Elizabeth Akin StellingAVOCADO GREEN KITCHEN WITH A GOLD ACCENTED CHILDHOOD#2 When I watched momma cook, I learned, if you squeeze lemon into milk it will sour- replacing buttermilk for biscuits for a family with little to feed, because daddy drank up his paycheck and found his self in a drunk tank for two days. The feel of the mix; flour, butter, eggs, baking soda and the curdled white substance she poured into the mixing bowl, becomes sticky. Momma said to throw flour onto the counter before I dump it out. Excitement doesn't listen. She shows me how to roll it out and cut perfect rounds with a cold glass. We have no money for a cutter she says. Hunger waits for no one. And there is no need for butter or jelly on my fat hot piece of bread. I often wondered what would happen if milk sat out all day next to the hot stove. Could it become an even bigger monster than learning to fit in at school. * * * #4 Did mom even notice sisters gum stuck to the underside of our bedroom window ceil, when she'd herd us into The back to take a nap with her on our small mattress. My brother got to stay in his room and play with his microscope set. She said it was to help with her headaches each summer day. We gave into the tiredness of it all eventually. I would lie so still, reminding me of when all seven of her children from two marriages slept in one room. The oldest two sisters slept at one end holding my little sister, I at the other with the box fan blowing right on me, hoping they wouldn't kick me. The white noise drowned out my mother's crying when daddy stormed out in anger and in the late night. Eventually he never returned home, but we would hear the phone ring, and it was the police letting her know he was having his own sleep over. After a few hours we got up from the nap, my sister would simply pull off one of the wads of gum and chew it over and over. Depression makes you want to roll up into a great big wad and hope you never get chewed up. * * * #8 In remembering those long drives out of town or fishing or just a ride along with my father so he would purchase beer, I would quietly memorize every tree and bush and road sign and count people in their car to pass the time, I remember much happiness. I took my imaginary brush finger and painted scenes of burros and people from faraway places building structures and smiles to replace melancholy looks from kids staring at me from back windows. Dad would tell me to stay in the car while he ran into the package good stores, but the smell of water flowing down a stream off an embankment of the parking lot brought to me on the breeze was too tempting. Crouching over a stack of rocks and counting them just like my teacher did in math class. Leading ants, one by one, across the parking lot to a freshly constructed out of pocket rock fort, moved next to the car with a stick, so an army of friends could play with me till he returned. Before heading back home we ate barbecue sandwiches car side daddy so thoughtfully bought us. Making marks in the bread which looked like sharp mountain ranges on a desolate planet with monster teeth, I flung bites to the insect horde at my feet. Food couldn't even escape a young girl's imagination which grappled with 'she is stupid' pointing fingers and dyslexic diagnosis and a mother who unknowingly wallowed in depression. But they all seemed to love me.
|