And Ruin Followed Behind Her

Chapter 5-3

THE NEXT MORNING, I woke up to the sweet smell of scrapple cooking on the stove. “Get up!” Mama shouted. “You’ve been sleeping on the floor like a damn hobo too long.”

My head throbbed as I sat up, like it split down the center of my skull. I suffered from migraines as a child, but nothing compared to the pain I felt in that moment. I turned over to my knees to wretch at the pain, but nothing came out except a low, guttural heave.

“Don’t you dare throw up on my floor like a damned fool!” Mama shouted from the kitchen.

I looked at the grandfather clock. 6:45! I was running late. I had twenty-five minutes to get to the school all the way across town. I sprang to my feet, fighting the headache smashing through my brain.

“Why did you let me sleep so long?” I yelled, bounding up the stairs toward my room.

“It seemed like you needed it!” Mama shouted back.

“What I need is to not get fired!”

There was no time for a shower. Luckily, I didn’t have time to work out yesterday, so I didn’t stink. I kicked off my shoes, peeled off my socks, then hopped out of my pants and threw on a pair of loose-fitting, stained blue jeans that I usually only wore on the weekends.

Scrambling through my drawers, I found a light green button-up shirt. It sagged off my chest and left me looking like an amorphous blob, which hopefully would appease the bitties gunning for my head. I threw a loose, argyle sweater over top of the blouse and tied a black shawl around my shoulders. I couldn’t stop my form from showing through my clothes, but I’d do my best to mask it.

A pair of boots under my arm, I lumbered into the bathroom and brushed my teeth before throwing on a half-gallon of perfume, just in case. I threw up into the sink as the pain of the headache overtook me, and the thick yellow bile stank enough to force me to brush my teeth again.

“Get down here, Julia!” Mama screamed. “Breakfast is ready!”

“I’ll be right there!”

There was no time for makeup, save for a light foundation to cover up the bags under my eyes. Probably for the best. I wouldn’t want the bitties from the PTA to think I was dressing too sexy and wearing enough makeup to make a w***e blush. I looked a fright, but that’s what they all wanted.

The pain pulsed against my skull with each hurried step I took toward the kitchen. I threw back four aspirin and chugged a glass of orange juice, then took a huge gulp of a sandwich that Mama left on the counter for me.

“You’re going to choke, dear,” Mama said.

“I’m going to get fired, Mama. They’re looking for any excuse.”

“Would that be so bad?”

Her sly grin belied the real reason why she let me sleep in. She didn’t want me working at that school and thought I should be working at Taft. That was no secret. She told me that at least three times a week, but she’d never actively worked to get me fired.

Mama thought my talents should be used to help bring up the next generation of black men and women. I thought I should be paid as well as possible for all the work I put into getting my degrees, even if it meant rolling over for rich, white, entitled assholes.

“Yes, Mama,” I said as I grabbed my purse. “It would be. I don’t want to be fired.”

Mama shrugged. “I’m just saying it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“Few things are.”

I wanted to ask Mama so many questions about last night and chide her for so blatantly working to get me fired, but there was no time. I threw on a leather coat and rushed out the door, boots squeezed in my hands.

I was halfway across the street before I slid on my boots and realized they didn’t match. One of them had a three-inch heel and one laid flat on the ground. There was no time to turn back and change. I was barely able to make it on time as it was, so I just dealt with it, hobbling down the street, like a pirate with a peg leg.