PROSE – FICTION
Mother moved slowly as she made her way to the stove. She motioned for me to sit down, But I stood in case she needed me. She poured a cup of coffee, brought it to the table, and sat down. Motioning again for me to join her.
“I will be alright, baby… it just takes me a little longer these days,”
“You are fine, Mother,” I said, guiding her to the chair.
“It was about time someone skinned that snake. Sharpe has been slinking around here for far too long,” she said after swallowing a sip of coffee. “Although, firing a scattergun into his car hardly seems like a smart play, son.” she continued while looking at me sternly.
I sat quietly, sipping my coffee. No one could make a pot of joe like Mother. She continued ranting about how slimly Sharp was. I loved the way she put things. She seemed to think Sharpe wouldn’t be back. I knew better than to tell her different. A man like Sharpe was coming back alright. The next time, there wouldn’t be a warning. At least there was nothing we could tell right off. He definitely would be armed next time. I would need something more than a scattergun to keep him off.
“You reminded me so much of your father today,” she said, smiling into her coffee.
“Please don’t speak of him, Mother,” I replied; I hated the man for leaving us. I hated him for allowing us to live this way. What kind of man leaves his kin like this? I don’t know, but I certainly didn’t want to be anything like him.
“You mustn’t hate your father, Sherman. He is a good man… A good man,” she responded, looking me square in the eyes. Mother had such a loving gaze. I loved when she looked at me this way.
“Yes, ma’am… so good I never met the man. So good I had to send Claudia off to Aunt Millie’s,” I remarked, her expression turned hard.
“Watch that sass… you hear, Sherman Turnbull. You are never too old. You hear?” She said evenly. Yet, despite her weakened state, there was iron in her words with a touch of frost.
“Yes, ma’am,” I muttered, swallowing an urge to shiver.
“I know you don’t understand how a man can go off and leave his family to fend for themselves.” she started, then paused as she took a deep breath and adjusted herself.
“Mama,” I said softly. She patted my hand and then squeezed it. Then continued, “Baby, things don’t always work out as they should. Not always, you hear? Now go fetch that box on the top shelf of the pantry.”
I got up and did as she asked. At first, I didn’t see anything but a bread box.
“Right there, baby… behind the bread box,”
Mangus Khan 