Mommas Don't Cry | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Mommas Don't Cry | Previous Challenge Entry
By Sherry Brock
02/10/16
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Steam from chicken, green beans, and bread rise, hitting my face while I poke fork full after fork full into my mouth. Warmth surrounds my tummy as I close my eyes to savor every bite. I want this feeling to last because its Friday, and I probably won't see anything hot again until Monday. “Mmmm,” I hear myself say.

“Tina?”

I open my eyes to see Mia, a girl from my grade, standing in front of me. Girls like Mia never talk to girls like me. I just stare at her with my mouth crammed full. Scared and stunned, I swallow chicken and beans in one hard lump.

“Tina, can I eat with you?” Mia asks.

My lips seem stuck together. I nod. She sits.

Mia plops her lunch box on the table, slowly removing a tuna sandwich, carrot sticks, and bag of oatmeal cookies. I try not to stare, but the oatmeal cookies look like her momma made them. She picks up her tuna sandwich, and I notice the crust has been neatly trimmed from the edges. I guess her momma made that for her too. Suddenly, I feel burning in my throat, like the chicken is trying to flee my body. Tears seep from the corners of my eyes. I close them quickly, but when I do, all I see is Mama's face. I miss her so much. So much has changed since she left.

I cannot do this. I cannot cry in front of Mia. I don't cry when I help Billy and Charlie dress for school, and I don't cry when the three of us are all alone at night while Daddy works. I especially don't cry when there's not enough food, and I let Billy and Charlie eat first. I'm the momma now, and mommas don't cry.

Filled with new strength, I open my eyes. “Why do you want to eat with me? Won't your girlfriends miss you, or are they waiting for you to make me cry so they can laugh?” The words spewed out before I could stop them and before I had time to think them through.

“Actually, my Momma said I should introduce myself. Momma makes pies every Wednesday for the church soup kitchen, and we saw you there last week. You left before we had a chance to say hello,” she said, slowly unwrapping her sandwich.

OK, now I'm really embarrassed. Can she see the heat in my face? If she saw us at the soup kitchen then she knows we don't have enough food. She probably knows I don't have a momma anymore too. Terror races through my body as my gut rolls, and this time that chicken might just end up on Mia's shirt. Hand to my mouth, I close my eyes.

Mia smiles and holds out an oatmeal cookie. “Momma says you live just one street away, so I thought maybe you and your brothers could come over tomorrow night. Momma says if you don't want to walk she can pick you up. Wouldn't that be fun? What'a ya think?”

“Why would you do that?” I ask as my heart swells with hope, but crashes with suspicion. “You don't even know us.”

“Actually, Momma says she and your mom were good friends in school. I can't imagine not having my momma, so I thought I could share her just a little bit with you, and Momma thinks that's a great idea. Please, won't you come? Momma makes incredible oatmeal cookies, right?” she says, breaking one in half to bump it into mine, like we're toasting the new year or something.

Breaking off a part of the goey cookie, while eyeing her suspiciously, I counter, “I'll have to ask my Dad.” The smell of the cookie is divine, but I take slow tiny bites.

“I know. Momma will ask him too. We can play games on my I-pod, and our brothers can play outside. Momma's making her scrumptious meatloaf. Nobody says no to Momma's meatloaf,” She says with a pleading glance, making me feel guilty for even thinking of saying no.

“Thanks Mia. Meatloaf sounds wonderful, and the boys will flip,” I say, and the day suddenly seems brighter.

Behind me I hear the roar of laughter. Mia's warm eyes turn to ice, and her friendly smile is now a smug snarl. “Really Tina, this little talk has been deliciously entertaining,” she quips, triumphantly popping the last bite of oatmeal cookie into her mouth.

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