"You can't make me go Mama, you just can't." Cindy yells as she walks out the door. "I don't want to go. All the other girls hate me, you should see them Mama! They're beautiful and smart and skinny, rich and white. Everything we're not. Everything I'll never be. I'm not going!"
"Oh yes you are." Mama says, "I saved up to send you to a respectable school with good teachers who will teach you what you need to know. No child of mine refuses a good education. Don't you do this to me, not now, not after..." Mama's voice trails of, as if she can't say what she needs to. She pushes Cindy's lunchbox into her hands and lifts her onto the bus. "Now go, have a nice day."
Mama should be smiling, like she does when she takes me to school, but she isn't. Tears are shining in her eyes. She turns to look at me, but it's like her eyes don't see anything, like she's looking through me. Then she walks into the house.
Mama doesn't hold the door open for me. She just walks inside and sits down at the table. Then she holds her head in her hands and cries, the tears splashing onto the table cloth.
'Mama,' I say 'Mama, don't cry, you'll ruin your best table cloth. The one that daddy gave to you.'
But she doesn't hear me. So I walk over to where she is sitting. I put one of my small, dark hands on her hair.
'Mama,' I whisper, stroking her hair, 'Mama, don't cry, you don't need to cry anymore. I'm here for you.'
But she doesn't pull me up onto her lap the way she normally would, she doesn't even look at me with her warm brown eyes. She just turns the other way. She walks to the small medicine cabinet and pulls out a cigar. Once it is lit, I try to talk to her again. Mama is always more happy when she has a cigar.
'Mama.' I whisper, 'Mama, what's wrong?'
I walk to her and reach up to put my arms around her. They still don't wrap all the way round her tummy. She doesn't hug me back.
I stroke her arms, and reach up to touch her cheek, but Mama looks the other way, out the window and at the gray rain. She walks to the rocking chair and sits down. Rocking back and forth, back and forth singing a song that she sings when she tucks me in at night.
'Mama,' I say softly, 'When I'm old enough to go to school, I'll go wherever you tell me to. And I won't get mad at you. I'll be a good son. I'll make you happy, Mama, I promise I will.'
But Mama doesn't stop singing. She just closes her eyes and rocks back and forth back and forth. When the song ends, another tear rolls down her cheek.
"My baby," she whispers, "Oh my Antony, my sweet, precious child. What will I do without you?"
'Mama?' I cry, 'Mama, what do you mean 'without me?' Mama, I'm right here, I'll never leave you! Never!'
"But you're not here." A rich voice says from behind me. A tall man is standing there, his arms are open wide. He smiles at me. "It's time to go Antony, it's time for you to leave. This isn't the place for you anymore."
'Then where is the place for me mister?' I ask. 'Where are you taking me, I want to stay with my Mama. I have to protect her, see?'
"I'll make you a deal," The man says, smiling. "I'll stay here to protect your mama, and you can go on ahead of me. And when the time comes for her to join us. I'll bring her safely to you."
'But where am I going?' I say, 'I can't go somewhere I don't know.'
"But you do know Antony." The man smiles again, his smile is comforting, "everybody knows. It's time Antony. Time for you to go to Jesus."
'Can I say goodbye?'
"Take your time."
I walk over to Mama, and reach my hands up to give her one last hug. My arms still don't wrap all the way round her tummy, and now, they never will.
