It’s part of a collection of works. I have other segments of my journal on my page also. A lot more happens to Tisha (Me) later on in the book. This is just setting the stage, relating to the reader that there was actually a time in my child hood that was good and pure, before the other.
Non-fiction / Life Journal 4
My Hero
My mother and I may not have always had the best relationship. Namely because I thought I knew everything and she knew better than that. My mom never failed to call me out when I had gotten too big for my britches and sometimes we argued like sisters. One thing I can say, and always will say for my mother though was that there was no place that I felt safer or more loved than when my mother was standing right next to me.
The rest of the world was really where I encountered real trouble, but when my mother was nearby, the world could be set right with just one word from her:
Letisha rolled over and took a deep breath. As usual the smell of coffee drew her eyelids up. Hopping out of bed she made a bee-line for the kitchen where her mother huddled near the open oven door trying to warm up.
“Hey mom,” Letisha greeted with her hands on her hips and her chest poking out. Her mother looked over at her and shook her head at the sight the little girl presented. Tisha stood there bleary eyed with her hair sticking up every which way and her tattered Rainbow bright pajamas hanging from her small shoulders. Her mother could have sworn she’d thrown the nightgown out but apparently Tisha had saved it from the garbage bin.
“Hey kiddo,” she greeted.
“Hey mom. You think I could have some coffee this morning. I’m really tired like you and Larry,” she pleaded and yawned really big for emphasis. This only caused her mother to yawn in return before she shook her head. What did this tiny person know about being so tired that she woke up tired? Nothing and she hoped to God she would never have to know.
“No. But you can have some Lucky Charms,” she replied with a smile.
Tisha made a face and her chest deflated instantly causing her mother to chuckle.
“But I’m getting old Ma. How old do I have to be before I can have a cup of coffee,” she asked dejectedly.
“I will let you know when you are old enough. For now you sit at the table and I’ll fix your cereal,” her mom replied and Tisha knew better than to argue any further.
With a huff she climbed up on a chair at the table and waited. As she waited she noticed the golden flakes embedded in the white table top and wondered how long it would take to count them all. She knew how to count to a hundred and didn’t imagine that it would be very hard to count past a hundred so she picked a corner of the table and started counting.
Her mother set her bowl of cereal before her and headed off to the living room with her own cup of coffee to catch some of the news before she got ready for work. By the time she got to a hundred, Tisha had already eaten her way through the cereal stars and only had marshmallows in milk, her favorite part.
“… ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one-hundred.” Tisha paused as she tried her hardest to remember what came next. She smiled as she knew she had it figured out. “Two hundred, three hundred, four-hundred, five-hundred-“
“What are you doing,” her mother asked as she came back with her empty coffee cup to put it in the sink.
“I’m counting the spots on the table mama,” she replied as she swung her legs back and forth. Her feet were nowhere near reaching the floor from the top of the giant chair.
“And is that how they taught you to count in school,” her mother asked.
“Yep. They sure did,” Tisha replied proudly.
“I don’t think so. What comes after a hundred,” her mother asked as she approached and crossed her arms.
Tisha looked at her mother doubtfully. Obviously if her mother was asking her she must have done something wrong. She though long and hard before she answered uncertainly. “After one-hundred comes….”
Her mother just stood there waiting patiently.
“After one-hundred comes two-hundred,” Tisha stated as more a question than a statement of fact.
“Nope. After one hundred comes one-hundred and one, then one-hundred and two, and then one-hundred and three.”
Tisha put her head back and laughed. “Ohhh yeahhh. I forgot mama,” she said as she shook her head. Her mother could only chuckle again at her goofy little daughter as she headed toward the bathroom to get ready for work.
“Don’t sit there all day counting. Eat your cereal and put your clothes on,” her mother instructed before she closed the bathroom door.
Tisha turned back to the table and sighed as she realized that she had lost count. She did not want to have to count starting from one again so she picked a speck that looked like it was in the vicinity of the place where she had stopped and she started from one-hundred. Finally tired of the game she finished her marshmallows and went to the sink. She poured out her milk and set the bowl inside.
“What did your mother tell you about wasting that milk,” Larry called from the living room and Tisha slapped her head.
“It was only a little bit of milk,” she said in return.
“Are you arguing with me,” Larry asked with that pause that let Tisha know that he was not in a good mood.
“No. Sorry. I’ll drink it next time,” she said by way of apology before she shot past the living-room and into her bedroom.
She looked at the shirt her mother had picked out for her and made a face. Her mother loved to see her wear the shirt but it was one of her least favorites. It was a red sweater that had golden strands woven into it. Her mother said it was so cute on her but to Tisha it was itchy and the turtle neck was too tight.
If she wore this sweater she would be pulling and tugging on it all day. She looked towards the bathroom door that was still closed. She snuck over to her closet and stuck the offending sweater in her toy chest. She then reached up and grabbed her favorite white sweater off a hanger and pulled it over her head. She pulled on her jeans and her shoes and presented herself at the bathroom door just as her mother opened it to admit her for her morning hair combing.
“Is that what I picked out for you last night? What happened to your red sweater,” she asked.
“It was dirty so I put on this one,” Tisha responded quickly.
Her mother put her hand up on her hip. “What do you mean it was dirty?”
“I think I may have accidentally spilled some drink on it last night,” Tisha replied with a straight face.
Her mother eyed her and Tisha held her breath. If her mother pushed the issue Tisha knew she would be in trouble for lying so she just waited serenely as if her fabrication were the perfect truth. Finally she saw her mother just let it go.
“Make sure you put that sweater in the dirty clothes so we can wash it tonight. I don’t want it to get stained, you look so cute in it,” her mother said and Tisha breathed easy as she went to the toilet and sat up on the lid.
Her mother picked through her hair removing the hair ties that her hair seemed very reluctant to release. Tisha wondered why her hair had to be so difficult sometimes. Maybe her hair was like the lady who she had seen on TV. She had seen a lady on one of her cartoons on Saturday morning that had snakes for hair and every individual strand of hair stood up and hissed whenever anyone got too close.
She giggled to imagine her hair standing up and hissing at the hair comb as it tried to approach her. All giggling stopped though as the first raking strokes of the comb came and her neck disappeared into her shoulders. She wished that she were a turtle at this time of the morning so that she could pull her head inside her shoulders and her mother couldn’t hurt her head any more.
“Sit still,” her mother growled as she worked her way through the tangles. “I swear. I do not know how your hair can get so tangled in the night. You need to stop sleeping so wild little girl,” her mother admonished.
“Yes mama,” Tisha squeaked out as her head began to throb from the strokes of the comb. Her mother called her tender headed. She didn’t want to be tender headed. She imagined this would be a lot easier if she were hard headed, but she didn’t know how to make her head harder. Maybe if she wore a helmet it might help train her head to be harder.
Maybe there was an exercise she could do to make her head stronger. As she contemplated this she did her best to hold back the tears as the comb continued to tug and pull at her head.
“Be still,” her mother admonished yet again as she pulled her head closer to her. Once her mother got in a good rhythm of strokes Tisha could not hold back the tears. Finally the hair began to slide easily through the comb and only the occasional small tangle would catch in the comb. Her mother breathed a sigh of relief as did Tisha.
Now came the fun part. Her mother’s nimble fingers separated her hair into four sections and she tied them off and braided multiple braids into each ponytail. Since she had on a white sweater, her mother chose to put a variety of colored barrettes in her hair. If she had worn the red sweater it would have been just the red and white barrettes, but when ever she wore the white sweater, her mother put every color in the rainbow in her hair and Tisha loved it.
Her mother handed her the mirror and Tisha smiled as she gave her head a good shake making the barrettes dance around her head and face. “It’s perfect,” she cooed as she smiled. Her mother returned her smile.
“Just don’t loose all your barrettes before the end of the day,” she warned all though she knew that the warning was falling on deft ears. Every day at least one barrette popped off during play time to be lost to the recesses of the sand pit forever. It wasn’t a very big deal though. One of her mothers favorite past times was buying new and varied colors of hair ties and barrettes not only for her daughter’s hair, but hers as well. There was nothing that her mother liked better than to find a pony tail holder that matched her outfit perfectly.
“Go get your back pack,” her mother said brightly as she put the finishing touches on her own hair. Her mother met her at the door just as Larry headed into the bathroom to get ready for work as well.
“Have you seen my keys,” her mother asked as she looked around perplexed.
“Nope,” Tisha responded brightly.
“Help me look for a second.”
Tisha put down her back pack and helped her mother search for at least ten minutes. Their search turned up no results. “Hmm. I’ll find them after I get back. Come on. Let me take you over to Barb’s,” her mother said as she sent one last frustrated look over her shoulder into the house.
They closed the door behind them and made their way out of the front yard into the night to make their way next door.
“You know, I could stay with you until you find your keys,” Tisha pleaded.
Her mother smiled down at her. “I know you don’t like Barb much and I wish that there were some other way… but I have to work and you have to be strong for me. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like to help one another out. Okay,” her mother said reassuringly and Tisha nodded with a smile. She liked nothing better than to feel like she was helping her mother.
As her mother opened the neighbor’s fence, Tisha squared her shoulders and walked proudly forward with her mother. If her mother needed her to be strong, that was what she would be. Barb opened the door at her mother’s knock with her usual scowl on her face.
“Does she have her house key,” Barb asked.
“Yes. She has her house key,” her mother replied evenly.
“Good, cause I can’t have her hanging around here today. I have to take my grand daughter’s to girl scouts,” Barb said as she stepped back to let Tisha pass. Tisha looked up to her mother again and her mother smiled down at her.
“You have your lunch,” she asked her.
“Yes mama.”
“Okay kiddo. Have a good day,” she said as she bent down and kissed her daughter’s precious little face. She turned and left quickly before she could change her mind and spend the day at home playing sick so she could be with her daughter. Tisha watched her mother walk up the walk and out the gate. Her mother worked so hard every day and she could look so tired sometimes.
“Well, are you going to just stand there all day? I have other things to do besides stand here waiting for you you know,” Barb yelled as she waited.
Tisha turned to her and hurried inside. Once inside the front door closed and Tisha was once again trapped in the dungeon. “I swear you are one slow witted little girl. People should not have to ask you every day if you have your key and your lunch. My grand daughters never have to be asked if they have their key and lunch,” she said angrily.
“Sorry,” Tisha mumbled as she sat down on the floor.
“You know what. I don’t think I want you lying on my floor any more. I think that you have peed on my floor before,” she said angrily.
“I never peed on your floor,” Tisha argued. Without warning Barb came forward and grabbed Tisha by the arm giving her a good shake.
“I said I don’t want you lying on my floor anymore! If you don’t know how to control yourself better than an animal then I don’t want you lying on my floor at all,” Barb screamed in her face.
Tisha grabbed the old woman’s vice grip and tried to pry her fingers away. The old woman’s claw didn’t budge. “I swear I didn’t pee on the floor. It might have been your dog who peed-“
“Are you calling me a liar,” the woman asked as she shook her arm, causing Tisha’s teeth to snap shut and tears to spring to her eyes.
“I know that my dog doesn’t pee on the floor! You think I don’t know what my own dog does. You are nothing but a filthy disgusting-“
Barb’s speech was cut short as someone pounded on the front door. Tisha whimpered in the ensuing quiet as she continued to try to remove the woman’s fingers from her arm. Finally Barb released her and headed for the door. The moment she had it unlocked the door came swinging open.
“Who exactly are you yelling at like that,” her mother asked as she stepped in nose to nose with Barb. Tisha had never been so happy to see anyone in her entire life.
“Well I haven’t told you but your daughter has been peeing on my floor,” Barb yelled.
“Well if you have been having some kind of problem with my daughter then you come and talk to me! If I ever hear you raise your voice at my child like that again I will knock you into the middle of next week,” her mother said point blank and her eyes told the old woman that she meant it.
Tisha had never in her life heard her mother say anything like that to someone and in that moment she was her hero. Her mother reached down and scooped up her daughter’s book bag and grabbed her hand. They marched out of the dank dungeon of a house and into the night air hand in hand.
“Mama. I thought you needed me to go there and be strong. She’s always yelling at me like that,” Tisha said. Her mother stopped and bent down to eye level with her.
“You are a human being and you never have to put up with people treating you like that. We will just figure out another way,” her mother said and they went back home. Her mother ended up playing sick after all as she spent the afternoon trying to work something else out for her daughter. From that day forward Tisha was allowed to stay at home until the neighborhood kids got ready to leave to walk to school.
She was given the responsibility of making sure that the door was locked before she left the house. Sometimes she still saw Barb walking her grand daughters to school, but she would make sure to walk across the street from them.
It would be years before I discovered that my mother was actually paying Barb to watch me in the morning and that most of the snacks that she had been giving to her granddaughter’s before and after school were actually snacks that my mother had bought for her to give to me.
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trav8434 reviewed Version 2 -
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“One thing I can say, and always will say for my mother though was that there was no place that I felt safer or more loved than when my mother was standing right next to me.”
The first part of this sentence needs some work with commas.
Maybe it’s just me, but you describe this child and her relationship with her mother very well. Brings back memories.
“She though long and hard before she answered uncertainly. “After one-hundred comes….”” thought
““Are you arguing with me,” Larry asked with that pause that let Tisha know that he was not in a good mood.” “Larry asked with a pause that let Tisha…” I think this sounds better.
“Finally the hair began to slide easily through the comb and only the occasional small tangle would catch in the comb. Her mother breathed a sigh of relief as did Tisha.” A comma after “relief” would help the flow of this sentence.
““Just don’t loose all your barrettes before the end of the day,” she warned all though she knew that the warning was falling on deft ears.” “although.” And i think you mean “deaf ears.”
“They closed the door behind them and made their way out of the front yard into the night to make their way next door.” Try not to repeat “made/make their way.”
Once again, this mother/daughter relationship is very well-portrayed.
Just when i was thinking there wouldn’t be anything to grab my attention, you brought in the confrontation. I liked this very much.
Travis
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MaxPower1272 reviewed Version 2 -
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The character of barb is a good antagonist, i really hate her, like i would tell her off if i met her in the street lol. Its always a vivid memory of the first time your parents or those in custody of you actually protect you when your young. Its an awkward but thankful moment.
There is a moral and plot here but im not sure what market it could really go for, maybe reader’s digest? maybe a children’s book.
cybertyger reviewed Version 1 -
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That was one of the most entertaining stories I have ever read to be so short! This part made me laugh out loud… “She didn’t want to be tender headed. She imagined this would be a lot easier if she were hard headed, but she didn’t know how to make her head harder.” and also the part where Tisha just knew what came after 100, 200, 300… that was great, literally I laughed out loud twice while reading this. Also, I was getting kind of complacent with your story until you went to barb’s house which picked me right back up with anticipation, I had already fell in love with Tisha’s personality, and felt outraged at that woman for abusing you or Tisha, sorry don’t know if it is you or not. However, I felt the resolution, and was welcoming for it when her mother rescued her. Some children never get rescued and endure such abuse throughout their childhood. Thank you for sharing this story with me. You made my night.
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