The Birth

Nobody knew Mama was ready to let herself lie there that day. She had woken up with that feeling. It was a feeling that sits in the pit of your stomach with no thought of it ever leaving. She let her eyes open just a crack, enough to see the wrinkles in the bedding where a body should have been. She pulled the covers toward herself, wrapping her body in them, turning on her side away from where she knew the bed was cold.

But a little light had seeped in through her blinds. And she’s never forgotten that little burst of sun ray since. The feeling of warmth on her cheek, and opening her eyes to see light making itself known in a sunless room. Where she was from, the sun was always there; she never had to look for it. But here, the sun hid behind buildings and tiptoed around clouds. To see a little burst of a little something was such a sight.

And it made her wonder. It couldn’t have been more than a little after 7, and the clouds usually didn’t care to part until 9, sometimes even a little later, so the sun making itself known had to be a sign of some sort. Maybe it was her Mama, from wherever she was, giving her that nudge she needed to get up. Her eyes became alert as she watched the movement of the ray. A ray like that should stretch for miles, and if it had another window to go through, well that would be a sight!

She looked closely and could see a bit of sun sparkling on her hands. For just a little bit of sun ray, she could feel the whole side of her body warm up, her hair, her face, her wrinkled sheets. She got out from beneath her covers and touched all the warm parts of herself. Lying there in that bed, she was sure she had been found. She watched the end of the sun’s ray halt at the base of the opposite wall.

She got up. Ready to begin the day. She parted her coils down the middle and tied each section into two firm braids and wore her only pair of pearl earrings. Pearls she bought at some convenience store. Those pearls felt so heavy she wondered if anyone would notice that her ears were drooping. And that’s all she remembers about her getting ready, the plaited hair and drooping pearls she took with her to a job interview. Everything else must have sorted itself out.

She remembered a wooden desk. The woman on the other side surveyed her resume with a mouth attempting to pronounce, “Aaaf-fii-ah?””

“Ma’am. It’s Affiah.”

“Beg your pardon?”

Would this woman like it if I used my Christian name? Well. Then the wrong person came in to interview today.

“Ma’am, it’s A-fee-uh.”

“So I see that you graduated from a university in Texas . . . ”

“Yes.”

“And . . . where are you from?”

“Ma’am?”

“Originally?”

Mama arched her back and raised her chin to see the woman who was having more of a conversation with the piece of paper in her hand. No matter the ache from arching the back, stiffening the spine, stretching the corners of her mouth to hold a smile, she couldn’t see over that piece of paper. Finally, the paper came down just a bit, just enough for their eyes to meet . . .

“Ma’am, I have additional experience working in—”

“Well thank you for coming in today. You should hear from us in a week.”

Those blue veins jutting out of the woman’s hand, using a vigorous force to put that piece of paper face down on her desk. And those eyes that kept skipping about, using its mouth to say a bunch of low “Mhmms,” high “Okays!” and the lags between her phrases that seemed to dance around an unspeakable something else. And those eyes, how they kept shifting about with her mouth stuttering on pauses that didn’t make sense to be...