“It’s a sign of the times, Heavenly Bell,” my mama says, as though that answers that.
I once again roll my eyes at the nickname. The woman knows I have violent blackouts, and she still thinks I’m a little slice of heaven. She used to tell me all the time when I was little that an angel herself came and placed me on their stoop. They like to say they adopted a bundle straight from Heaven.
“You trust in the Lord, baby. If He thought to make you His right hand, then His right hand you’ll be, and there ain’t a thing wrong with it,” Daddy tells me, just like he’s been tellin’ me since I was little and my tribulations first showed.
At first, it was small things. Tantrums when I was little, where I ended up on the playground at school not rememberin’ how I got up a tree or why Marcy Wills was cryin’ down below. My mama and daddy taught me to touch my necklace and count and breathe whenever an inklin’ of the black started creepin’ in my vision, and that worked. Sometimes.
Mama calls it my tribulations, and she’s not far off. Whenever one of my episodes hits, I bring trouble and sufferin’ with it. And worst of all, I can’t remember a damn thing.
My parents are really the ones who are angels. With all my issues they’ve dealt with over the years, I’m surprised they don’t have halos just glowin’ over their heads at this point.
“Do you know what time I got in last night?” I ask wearily.
“Don’t know,” Daddy responds, screwdriver half-heartedly tamperin’ with the innards of the toaster. “Your mama and I retreated to the bedroom early last night,” he says with a wag of his bushy gray brows.
“Ew, Daddy,” I say with a shake of my head while he belly laughs, makin’ all his years of cigarette smokin’ known in the rasp of his chuckles.
I prop up my foot on my knee to check out the damage from yesterday. But when I turn it to get a good look, all that’s there is a thin pink line on my arch. It twinges slightly like a bruise when I press my hand to it, but other than that, the injuries I got are all but gone.
“What in the world?” I mutter.
“No work today, honey girl?” Daddy asks.
I drop my foot, chalkin’ it up to the fact that whatever alcohol I poured on it must’ve been some healin’ juju, and look over at him. “Uh, I got fired.”
I fidget in my seat, but before Daddy can even open his mouth, Mama is hollerin’ from the stove. “I got cotton in my ears, or did you just say that Patricia O’Healy fired you?”
“Uh, yeah.”
A clang sounds, and Daddy and I share a look. “Come get your eggs and grits,” Mama says. “And I wanna hear all about what Patricia O’Healy did to you.”
See? Like I said, my parents should have halos with how good they are to me. Most parents would probably be handin’ out lectures and slappin’ blame my way, but not Mama and Daddy. They’re on my side. Always.
Daddy heaves to his feet, his pants lookin’ a little snugger around his midsection as he pulls the waist up to head to the small laminate dinin’ table that’s bolted to the floor on the other end of the kitchen. He pinches Mama’s butt on his way to the head of the table, makin’ Mama squeal and slap him playfully with the end of the spatula. “Don’t you be flirtin’ with me before breakfast, Teddy Bell,” Mama says as she follows us over to the table and starts servin’ up eggs and grits and a pile of bacon.
“No, ma’am. No flirtin’ from me,” he says before shootin’ her a wink that makes her blush.
Yeah, my parents are ridiculously in love, even after nearly forty years of marriage. They got hitched young, Mama when she was eighteen right out of high school. She said my daddy swooped in and spun her right off her feet with his charms when he was fresh out of the Navy. Apparently, she was a sucker for a man in a uniform.
My parents aren’t just good people, they’re a damn good couple too. It’s why I can’t ever seem to settle for any of the men I’ve dated. They all don’t look at me the way my daddy looks at my mama, and I want that sort of forever love. I want someone who will flirt and tease me over breakfast and still bring a smile and blush to my face after forty years of bad days mixed in with the good.
“Alright now, Medley Bell,” Mama says as she sits down at the other head of the table. “You tell us what happened yesterday.”
I scoop up some food before answerin’ and then dive into everythin’ that went on. By the time I get to the bar and hit the bottom of my bowl of cheesy grits, it gets a bit hazy.
“So you were two minutes late deliverin’ that package?” Mama asks, passin’ the last of the bacon off to Daddy despite him sayin’ he was full.
“Yep. Patricia was already callin’ when I was walkin’ out of the office.”
“That woman is more bitter than a pot of collard greens,” she says with a tsk.
I nod in agreement as I finish up the last of my breakfast and then help myself to the pitcher of ice-cold lemonade that Mama squeezed herself.
“I’ll be havin’ words with her at church, you better believe that,” Mama says with an imperious nod.
“Don’t bother, Mama, really. I’ll find another job.” I hope.
“It’s the principle of the thing, Medley. You gotta respect yourself and stand up for yourself, or people will walk all over you,” she replies.
I smile and get to my feet, ploppin’ another kiss on
