Mammie’s House, July 30, 1989
Twilight of dawn, when grey presence overcomes the dead of night when the symphony of crickets and critters are quiet, and birds are still asleep, and no one is breaking this measure of rest, Jessie opened her eyes. Her skin felt cold and clammy. Her bed sheet felt damp. Her mind’s eye saw the bank of fog hovering over the still waters of the lake’s mirrored surface. Immersed in the vision, she sat up and slid her legs over the bed’s edge. She pressed her hand to her tummy and closed her eyes and imagined the life within. Then, the fog settled, and a cloud of confusion enveloped her mind. Her eyes of coal dilated with a cat’s night vision in the black of night. The corner of the room was murky black, like a large cloud of octopus thick blackish ink. For a moment, she thought she saw curved arms, but they vanished into the darkness. She stood and turned towards her closet. Her cat eyes stared in a calm trance, like in a spell. She hypnotically paced across the room and slid the closet door open. Pitch black. Her fingers reached in and felt. Cold, hard wire. She brought the curved end over the rod and drew it to her. She untwisted from the knurled end and shaped the wire into a hook. The sharp end cut and trickles of blood ran down her fingers into her palm. She placed the hook between her jaw teeth and bit down to compress the curve. The grip of evil clutched her mind, and she stepped to the door as one tranced. She methodically opened it and walked into the hall. Mammie’s bedroom door stood closed. Grey dawn seeped from the bathroom. Darkness beckoned her. With measured steps, she entered and closed the door and turned the deadbolt of the skeleton key lock. A click of finality.
The keyhole framed a disturbing image—
Jessie straddled the toilet. Her hands were steady. Bloody fingertips guided the wire through her parted legs. She stared straight ahead—eyes black domino dots against porcelain balls.
Bone breaking crack of thunder. Flash of white light. Jessie fell forward. A hanger clattered against the ceramic tile floor. A white robe crumpled atop it. Her hands rested flat against white tiles, fingernails polished red.
“Oh, for golly sake, if I turned the light on, I could see what I’m doing,” Jessie said.
She flipped the light switch, her nude body facing the vanity mirror. She shook her head and smiled, “You silly,” and bent over to pick up her robe and the hanger. She replaced the hanger on the door hook and thread her arms through the terrycloth, shaking out her long indigo tinted hair as she looked in the mirror, her eyes smiling with loving black warmth.
Jessie peddled her bike out to the lake shortly after sunrise. Her mind traced back to her spring ride that had been partly for exercise and also to find where the young dudes hung out. The trip today also had a purpose. She was not about to let her body sag under the weight of pregnancy. She had read about strengthening abs and pelvic floor muscles. Volleyball was still an option since she had yet to start to show.
She walked the edge of the still, lake water on the hard packed mix of soil and silt, gummy shoes in one hand, the other on her tummy. A childhood memory surfaced, one at Mammie’s church, the flow of a hymn, one that Momma would softly sing to lull her.
The Lord’s my shepherd; I’ll not want,
He makes me down to lie; in pastures green,
He leadeth me, the quiet waters by;
He leadeth me, He leadeth me, the quiet waters by.
She traced her fingers about the soft skin of her tummy and imagined the feeling of her belly extended, a kick to her side, the punch of an arm. Even without this physical awareness, she could feel the life growing within her. She felt it in her heart. She felt a love that she had never experienced before, never received before, never given away.
She reminisced that just four months ago she had escaped to Daytona Beach to celebrate the end of life as a high schooler. Now, she was beginning a new chapter as a woman who would care for life even more than her own. To right the wrongs perpetrated on her—an absentee father and mother, controlled by a grandmother who twisted God’s Word and used it as the devil would shackle her in guilt and condemnation. Thoughts of her missing father caused her to muse about who would become the daddy of the child within her.
The memory of Momma singing to her filtered through her thoughts—
In the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore,
In the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore.
She knew that guys her age were still boys, not only at heart but also concerning dependability. Raising a child with a boy her age, even if he were the actual father, would be extremely challenging, not only financially but also, sharing the responsibilities. She sought a real man when she conned the Big Ticket scheme, but now? What would be the attraction? What did she have to offer? Considering the sensual bait of a woman, how would a baby fit in a new relationship? The stigma, the shame, her pregnancy would be a sufficient sign of both.
It was with that thought that she determined to find a good man to raise her baby, one that would accept her child as theirs. Her pregnant state could be her shame, or it could be her conquest. Her baby could weaken her ability to find a suitable man, or it could strengthen her resolve to boldly pursue her ticket out of an impoverished, single-mom life.
v v v
Excerpt from PURSUIT – A Matter of Choice,
a novel by Jeff Cambridge.
Author of transformational
fiction—
Realistic characters in real life drama that tell a story of
growth in wisdom and understanding that changes their outlook on life, where
achievements are no longer about self or competing, instead life is about
completing their purpose and planting a legacy of redeeming value.
To
read the scenes sequentially, begin with
“PURSUIT:
A Novel – Prologue”
Located
in the May Blog Archive. Click on the episodes and enjoy.
This
episode is pre-published. The book will be available Spring 2018.
Your
comments are welcomed and appreciated. Check one of the reaction boxes below,
write a comment, or email me at lightbycambridge@gmail.com.
This
novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, businesses,
organizations, and locales are intended only to give the story a sense of
reality and authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.
v
One mistake changes the course of three lives…
Jessie
– chasing the dark side of destiny
The daughter of an
alcoholic father in prison for manslaughter and a mother who has
abandoned her for her latest boyfriend, Jessie has but one objective in life – to find the big ticket out of her
miserable childhood.
Christina
– striving to bring comfort and light
The daughter of a
nurse who served in the Army medical corps, she follows in her mother’s
footsteps, pursuing her passion to care for the disadvantaged. A ballerina – a thousand eyes behold her, the dance
flowing seamlessly.
Jerry
– living in the grey of his circumstances
The son of a
sixth-generation Kansas rancher, his desire is to make it rich – to find the American Dream. A
cowboy with a tender heart and crystal blue eyes, he finds love in unforeseen
places.
An
allegory of destiny and choices,
of
wasted dreams,
of paths
that lead to nowhere…
of
trials, we face every day.
PURSUIT
Where
will the chosen path lead?
v
Copyright 2018 © Jeff Cambridge
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