Lisa Johnson Mitchell

Mamaw was tired of waiting. Dan, her son, had left her alone again for hours. When he got back, she wanted to tell him to “go lay on the piano,” which was what her late husband, Charlie, used to say when he really wanted to say “go to hell.” But she was a good Methodist, and, anyway, they had sold the piano last year to pay long-overdue bills after Dan lost his job at the Boy Scouts.      

            A painting hung over their couch: a 5 x 5 oil portrait of Dan in a white suit holding a white Bible against a fake backdrop of a bookshelf. He had given it to himself as a present after finishing his online seminary degree and becoming “The Reverend Doctor Dan Nelson.” When Dan was five, he had told Mamaw he had been tapped on the shoulder by an angel and been given a special mission by God. He was to be a preacher. Over the years he’d become a member of nearly every church in town. He attended two, sometimes three services on Sunday and a few Bible studies during the week. In the spring, he made it to as many revivals as possible.

            Mamaw was hungry and wanted to get out of her threadbare La-Z-Boy, the chair Charlie had died in, and look in the refrigerator, but she’d had hip surgery six weeks ago and couldn’t walk. She used to get a shampoo and set at Curly’s salon every week, but she was out of money and now her hair hung like strings on her shoulders and her scalp was exposed. And she needed a manicure; her nails were torn and full of hangnails. Her hands moved down her breasts and thighs as she smoothed her purple, tie-dyed caftan, a gift from her hippie granddaughter. She traced her thigh bones with her hands, remembering the fleshy, curvy figure she’d had for decades. At least she had some meat on her fat arms. Still, she’d put on her silver rose lapel pin with sparkling fake diamonds.  

            She pushed away the TV tray that Dan had set up for her so she could get settled into the chair and start eating the lunch he had laid out: Ensure and weenies. It wasn’t really such a bad meal, especially when she poured the Ensure into her coffee cup and dipped the weenies into it. She wished she could have had a nip to go along with her dip. But Dan would go ballistic. How had he gotten to be so Baptist?

            She grabbed the TV remote, pressed “Power” with her jagged nail, and the sounds of applause from Wheel of Fortune filled the room. She was no good at guessing the letters, but it was still exciting to watch people win cash money. And Pat Sajak was nice-looking, though Mamaw wasn’t sure he’d ever grown up to be a full-sized man. And he was all one color; his hair matched his skin. 

            Vanna looked good. Big jugs worked on her. And the revealing evening gown she was wearing made Mamaw think of her own long cocktail dress, the one she’d worn when Dan threw a party for Jane Powell, the big movie star. Dan and Jane had met during one of her Broadway show tours and started to correspond. Mamaw and Charlie were sure they would marry. They had given him thousands of dollars of their hard-earned money for the party and what did they have to show for it? 

            “Hello, Mama!” Dan called. Mamaw was sure he yelled so loud to see if she was still alive.

            “Oh dear! Don’t you snick up on me like that! Whew, heart’s racing!”  

            Dan’s blue-checked shirt was so wrinkled it looked like he’d slept in it. His Hush Puppies were dirty, and one of them was untied. He had dark circles around his eyes, as if someone had punched him. But what could she expect? Dan was 64 and all his dreams were shattered. 

            “They wouldn’t take these.”  He dropped a big stack of magazines on the floor–The Pentecostal Evangel, The Texas Trumpet and Cathedral of Light Miracles.  

            “The regular guy who buys my magazines wasn’t at the bookstore, and the new guy wouldn’t take them.”           

            “So I guess this means we don’t have any money for food?”

            “You SURE there’s no weenies left? I thought I saw some in there.” 

            “I ate the last ones for lunch and I’m sick of the Ensure. That’s what old people eat. And pull your pants up!” 

            Dan adjusted his britches, walked into the kitchen and slammed drawers around. Mamaw couldn’t hear a word Pat Sajak was saying, but still, the pictures of the cars and Hawaiian vacations were nice to look at. She’d been to every state in the union except Hawaii.

            “Well, Mama, you’re right,” Dan called. 

            “I’m always right,” Mamaw said. “Is Furr’s Cafeteria still open? My mouth has been set for their chicken fried steak and cream gravy all day.”   

            “We can’t afford that.” 

            “What did you do with the money I gave you the other day?” 

            “I had to run some errands, put gas in my car,” Dan said. “Besides, I don’t know if they’re still open.”

            “Can’t you call them?” 

            “Mama, the phone’s been cut off. 

             “Oh, Dan,” Mamaw buried her face in her hands. Her fingers clung to her face like claws, then fell to her lap as she looked up. “Well, let’s not get all worried now. Count your blessings, not your troubles. That’s my motto.” 

            “Maybe they’re still open.” Dan said. “I’ll get your coat.”  

            Dan was going to have to move her from her chair to her wheelchair. And she was afraid he’d drop her. Though he was a big man, he wasn’t strong.

            “Okay, you ready?” Dan reached under her armpits and raised her up, but she winced, wriggled away from him, and plopped back down.

            “Your fingers are hurting me! Use your whole hand.”          

            “On the count of three,” Dan said.

            Mamaw looked up at Dan and examined his odd-shaped head. “One of your ears lobes is longer than the other,” Mamaw said.

            “Mama, I’m well aware of that,” Dan said. “Okay: one, two, three.” He lifted her up and into the wheelchair.

            “You forgot the brake!” Mamaw cried. 

            Dan clicked the brake into place and stepped back. “There. I’ll be right back.” 

            Dan walked into his room and shut the door. Mamaw adjusted her bottom in the seat of the wheelchair and stuffed Dan’s jacket around her like a blanket. Then she heard Dan praying. It sounded like he was channeling a goat. He had told Mamaw that a man at his healing church had his stump restored to a full arm, and a woman had her nub turned into a full finger. Every time he told her these stories, he smiled wide. His toothless gums were wet, pink and gleaming. Mamaw had no teeth, either. She’d had dentures until Dan dropped them on the floor and the two front teeth fell out.

            When Dan walked back into the living room, he was sweating and his eyes were wild. “Let’s go,” he said. He clasped his hands, stretched them out in front of him and cracked his knuckles.

            “I’ve told you that’s annoying,” Mamaw said. 

            “Nobody’s perfect.” 

            Dan pushed her out to their old Dodge Dart–he called it his car, but she’d bought it years ago; she didn’t have the heart to correct him. Dan had suffered mightily. He hadn’t held a steady job since he had lived in D.C. and got fired after he told his boss to stop cussing. When he came back home to Dallas, he said he’d been blackballed from every job in America. He then plunged himself into genealogy and corresponded with long-lost third and fourth cousins. He told Mamaw they were related to George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and Jesus Christ. Mamaw and Charlie got a good laugh out of that.

            “Okay,” Dan said. “Hold on to my neck. I need to scoot you over into the seat. Just let your legs go limp.” 

            Mamaw was holding on tight to his neck, but it was slippery with sweat.

            “Did you put on any Old Spice?” she said. “You smell a bit ripe.”

            “Just hang on, will you?”

            She prayed to Jesus that she’d make it into the car. After a quick heave-ho, she was in and they were off.

             Dan narrated as he drove along the interstate. “Kurt’s Automotive. He’s good people. Cluckin’ Chicken. Love their spicy nuggets.” 

            Bendy’s Salt Water Taffy came into view. “Wonder how those folks are since you left that job,” Mamaw said. In high school, Dan had been fired from Bendy’s for throwing a pan at the manager. Dan turned on the radio to a Christian station. Some man was singing “How Great Thou Art,” as if his throat was clogged with socks. 

            “Turn that off.” Mamaw said.  “That song makes my gums hurt.” 

            Dan snapped the radio off.

            “I sure do like Furr’s chocolate icebox pie,” Mamaw said. “I hope they have a slice left.”

            When they pulled up to Furr’s, the lights were still on and Mamaw could see a few figures walking around inside. Dan got out and walked up to the door, but it wouldn’t open. He shook his head, then with his pointer finger drew an “X” on the CLOSED sign–he had put a hex on it. Mamaw had gotten used to Dan’s hexing things he didn’t approve of. When he watched the Dallas Cowboys play and they were losing, he put a hex on the head of the opposing team’s coach. Walked right up to the screen and hexed him good. 

            “They closed at 7,” Dan said, as he shut the car door.

            “What’ll we do?” Mamaw said. “I’ve run out of food stamps. Are we going to the soup kitchen?”

            “Mama, I’m going to take care of you. I always do,” Dan said. “I’ve got a surprise.”

            Dan tore out of the parking lot and Mamaw looked at the speedometer. He was definitely driving over the limit. She started to say something, but didn’t. When they reached the Linwood Mall, he turned into a parking lot full of expensive cars. Dan squeezed their Dart next to a navy-blue Jaguar and she saw the sign: Temple Shalom. “What in the world are we doing here?”

            “Tonight’s a Bat Mitzvah,” Dan said. “I heard some people talking about it last Friday night at Shabbat services and there’s probably a big buffet.”  

            “I’m not going in there. We could have at least gone to the other places you go to: Second Methodist Church. The Christian Science Reading Room, one of those other places on your religious Lazy Susan.” 

            “That was ugly, Mama.” 

            “I’m sorry,” Mamaw said. There was a large, heavy pain inside her that was too big for her spirit. She tried to push it away, store it underneath her grief for Charlie. She tried to visualize putting it inside her jewelry box, or between the pages of her Bible, but it kept insisting to be seen and heard. She folded her hands and said a quick prayer, “Lord, help us.”

            Dan grabbed the rear-view mirror and smoothed his hair, then pointed to her feet. “House shoes?” 

            “You didn’t say we were going to the prom!” Mamaw said. Her feet were comfy in her slippers. There was a hole that exposed her big toe. She gave it a wiggle. 

            “Can you at least put on some lipstick?” 

            She pulled down the visor and realized he was right. Her lips looked white and cracked and old–she was old!–and needed a spot of color. As she was putting on her favorite shade, Love That Red by Mary Kay, she felt Dan’s fingers on her shoulder fiddling with her shimmering pin. He was always trying to fix her clothes or fluff her hair. She wanted to turn him over her knee like she should have done when he was a little boy. He might have amounted to something by now. But Charlie always said to leave him be. 

            “This whole thing would make your daddy cry,” she said. She held on to Dan’s neck as he got her into her wheelchair. 

            The lights were bright in the ballroom and a big disco ball was hanging from the ceiling casting sparkly lights all around. Mamaw heard the clinking and clattering of silverware, along with the voices and music.  The room smelled like rich people, perfumed and clean, and the rich people were staring at them. She wished Dan had magic powers to teleport them out of the room and move them through the door, like Jesus did the morning of the third day. 

            Young folks were standing in circles visiting, as they did at the Methodist church. Lots of people were hugging. Everyone was attractive–dark headed and dark-eyed. Everyone knew everyone.

            “The Jews are a beautiful people,” Mamaw said. “I’m Black Irish and could have passed for a Jew years ago.”

            “Sssshhh!” Dan pushed her over to one of the tables that lined the dance floor. It all smelled delicious; she felt a little less hungry just inhaling. There was a big slab of roast beef under a hot light and silver dishes with lids. She wondered what was inside. Then she felt a stabbing pain in her stomach like the way she did after she ate tomatoes. 

            “I need some water,” she said. Dan ran off into the crowd. Mamaw’s hips were vibrating because the music was so loud. She had a flash, a memory, of dancing with Charlie at Dan’s big party. She moved her stick ankles gently, as if she were trying to do the box step, then stopped when it got too painful. To avoid any eye contact she started to examine her fingernails. 

            “It’s time to celebrate Jenny!” a man called into a microphone. He was wearing a Cat in the Hat hat. A pretty young girl in a light blue dress appeared and then a bunch of men picked her up on a chair and paraded her around the room. The girl didn’t look a bit pleased. The chair was tilted. Mamaw couldn’t look because she thought the girl was going to fall. Where in the hell was Dan?

            Now everyone was holding hands and dancing in a circle. The song that played was in a minor key and sad. Mamaw saw a group of girls whispering and looking at her. Maybe she hadn’t put on her lipstick correctly. Maybe it was her tie-dyed caftan. She put her hands on the wheels of her chair and tried to roll herself over to the roast beef, but her arms just didn’t work like they used to. 

            A man in a little round hat came up behind Mamaw and pushed her out to the dance floor and started spinning her in a circle. He was drunk. He bent down and gave her a wink. Did he think she was pretty? He must not be able to see very well–his glasses were awful thick. Now more men were dancing around her clapping and smiling. She felt someone kick her wheelchair and she thought she was going to fall out. Someone spilled champagne on her head.      

            “STOP! STOP!” she shouted, but they kept kicking up their legs and twisting their hips. 

            Finally Mamaw saw Dan–Thank you Lord!–and he wheeled her back out of the crowd. She could have grabbed one of the steak knives on the table and given him a poke.

            “WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME?” She was hoarse from yelling at the men. 

            Dan shoved the wheelchair towards the roast beef and cut in line.

            He put a plate in her lap and helped her fill it with mashed potatoes and some mushy green vegetable. By the time they reached the meat man, Mamaw was so hungry she could have eaten his big fat hand that was carving the bloody block of animal. 

            As Dan pushed her toward an empty table, she stabbed her fork into the red, juicy slab and took a bite. Sometimes it was good to wait to eat for a long time because things tasted extra delicious in her mouth. 

            There were a few purses, half-filled glasses and plates on the white tablecloth; the people must have been dancing. Oh my, did those mashed potatoes taste divine! She spotted a bar across the room and craved a glass of wine; however, that wasn’t going to happen. Dan asked that they pray over the food; but Mamaw pretended she didn’t hear him.

            “Hello there! I’m Judy Kimmel, Jenny’s aunt. I’m sorry, remind me of how you know Jenny?” Judy was a slim, athletic, middle-aged woman in a shiny green dress, with short dark hair and a string of pearls around her neck. She looked very educated.     

            “I was at Shabbat services Friday night,” Dan said. “They told me there was a party, and that everyone was invited.” His eyes were cloudy, confused–panicked. Mamaw had seen that look when he was 5-years-old when she was teaching him to tie his shoe.

            “Well,” Judy said. “That’s not exactly right. But please, make yourselves at home.” 

            Dan sat up straight and wiped the corners of his mouth. “Thank you kindly, I’m Dan. And this is my mother, Linda. Are you with Mixed Nuts? The singles’ group? I’ve been to some of the events.” 

            “No, I’m not.”

            “I see you’re not wearing a ring. You married?”

            “I’m a widow,” Judy said.      

             Judy leaned down to Mamaw and perfume crept into her nose: Chanel No. 5. It was a scent she had worn as a young woman. “I like your jazzy outfit.” She patted Mamaw on the shoulder. Her hand was heavy. It lingered on her back, then slipped away.

            “JESUS CHRIST, DAN,” Mamaw said.  “I’ve had enough.” 

            “Thou shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain,” Dan said. Mamaw put her fork down on her plate and sat back in her chair. The noise of the crowd faded away.

            “Honor Thy Mother and Thy Father. And stop sucking on scripture like a titty! I want a glass of wine.”

            Dan stared into Mamaw’s face as if he didn’t know her, then hurried away, and pushed in front of people at the bar. He walked back fast, his ham-sized thighs pressed together, as if he had to go to the bathroom. 

            “Here’s your wine,” he said, thrusting a glass of red wine into her face.      

            Dan sat down and stared into the carpet. Mamaw swirled her wine around on her tongue. She licked her lips and took another sip. The sharp, warm goodness reminded her of the days when Charlie was alive, before Dan was born, when they had joy in their lives.

            “Thank you,” Mamaw said. “Now we can go.”        

            Dan dropped two crescent rolls in Mamaw’s purse, snapped it shut and pushed her out into the cool night air.