Short story #1:
Talkin Momma outta anything was about as worthwhile as talkin Sissy into anything, which, if you know any of us folks, aint not worth nothin at all. You don't just go up to Momma and tell her how it is. In all honesty, you'd get a whoopin just for lookin at her like you were about to go up to 'er and tell 'er how it is. No, Momma was a proud, upstanding kind a woman. When she had sumthin to say, she got to her feet, puffed out her chest, rose her voice and, by God, she said it. And we ALL listened. And EVERYBODY agreed. You didn't disagree with Momma, nooo sir!
If she said, "ya knooow gurl-"she always drew out her words like that-"ya knoooow gurl...what they're sayin about the Earth, that it's round? I just can't believe that. They've got their heads up those asses of theirs, that's what's wrong with them. Momma knows the truth and Momma knooows gurl, this earth is about as round as my booty is flat, and that's not at all." Well, if Momma said that, I doubt there'd be a soul that would stand up and try to tell her otherwise. It just didn't go that way. Nu-uh. No, sir.
Momma liked to talk, too. All the time. Especially about men. Those "slippin and slidin no good rascals." They were never gentlemen. No, sir, not to Momma.
"If any man so much as touches you near your whosey-whats-it, you just scream your head off and run as far away and fast as you can. And you go and call them police, that's what you do." She'd be rocking in her chair on the porch as she said it. Nodding her head as though she could say it from some sort of first hand knowin of things. Momma didn't talk about her experience much though, just about ours. Or, at least, the ones she thought we'd have.
"I don't want none of that hanky-panky, none of that foolin around. Last thing we need is for ma gurl to get erself pregnant-like, like those little harlequins you see on the tv."
Don't get me wrong now, I don't mean no wrong bout my momma. I love 'er and everything she said, and God shoot me down, I listened to e'ry word she said. Even lived ma life by it most times. I never let no "slipin sliding no good rascals so much as touch me near my whosey-whats it." Didn't fool around none. Certainly didn't get myself pregnant like no harlequin girl.
But still, there was just some things that I didn't quite git. I mean, I listened to what Momma said. I did. And I obeyed her good and well. And when I found myself a man that at least I didn't think was a "no good rascal," I was sure to take it nice and slow. He would kiss me all soft and wrap his arms around me, kind of tight, but just loose enough so I could lean back an' look at 'im.
"You know, I'm waiting for you?" he'd say. And I knew it. I did.
He didn't beat me, none. Didn't lay a finger on me, less it was to cuddle up close on the couch. I listened to what Momma said. I did. I went over and over it in my head, and my God, I swear I did it all by her word. But Momma never told me about the sweet, slippery kind-a men. She never told me bout the ones that love you. The one's that make your world like sunshine and fine, fancy chocolate. The ones that tell you what you want to hear...until...the day they don't.
And they don't hurt you none. At least, they don't touch you. But they twist you up all in your head. They rip all your guts out. Tear at your heart all nasty-like. They say them things like "If only you wasn't so..." and "Why'd you always have to be like...", "It's your fault, that...", and "You really can't blame me for..." And they still caress you when you're wanting, and they still love you when you're really down and broken-up about it.
I thought, I thought, maybe, if I let 'im touch me...touch me near my whosey-what's it, then...well...maybe he wouldn't say all those harsh things. Maybe he wouldn't be so cruel. If I showed im, ya know, that I loved him. That I could give him everythin'. Risk everythin'. Momma said it first didn't she?
"That's all a man wants is to get in yur knickers."
I didn't let 'im though. They were just thoughts. Lots of thoughts. But I kept 'em in...cuz I KNEW what Momma would say. She'd said it so much before, she didn't ever need to say it again. I mean, I'm not sayin I didn't get close to it. Probably would've gotten there even, if he didn't break it off. Went and broke my heart he did, and I hated him, that son of a bitch. But hatin im didn't make my heart hurt any less. Didn't make the shiverin stop or the thoughts go an hide off nowheres.
Guess it wasn't his leavin really, as much as his bein gone. That feeling, ya know, of being...free...which, to be free, meant that I had to've been trapped...and, well, then thinkin about all-a that happenin...I just couldn't stand that. Momma never said anything about that! I listened to her, I did. I didn't have no hankpanky. I didn't let him touch me there. I didn't let him hit me none. But she never told me....she never told me that there are some men, some men that leave you achin without ever touchin you at all.