little ass in here!” 

I dragged my body over to where she stood and braced myself.

“Yeah, momma?”

“Your Uncle Kelly is on his way over. You and him are going to clean the apartment. It’s filthy and I have company coming over tonight,” 

“But my show is on,” 

“I didn’t ask you anything about your show. He’s on his way over you’re going to help him. You watch too much TV anyways,” she said.

I heaved a deep sigh that raised my shoulders to my ears and then I conceded. It was best not to irritate her after one of her night shifts, if I did then she’d be pissed at me all the way up until dinner time.

“Alright, momma,” 

“That’s what I thought. Now listen to me, when your uncle gets here I want you keep a close eye on him. You understand? You know how he is.” 

She had a serious look in her eyes and I knew better than to disagree.

“Alright, momma. I’ll watch him real good. I promise.”

A few minutes later there was a knock at the door. It was Kelly.

“It’s open!” momma said.

“Heeeeey! What’s good with you Sis? Hey nephew,” he said as he rubbed his hand back and forth over my little fro.

I felt pity for my uncle. He was known as the town drunk and he was clearly unwell because of his drinking. He was three years younger than momma but he looked twice as tired. His eyes were round and deep set, so brown that they looked black, the skin around them was a deep purplish blue, like bruises that refused to go away. The rest of his skin was pale, with mustardy undertones. I know now that this was because of jaundice. His teeth were a brighter shade of yellow. It surprised me that his breath didn’t smell of whiskey, instead, it was sharp like a dead rodent that was trapped in a hard to reach place. I did not enjoy his hugs, nor his kisses to my cheek, but I did love him.

“Sis, you know who you look like today? What’s that one chick’s name? The one from Blue Lagoon? Brooke Shields! You look just like Brooke Shields today,” he said.

I didn’t know who Brooke Shields was but I knew momma was pretty, everyone said so. This was my Uncle’s attempt to soften her up. He appealed to her vanity, it was a savvy strategy. She tried to play it off like she didn’t care but I knew better. I could see the corners of her mouth creep up, even if just a little. And he always compared her to a different celebrity, sometimes Terri Hatcher, sometimes Julia Roberts, today Brooke Shields. 

“Stop it, you ain’t slick,” she said as she smashed her cigarette out and exhaled smoke through her nose. 

“How much you want today?” she asked.

“Give me 10 today. I’ll have this place spotless,” he said.

“I ain’t giving your ass no $10. I’ll give you $4.50.”

“$4.50? For the whole apartment?” 

I had seen him clean our apartment for as little at $2 before, and he had done so with a smile on his face. He was raising his rates and there was something to be respected about that. My mother was surprised that he asked for more than normal, I could tell because her voice went up an octave and she was shaking her head in both annoyance and confusion.

“Yes, for the whole apartment! Last time there was still toothpaste all over the bathroom sink and you didn’t even dust,” 

“Alright, well I was in a hurry last time, but I got time today. And plus Little E is gonna help me. When we get done you’ll be able to eat off the floors,” 

“You ain’t gettin no $10. I don’t got it,” 

“Alright then give me $8 and a ride to the store after I’m done,” 

“I’ll give you $6 and a ride if I got time,” 

“Deal.”

The possibility of a free ride really sweetened the deal. With transportation on the table she could have gotten away with a $3 payment if she wanted but she chose to be generous. The “store,” as my uncle called it, referred to a liquor store named KD’s that was a mile and a half away from my momma’s apartment. It was his favorite liquor store because it sold pints of Kentucky Deluxe cheaper than the other places in town. We dropped him off at KD’s often; he walked in with haste and a focus in his eyes that only surfaced when it was time to re-up. Minutes later he would amble out, relaxed because he knew he had drink for the rest of that day. 

I could guess the level of Kelly’s bottle by the degree to which his voice and body trembled. On this day I deduced that he was low, damn near dry. He was a bad cleaner because he was either drunk or anxious to get drunk, the culprit today being the latter. Anytime that we picked up the apartment I ended up with the lion’s share of the work. Momma made me clean with or without his assistance though so it didn’t hurt to have an extra hand, even if it was a shaky one. 

“Alright Little E. You know the drill. Get the cleaning stuff out and I’ll put on the music,” 

“Don’t turn that shit up too loud. I’m going back to my room and I don’t want it blaring. I got some calls to make,” momma said.

She took our cordless phone into her room and shut the door behind her. After she had been in there for a few minutes it started to smell burnt in the apartment. Not like her cigarettes though, this smell was...different.

“You know your momma is in there smokin weed, don’t you?” Kelly asked as I pulled out the supplies.

“Shut up! No she isn’t,” I said.

It pained me to hear him say this. Weed was a drug, something that he would do but not momma. She could be tough but she wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t do a drug. My peace of mind was built on the assumption that she had it all together, drug use was a direct affront to this. 

“Whatever. Listen to this music. This is what you need to be paying attention to.”

He pulled a cassette from his pocket and put it into the tape deck of our RVC stereo system. He brought up the whole weed thing just to fuck with me but he backpedaled quickly because he didn’t want me to throw a fit. He knew music was the quickest way to change the topic and to calm me down.

“Ain’t nothing but a gangster party,” bumped out of the speakers.

“Man, Pac had so much heart,” he said to himself with a whisper of sadness.

We always listened to Tupac when Kel came over to clean. This was my favorite part. 

“Dance, E!” 

I’d grin and bob my head, move my shoulders from the left to the right. I thought it to be odd that he was such a big fan of Tupac and Snoop Dogg and that he tried to talk the way they did. It didn’t bother me though, the way Kelly talked, he had charm in spite of how far he had wandered from the proper path. 

“Alright, E. What you wanna clean today?” 

“I don’t know. I’ll do the living room and my bedroom,” 

“Cool. I’ll start in the kitchen and work my way back to the bathroom. I’ll vacuum the living room if you dust first,” 

“Deal.” 

I got busy. The sooner I finished cleaning, the sooner I could go back to what I wanted: television. My beloved Dallas Cowboys played at noon and I didn’t want to clean while they were on. I picked up all my stuff and carried it back to my bedroom, my book bag, football pads, cleats, art supplies. 

As I walked down the dim hallway, I put my shirt over my nose to block out the smell. I could hear momma’s muffled voice through her closed door. I knew that she was in a fight with my Dad because she sounded pissed off; she laughed when on the phone with a friend. I crept closer to her door to hear what was being said.

“$100 a week ain’t enough, Eric! I don’t know why you always pretend like you don’t have it. Everyone knows your shit is extra. You ain’t average. And this boy ain’t fucking cheap,” she said.

Her tone was my cue to pick up the pace and to be on my best behavior for the rest of the day. I didn’t want an ass whoopin and she handed those out quite liberally after bad conversations with my father. I knew Kelly and I were going to have to clean the house in an exceptional manner to help mitigate her mood. This meant that I had to make sure he did his part and didn’t get up to anything.

I’d have to make sure that he didn’t steal anything. It didn’t happen often but sometimes after he was over momma would be missing jewelry or small antiques that had been passed down to her, possessions that could be hawked at a pawn shop. I wondered why she even had him over; she knew that he had a penchant for taking her shit. Maybe she felt bad for him and saw this as her way to help. I found it odd, giving her own brother money to fuel his addiction, but what my momma did only needed to make sense to her. 

I arranged everything in my room as momma’s voice pushed through my walls. My room didn’t need to be perfect for company, nobody would see it. Because of this, I turned the rest of my efforts to the living room, kitchen, and bathroom. I rushed back into the living room and started to dust. Kelly taught me that you should always dust before vacuuming so that you could sweep up everything that you had wiped onto the floor. If you didn’t do it this way then you’d have to vacuum twice. I thought that logic was brilliant. After I dusted, I polished the wooden coffee and end tables with Lemon Pledge; I even polished the wood on the television. 

After I was done, I went to the kitchen to tell Kelly that he could vacuum. When I turned the corner I saw Kelly take the last pull from his pint. He stood in front of our scarred aluminum sink with his back turned to me. 

“Hey Kel, I’m done in the living room if you want to come vacuum,” I said.

He jumped when he heard my voice but didn’t turn to face me. He stuffed the empty pint back into the front of his light washed Levis. He always kept his bottle in the crotch of his pants. It seemed an awkward place to keep a bottle, but that was his spot. I waited for the day it would slip down his leg and onto the ground but it never did, not that I saw. I only witnessed Kelly take a drink a handful of times. I couldn’t figure out why he refused to drink in front of me. I knew he was a drunk, everybody knew. Shame was not yet a concept encompassed by my know-it-all tendencies. 

He let out a low groan and said “Alright. I’ll be in there when I’m done with these dishes.” 

“Alright, whatever. I’m going to start on the bathroom,” I said to his back.

His words were slurred at this point and I was annoyed that I’d have to pick up his slack. I darted back to the bathroom and: picked up all of the clothes and damp towels from the floor, scrubbed all of the surfaces in the room, I even washed all of the caked toothpaste out of the sink. The volume of her shouts had increased. It caused nervousness to pour down my back until I was standing in a puddle of my anxiety. I still hadn’t heard Kelly start the vacuum so I went back to check on him. I walked into the living room and yelled out.

“Kel, we gotta hurry!,” 

There was no reply.

“Kel?” 

Still no answer.

I went into the kitchen, he wasn’t there. But where did he go? I checked in the backyard, he wasn’t there either. I walked to the living room to see if he had stepped onto the front porch. I opened the door and stuck my head outside. Nothing. Then I looked down the sidewalk that led to our driveway. I saw the door of  momma’s white Pontiac Firebird ajar. He was in her car. Sirens screamed in my head. This is why I was to keep an eye on him. At first I thought to keep my mouth shut. Then I calculated how much trouble I’d be in if my momma found that he took something when I was supposed to be on the lookout. I took a deep breath, tried to exhale my nerves and then ran back to momma’s bedroom. 

“Momma! Kelly is in your car!” I said through the shut door.

“What? God damn it!” she said.

The door flew open and she marched outside; I followed right behind her. The air seemed as viscous as mud and it was hard for me to breathe, part of this was nerves and the other part was humidity. She marched down the sidewalk to where her car was parked.

“Kelly! Get the fuck out of my car!” 

Her head whipped from side to side as she cursed him; she was an imposing woman, 6 foot tall with ropey limbs, people feared her. Kelly was in the passenger seat, his eyes the size of baseballs. His pockets were stuffed with change from her console. 

“You piece of shit! You took my keys out of my purse. You’re stealing my change?” 

“I’m not! I was looking for candy,” 

“Candy! Candy? You don’t even eat candy you fucking liar. Get out of my car!” 

“Ahhh, come on, Sis! You got me cleaning your house for change! You don’t ever pay me shit. $6 ain’t enough!”

“$6 was all you were going to get! And that don’t make you stealing right!”

He got out of the car and started to plead as he backed away from our driveway. 

“I’m sorry, Sis. I’m sorry.” 

“Bullshit! Give me my change!” 

He backpedaled onto the street. My momma stalked him as her rage built. Anger radiated off of her to the point that standing near felt like being stuck in front of a furnace. She was incapable of being talked down at this point, and I didn’t possess the power to even attempt such a thing. Some of the neighbors watched from their yards and porches. She was in complete control of the situation and we all waited in terror to see what she’d do. And then, CRACK! She let off a sharp and straight left that landed in the center of my uncle’s face. Time moved at half speed and marble-sized rubies flew from Kelly’s nose as he fell backwards. His head bounced off of the pavement with a hollow thud and his hands pressed tight against his face. Momma stood over him and began to dig in his pockets for her change.

“You broke my nose. You fucking bitch.” 

“You’re lucky I’m stopping. You’re robbing your sister for quarters, Kelly. Quarters. You’re pathetic.” 

I was motionless and it felt like I hadn’t taken a breath in over a minute. I had never seen someone get punched in real life. I saw my dad shake my mom and throw her to a hotel bed once, but I never saw him hit her.

She gripped my arm tight and pulled me behind her as she headed back towards the apartment. I wanted to cry, but I stayed silent. I was also enthralled. I didn’t know she was capable of possessing such dominance over another person in that way. I saw myself reflected in my momma, she was powerful so that meant I could be powerful too. The last thing I saw before she slammed the apartment door behind us was my uncle as he fought with gravity to get back to his feet, (he was losing this one as well) his white shirt was covered in blood.

Once we were back inside momma went to the kitchen table and lit another cigarette. Her hands did not shake.

“You did good telling me. You’re uncle is a piece of shit. You’ll never be that way. You hear me, boy? Say ‘I promise I’ll never be like Uncle Kelly’ right now,” she said.

“I promise I’ll never be like Uncle Kelly,” I said.

“That’s right,” she said.

I felt a heavy mass descend in my stomach that made my legs wobble. I wished I hadn't told her. She said I did good but it didn’t feel that way. I had betrayed my uncle, even though he deserved it. After she smoked her cigarette, she went back to her room and shut the door. The house started to smell burnt again. It began to rain outside and I looked to see if Kelly was still on the street. He was not. I pulled open the window of the screen door and listened to the tires of passing cars hiss as they zipped over the wet pavement. Time was back to normal now. I turned on the Cowboys game and let my head wander into it. I wouldn’t see my uncle for another week when it was time to clean the apartment again.