Ms. Odetta Thomas

Lord Have Mercy

    This Sunday morning the sunlight stream through the wool curtains casting golden patterns across the bedroom floor.  Ms. Odetta knelt beside Curtis, who said cross-legged on the wooden floor, his arms flapping in time with the rhythmic hum he let out.  His face was alight, captivated by shimmering patch of sunlight dancing on the wall. 

     “Curtis sweetheart,” she murmured, holding up a small black and white bow tie. Just let Grandmama put this tie on you, okay?”     

      She managed to slip it around his neck. It was slightly askew, and her hands trembled as she adjusted the knot. “We can’t have you looking sloppy for your baptism, not in front of those wretched deaconesses. You know how they talk.”  They always made remarks under their breath as Ms. Odetta walked by proudly with her grandson in tow. 

     Curtis made no sign he heard her. His attention was focused entirely on the sunlight. Ms. Odetta sighed and tried it again, her voice softening.     

    “You look so handsome, baby. Just hold still for grandmama.” Her fingers fumbled with the tie, the material slipping through her grasp as Curtis shifted suddenly. Ms. Odetta groaned her irritation bubbling beneath the surface. She was tired and her patience was running thin as nails with her youngest grandson, Curtis.  

     She glanced toward the hallway hoping to hear her daughter, his mother, walked through the front door.        

    “Hmph, no Lydia,” she muttered irritably under her voice, “Guess I'm doing this all on my own again.”

     At 62, she no longer had the energy to chase after children. What she did have, was a throbbing headache and a thirst for that bottle of whiskey on her nightstand, that now seemed like a million miles away.     

     “Curtis, honey Grandmama's gonna get a glass of water,” she said, her tone softer now. “You stay right here okay.”  

      Curtis didn't respond, but Ms. Odetta wasn't too worried. He wouldn't wander, especially not with the sunlight keeping him mesmerized. She raised up from the floor, grabbing her ailing knees and back.  Her body delivering all the aches she had come to know as ‘signs of old age’. As she looked down at Curtis, Ms. Odetta thought about how much easier Sunday's mornings had been when he was younger. Back then, he'd stand in silence, no fuss, no human connection, just a blank stare. Now he’d wail his arms at that window. She wondered what had changed. 

      Finally, she straightened up, smoothing her skirt with one hand, while making a frantic dash to her room.  Quickly finding her whiskey sitting right where she left it the night before...on the nightstand. She took a sip straight from the bottle. The warmth spreading through her chest, steadying her nerves. That was her only saving grace. At that moment, she realized she still needed to put her greens and neckbone on the stove.     

     “Lord have mercy on ya child, For I’m shol’ tired,” she repeated for the millionth time. She took one more sip of whiskey, in preparation to return to Curtis’s room. Her resolve had resurfaced.

     “Alright, let’s try your jacket now,” she pleaded, hoping it would be an easier task. She fetched the blue velvet suit jacket with white trim. She’d spent weeks searching for the right one for this important day.   

     “Just one second, baby, and we’ll be all done.”    

     Curtis squirmed, his hums turning into soft whines, but Ms. Odetta persisted. He hated anything against his skin. He’d mumble “Itchy”, one of his few words. He only mumbled, but she always understood him.   

    “I know baby,” she consoled him.   

     She carefully guided one arm into the sleeve, then the other, tugging at the jacket to straighten it against his tiny body. He was rather small for an 8-year-old. She convinced herself Lydia was to blame for that.     

     Ms. Odetta knelt again, her hands now trembling as she adjusted his collar and brushed the lint from his shoulders.

   “There we go, my little man,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Perfect! Now no one can say a thing.”   

    Her hands lingered for a moment, brushing over the flaps on the jacket as if smoothing them would silence the imaginary whispers already forming in her mind. “Them wretched women won’t have anything to gossip about today, not about Curtis, at least,” she carried on in her head. The thought of facing their judgmental eyes made her stomach burn like hot coal.  

     Ms. Odetta was proud that she managed to have Curtis dressed before Lydia arrived. He had returned to flapping his arms again. The sunlight spilling over his face, his small hands fluttering as though trying to catch the light. Her chest tightened as she looked at him. He was beautiful, lost in his own world, where she was seldom invited.

     “Stand still baby,” she ordered while straightening his jacket just a bit more.  

     “Once I have him dressed, I can get my own self dressed up,” she thought with a sly smile. She was excited to wear that new yellow coat she’d gotten from the Salvation Army over on Oak Grove Ave.  The sales lady complimented her on how nice it looked on her chocolate-colored skin. She’d definitely be a fine, upstanding Christian woman in front of those deaconesses.    “HA!” she roared while giving Curtis a devilish wink. “Ain’t nobody gone mess with us today!”