Flying Lessons & Other Stories(21)

“Don’t y’all be up too late,” Mama says, taking her bottle with her. She always rips off the labels, but I know it’s not pop.

Sneaky changes the channel to wrestling and we watch that for a while. When I go to the kitchen to get us a bag of chips, I hear Mama crying in her room and I know she’s missing Daddy.

I take the chips back to the living room and turn the TV up so Sneaky won’t know. Sneaky switches to a comedy channel, and I do my best to laugh whenever he does.





JANUARY 3


I wake up to Charlie poking me and pulling at my blanket, which is always annoying.

“?’Saiah, Mama said for you to fix me something for breakfast.”

“Huh?” I open one eye and Charlie’s right up in my face. I push her away, but not too hard.

“Mama said for you to fix me something for breakfast.” Charlie sticks her fingers in her mouth and waits for me to get up. She’s four, and very smart, but she don’t never listen when we tell her to stop sucking on her nasty fingers.

I crawl out the bed and yawn my way to the kitchen. Cereal’s the easiest thing to make, but there’s no milk. I open the freezer and grab some frozen waffles. I put four in the toaster and drink some orange juice straight from the carton.

“You ain’t supposed to do that! I’m tellin’ Mama!” Charlie says, making a face.

“You tell her and you ain’t gettin’ no waffles.” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and take another sip. “And I’ll tell her you’re sucking your fingers.”

Charlie pulls them out her mouth, wipes the slime on her pajama pants, and sighs. The waffles pop up and I put them on a plate and butter them. I put one on Charlie’s Dora the Explorer plate and look for the syrup. There’s barely any left, and Charlie laughs when the bottle makes fart sounds.

“Say your grace,” I tell her.

“Jesus, bless my waffle, and help us get more syrup. Amen.” Charlie stares at the waffle. “You suppose to cut it like Mama does, ’Saiah.”

I sigh and cut her waffle real quick. Then I put two waffles on a plate, squeeze some farting syrup onto them, and walk to Mama’s room. Her door’s open a crack, and I knock and peek inside before I open it.

“Mama, you hungry? Cuz I made waffles.”

Mama’s bundled up in her bed like I was before Charlie woke me. She doesn’t move a bit, even when I sit next to her.

“You make Charlie something?” Mama’s voice is muffled and scratchy from under the covers.

“Yeah, she’s eating.”

“All right. Y’all eat and watch TV, okay? I’ll be up in a little while.”

“So you don’t want the waffles?” I ask, staring at the plate.

“No, just go watch your sister and let Mama rest. Get dressed for school.”

I don’t tell Mama it’s Sunday, so there’s no school. I cut a bite of the waffles with the fork and chew it. A few of Mama’s bottles are on the floor. Empty. Then I notice a gold notebook peeking out from under the bed. It looks like one of the notebooks Daddy would always take with him to work, so I quickly reach down and grab it.

“Go, Isaiah!” Mama says, and it sounds like a groan. I scurry back to the kitchen and slide into a chair across from Charlie.

“Why you eating Mama’s food?” Charlie asks.

“She didn’t want it,” I say with my mouth full. Charlie makes a face.

“Probably because you didn’t cut them right,” she says, picking at her waffles.

“If you don’t want them, you can get up and be hungry,” I say, tired of her being so picky. Charlie doesn’t say anything else, but she hums while she eats the rest of her food. I get the last waffle from the toaster and eat it without syrup.

“Can I have a banana?” Charlie asks, looking at the bowl on the table. There are two bananas, and they both look pretty bad to me, but I shrug and tell her okay. She eats her mushy banana and asks for water, “Cuz you slobbed on the orange juice, ’Saiah.” I pour her the water, then we go sit on the couch and watch cartoons.

Mama stays in her room all day.





JANUARY 5


There are papers taped to the door when I get home from school. I pull them off and hand them to Mama when I go inside. She’s lying on the couch, watching some talk show. She looks at the papers and doesn’t say anything, just sets them aside. The good thing is, there are no bottles around her.

“Where’s Charlie?” I ask, dropping my backpack onto a chair.

“Miz Rita’s doing her hair,” Mama says. “She’s probably done by now.” She shifts a little and points to the chair. “Hand me my purse, ’Saiah.”

Mama pulls out a twenty-dollar bill and hands it to me. “Go get your sister and tell Miz Rita I said thanks.”

I push the money in my pocket and take the stairs down to the first floor, where Miz Rita lives. Her daughter, Shayna, opens the door.

“Hey, Isaiah. You comin’ for Charlie?”

“Yeah,” I say, stepping into the apartment. It’s warm and cozy inside, and unlike our place, I smell food cooking.

“They’re in the kitchen. Mama’s almost done.” Shayna’s watching TV and doing homework at the same time, which never works for me.