Mama Rocks the Empty Cradle Read Free

that doesn’t mean I don’t like babies—it’s just that they don’t turn me on like I’m told they are supposed to do!
    My girlfriend Yasmine, the one I told you about who fixes hair, is a voluptuous young woman who had her nose job long before plastic surgery became a part of black folks’ thing. Yasmine is about my age, unmarried, no children. And like me, she’s in a monogamous relationship. Her friend’s name is Ernest and while Yasmine won’t admit it, I know she wants Ernest to ask her to marry him so that she could have a house full of babies. Yasmine and I could be walking inside the mall, she’ll see a baby and her eyes will light up. She starts with “ain’t she cute,” or “she’s so precious,” going on and on until I feel like I am going to gag. If the mother of the baby allows, Yasmine even starts talking gibberish that she swears the baby understands.… The whole thing drives me crazy!
    I’ve told Yasmine over and over again that the strong feeling for motherhood that she claims is normal just ain’t there for me. “Girlfriend,” she says, “something is
seriously
wrong with any black woman that ain’t turned on by a baby!”
    I have to admit there are times when I find myself wondering whether Yasmine is right. For instance, as Morgan’s eyes drew me to her like a bee to honey, I found myself wondering what it would be like to have a daughter, and perhaps to have the kind of relationship with her the same as Mama has with me. That thought scared me. After all, I wasn’t Candi Covington. How could I be sure that I could pull off the maternal thing as successfully as she had? Anyway, I didn’t want to dwell on that thought, so Idecided that seeing Mama hold tiny Morgan to her breast, hearing her speak soft, kind words, and seeing Morgan respond with a bubble of spit and cooing sounds
wasn’t
what I needed to be watching right now.
    Birdie Smiley, whose bottom lip trembled and who hadn’t spoken since Sarah Jenkins, Annie Mae Gregory, and Carrie Smalls had moved on, now stepped backward, knocking down a few cans from the shelf.
    Mama didn’t look at Birdie. “Morgan,” she was saying, “you are a pretty little thing, now aren’t you?”
    I remembered I wanted some Famous Amos so I turned and walked toward the cookie row. I stopped for a moment to taste the sample of vanilla pudding a demonstrator was handing out. I nodded, thinking of how the pudding would go well with the cookies that I’d already decided I was going to buy and stash in the trunk of my car.
    A few minutes later, I was standing in the ten-items-or-less checkout line when I saw Sheriff Abe, his deputy Rick Martin, and Cricket Childs run into the store like they were going to put out a fire. Something was wrong. I decided to forget about paying for the cookies.
    In the back of the store, a crowd had formed around Birdie, Mama, Morgan, Sheriff Abe, Deputy Rick Martin, and Cricket. I had to push past Sarah Jenkins, Annie Mae Gregory, and Carrie Smalls just to get next to Mama, who still held Morgan. Snatchingthe baby from Mama’s arms, Cricket was glaring at Birdie Smiley as if she knew it wasn’t Mama who meant her baby harm. “You’ve got a serious problem, crazy woman!” Cricket yelled.
    Birdie’s slightly crossed eyes had a pitiful look in them.
    Cricket tapped her forehead. “You stole my baby from my car in broad daylight!”
    Mama’s eyes widened. “You didn’t ask Birdie to keep your baby?” she asked Cricket.
    Cricket’s nostrils flared; she held her baby close to her breast. “She stole Morgan from my car when I went into the Shell station to pay for gas! Thank goodness the lady in the store recognized Birdie’s station wagon. And thank goodness Miss Blanche drove up and told us that she’d just seen Birdie walk into this store with Morgan in her arms!”
    Spasms twisted Birdie’s plain face, like she had inner pain.
    Sheriff Abe motioned to his deputy to disperse the gathering crowd.