Promises Made
I wrote the following story for a contest run by www.thefirstline.com. They publish a quarterly journal in which every story starts with the same "first line." The story was what I came up with, they didn't think it worthy of publication. Feel free to write them and tell them they screwed up. :)
PROMISES MADE
Tessa sent up a hasty prayer for forgiveness as she slipped on the dress Mama had bought for her in exchange for a promise not to marry Al. The prayer was nothing more than a hurried muttering of “Please God.” It was really all she could muster given that she didn’t really believe in the power of prayer and was ambivalent about the existence of God.
Sure, she went to church every Sunday. Third pew from the front, on the inside aisle, sandwiched between Mama and Aunt Emma. Both dressed in their Sunday best and their fake pearls, their hose sagging around their ankles. Tessa spent her time in church doing everything but paying attention to the preacher. When he would preach, Tessa’s eyes would glaze over and her mind would wander. The only part of church she liked was when the choir would sing.
Tessa went to church because of another promise she had made to Mama. As long as she lived under Mama’s roof, she would go to church with her every Sunday. In exchange, Mama wouldn’t preach to her about the evils facing her on a daily basis and that God and a personal relationship with Jesus Christ was all she needed. Two hours every Sunday morning was a small price to pay.
In Mama’s eyes, Al’s biggest sin was that he wasn’t a churchgoer. It didn’t matter that he had a job and took care of his own mama. It didn’t matter that Al always treated Tessa with respect and had never done anything more than politely kiss her at the end of a date, always asking if it was okay before he did so. To Mama, anybody who didn’t visit regularly with the Lord had a one-way ticket to hell and wasn’t good enough for her daughter. When Mama got wind of Tessa’s time with Al, she had ordered her not to see him anymore. When that didn’t work, she resorted to bribery. All it took was the simple black dress Tessa slid on now.
If Mama had only known that it wasn’t Al she needed to worry about.
It was Pepper Jones, the silky smooth baritone in the choir, who stole Tessa’s attention whenever he would rise, step forward, and burst forth about the glory of God’s kingdom. When Pepper had a solo, Tessa’s knees would quiver. Mama, sitting close enough she could feel her daughter shake, was convinced that the music was touching her soul. It was, just not the way Mama thought.
When Tessa and Pepper were alone, usually after they had made love, Pepper would quietly, almost in a whisper, sing to her. When Pepper rose to sing in church, full of people shouting “Amen!” and “Hallelujah,” all Tessa heard were his words. Pepper Jones was singing to her, only to her. Just like his whispered songs while they lay entwined on a bed in a motel in the next town over.
At twenty-five, Pepper was eight years older than Tessa. In just a couple more months, she’d be eighteen and able to leave Mama. And she wouldn’t have to make any empty promises to her again. They would be able to leave Walliston, the little pit stop of a town in which they lived, in the deepest corner of Georgia. Tessa had no doubt that they would leave. There was no way they would be able to stay once Mama and the town found out about them.
For years, Mama had been telling Tessa about what kind of man was right for her. God-fearing and hard-working. A man who took care of his family first, second, and third. In other words, Al, who fit the description in every way except that he didn’t go to church. But there was one other characteristic that Mama never ceased to tell Tessa was important. Only white men were good enough for her. Mama grew up in Walliston at a time when black people were divided into two groups--good niggers and bad niggers. And Mama never stopped telling her, “Even a good nigger isn’t good enough for you, because a good nigger is still a nigger. Do you hear me, Tessa?”
When Tessa was just a little girl, barely able to walk, Mama would scare her, “Tessa, niggers eat their babies. Sometimes they steal little white children and eat them, too.”
As Tessa got older and she no longer was scared by that fable, Mama came up with new ones. When she was about thirteen, Mama began telling her, “Nigger men like to rape white girls, Tessa. You just keep your eyes and ears open. You hear me, Tessa? Even good niggers are still niggers.”
Tessa hated how much Mama used that word. There were times when Mama used it so often, Tessa felt like she must need to say it like most people need air to breathe. She wanted to scream every time Mama said it, but she didn’t. She held her peace, hoping she could get through the next few months. That’s all she wanted. If she had to promise not to marry Al, so be it. That was a promise she could keep. If she had to sit between Mama and Aunt Emma every Sunday, she could do that. If she had to listen to Mama’s venom and hate, she could pretend to hear her. She just didn’t have to agree with her. And, she couldn’t do without Pepper Jones.
* * *
Tessa slid the dress on and smoothed out the folds that clung to her, muttering her quick prayer. She loved the feel of the dress on her slender body. Particularly, after just making love to Pepper. The cool feel of the material made her shiver as it came into contact with the heat of her body, heat generated by their passion. “Please God,” she mumbled. Tessa leaned over and kissed Pepper, brushing her hand down his chest, still damp with perspiration from his efforts. “See you at church,” she said, with a giggle, wishing she could stay, but knowing that she couldn’t.
If she didn’t get home soon, Mama would begin to wonder. Tessa hated it when Mama would ask her, “Where you been all this time, girl?” There was always a hint of accusation, a suggestion that she was up to no good. And Tessa, knowing that she was up to something Mama wouldn’t approve of, found it difficult to respond.
Tessa slipped into her shoes and walked to the door, pulling it open and stepping outside. The afternoon sun blinded her briefly. She looked down, blinked her eyes, and put on her sunglasses. When she could see again, she looked up. “Oh, shit!” she exclaimed.
“Come with me, Tessa!” Mama said. She was standing on the fringe of the asphalt parking lot, right where it hit the cement of the walkway that ran along the building of the cheap motel. It was as though the crease between asphalt and cement represented a boundary that Mama would not cross. Briefly, Tessa thought that if she stayed on her side of the line, she’d be safe. She could turn around, go back into the motel room, close the door, lay down next to Pepper, and Mama would leave. But Mama was looking at her with a look that could have killed small children and flattened trees. Tessa realized Mama wasn’t going to leave without her.
“Mama,” Tessa began. But she could go no further.
“You think I don’t know who’s in there?” Mama asked, her voice and eyebrows rising in accusation. "You think you and that nigger . . .”
“He aint a nigger, Mama. Don’t call him that.”
“. . . can hide in this rundown motel,” Mama continued, ignoring Tessa’s interruption. “That I wouldn’t find out? You may not be in Walliston, but you’re still in the same county and I got family all over. You know that. I never thought you were that stupid, Tessa. I can’t believe you been in that room, huffing and puffing, with a nigger.”
“Don’t call him that!”
“Tessa, you’re still my child. I’ll call that boy whatever I want and you’ll shut your nigger-loving mouth about it,” Mama said, her voice was steady now and her eyes had narrowed. “Now, come with me,” Mama repeated, lifting her hand and gesturing with her index finger for Tessa to follow her.
Tessa, as much as she didn’t want to, found herself moving towards Mama’s car. She crossed the boundary that lay between her and Mama and slid into the passenger side of the front seat. As Mama settled in behind the wheel and glanced over at her, something told Tessa that there were no promises she would be able to make to get out of this one.
PROMISES MADE
Tessa sent up a hasty prayer for forgiveness as she slipped on the dress Mama had bought for her in exchange for a promise not to marry Al. The prayer was nothing more than a hurried muttering of “Please God.” It was really all she could muster given that she didn’t really believe in the power of prayer and was ambivalent about the existence of God.
Sure, she went to church every Sunday. Third pew from the front, on the inside aisle, sandwiched between Mama and Aunt Emma. Both dressed in their Sunday best and their fake pearls, their hose sagging around their ankles. Tessa spent her time in church doing everything but paying attention to the preacher. When he would preach, Tessa’s eyes would glaze over and her mind would wander. The only part of church she liked was when the choir would sing.
Tessa went to church because of another promise she had made to Mama. As long as she lived under Mama’s roof, she would go to church with her every Sunday. In exchange, Mama wouldn’t preach to her about the evils facing her on a daily basis and that God and a personal relationship with Jesus Christ was all she needed. Two hours every Sunday morning was a small price to pay.
In Mama’s eyes, Al’s biggest sin was that he wasn’t a churchgoer. It didn’t matter that he had a job and took care of his own mama. It didn’t matter that Al always treated Tessa with respect and had never done anything more than politely kiss her at the end of a date, always asking if it was okay before he did so. To Mama, anybody who didn’t visit regularly with the Lord had a one-way ticket to hell and wasn’t good enough for her daughter. When Mama got wind of Tessa’s time with Al, she had ordered her not to see him anymore. When that didn’t work, she resorted to bribery. All it took was the simple black dress Tessa slid on now.
If Mama had only known that it wasn’t Al she needed to worry about.
It was Pepper Jones, the silky smooth baritone in the choir, who stole Tessa’s attention whenever he would rise, step forward, and burst forth about the glory of God’s kingdom. When Pepper had a solo, Tessa’s knees would quiver. Mama, sitting close enough she could feel her daughter shake, was convinced that the music was touching her soul. It was, just not the way Mama thought.
When Tessa and Pepper were alone, usually after they had made love, Pepper would quietly, almost in a whisper, sing to her. When Pepper rose to sing in church, full of people shouting “Amen!” and “Hallelujah,” all Tessa heard were his words. Pepper Jones was singing to her, only to her. Just like his whispered songs while they lay entwined on a bed in a motel in the next town over.
At twenty-five, Pepper was eight years older than Tessa. In just a couple more months, she’d be eighteen and able to leave Mama. And she wouldn’t have to make any empty promises to her again. They would be able to leave Walliston, the little pit stop of a town in which they lived, in the deepest corner of Georgia. Tessa had no doubt that they would leave. There was no way they would be able to stay once Mama and the town found out about them.
For years, Mama had been telling Tessa about what kind of man was right for her. God-fearing and hard-working. A man who took care of his family first, second, and third. In other words, Al, who fit the description in every way except that he didn’t go to church. But there was one other characteristic that Mama never ceased to tell Tessa was important. Only white men were good enough for her. Mama grew up in Walliston at a time when black people were divided into two groups--good niggers and bad niggers. And Mama never stopped telling her, “Even a good nigger isn’t good enough for you, because a good nigger is still a nigger. Do you hear me, Tessa?”
When Tessa was just a little girl, barely able to walk, Mama would scare her, “Tessa, niggers eat their babies. Sometimes they steal little white children and eat them, too.”
As Tessa got older and she no longer was scared by that fable, Mama came up with new ones. When she was about thirteen, Mama began telling her, “Nigger men like to rape white girls, Tessa. You just keep your eyes and ears open. You hear me, Tessa? Even good niggers are still niggers.”
Tessa hated how much Mama used that word. There were times when Mama used it so often, Tessa felt like she must need to say it like most people need air to breathe. She wanted to scream every time Mama said it, but she didn’t. She held her peace, hoping she could get through the next few months. That’s all she wanted. If she had to promise not to marry Al, so be it. That was a promise she could keep. If she had to sit between Mama and Aunt Emma every Sunday, she could do that. If she had to listen to Mama’s venom and hate, she could pretend to hear her. She just didn’t have to agree with her. And, she couldn’t do without Pepper Jones.
* * *
Tessa slid the dress on and smoothed out the folds that clung to her, muttering her quick prayer. She loved the feel of the dress on her slender body. Particularly, after just making love to Pepper. The cool feel of the material made her shiver as it came into contact with the heat of her body, heat generated by their passion. “Please God,” she mumbled. Tessa leaned over and kissed Pepper, brushing her hand down his chest, still damp with perspiration from his efforts. “See you at church,” she said, with a giggle, wishing she could stay, but knowing that she couldn’t.
If she didn’t get home soon, Mama would begin to wonder. Tessa hated it when Mama would ask her, “Where you been all this time, girl?” There was always a hint of accusation, a suggestion that she was up to no good. And Tessa, knowing that she was up to something Mama wouldn’t approve of, found it difficult to respond.
Tessa slipped into her shoes and walked to the door, pulling it open and stepping outside. The afternoon sun blinded her briefly. She looked down, blinked her eyes, and put on her sunglasses. When she could see again, she looked up. “Oh, shit!” she exclaimed.
“Come with me, Tessa!” Mama said. She was standing on the fringe of the asphalt parking lot, right where it hit the cement of the walkway that ran along the building of the cheap motel. It was as though the crease between asphalt and cement represented a boundary that Mama would not cross. Briefly, Tessa thought that if she stayed on her side of the line, she’d be safe. She could turn around, go back into the motel room, close the door, lay down next to Pepper, and Mama would leave. But Mama was looking at her with a look that could have killed small children and flattened trees. Tessa realized Mama wasn’t going to leave without her.
“Mama,” Tessa began. But she could go no further.
“You think I don’t know who’s in there?” Mama asked, her voice and eyebrows rising in accusation. "You think you and that nigger . . .”
“He aint a nigger, Mama. Don’t call him that.”
“. . . can hide in this rundown motel,” Mama continued, ignoring Tessa’s interruption. “That I wouldn’t find out? You may not be in Walliston, but you’re still in the same county and I got family all over. You know that. I never thought you were that stupid, Tessa. I can’t believe you been in that room, huffing and puffing, with a nigger.”
“Don’t call him that!”
“Tessa, you’re still my child. I’ll call that boy whatever I want and you’ll shut your nigger-loving mouth about it,” Mama said, her voice was steady now and her eyes had narrowed. “Now, come with me,” Mama repeated, lifting her hand and gesturing with her index finger for Tessa to follow her.
Tessa, as much as she didn’t want to, found herself moving towards Mama’s car. She crossed the boundary that lay between her and Mama and slid into the passenger side of the front seat. As Mama settled in behind the wheel and glanced over at her, something told Tessa that there were no promises she would be able to make to get out of this one.
posted by Sparky at 7:34 PM
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