I Know Why Mama Left

By C.R. Hamilton

In the fall of 1965, on the Westside streets of Detroit, the day brought forth a heavy rain. It was also a crucial turning point in Richard Holiday’s life that he, not yet knowing, would blemish his future. Driving from the parking lot of the community college he attended, Richard noticed that same young woman he saw the other day, hurrying through the rain to the other side of the street. The first time he saw her the sun was out and he caught her smile as he drove by. To him, it was an innocent flirtation, due to his family situation; married for 13 years with three kids and a newborn, Richard’s commitment used a good part of his heart. His love was pure for his family and his duty as a provider satisfied his manhood. He loved his wife dearly and his children fulfilled his heart's desires. Of course, he and his wife had problems, normal, healthy problems such as financial setbacks and differences in opinion, in-laws and the children. His wife's parents raised her in the same housing project as his but each family had a different perspective on life. Her family seemed to lack the push for success as did his, which caused the standards of each to differ. His solved problems by striving for the best, hers solved problems with the bottle. And drinking was becoming an issue with Richard’s wife.

This time Richard decided to drive up to the young woman and out of sheer politeness, offer her a ride. But first, he glanced in the rearview mirror at himself and patted his four-inch Afro. His eyes studied life a constant concern and his chin was long with intelligence. He tapped the horn lightly and rolled down the window on the passenger side of the car. After the exchanged of a few words, and a moment of hesitation, she sensibly accepted the ride. When she entered the car, she removed the jacket from her head then looked at Richard and thanked him. She was plain but attractive. Her straight black hair highlighted her beige complexion. Her eyes were large and black and her face was slim to match her figure. She offered a nervous smile and straightened her posture. Again, to Richard this was just an innocent gesture of hospitality to give her a ride home, but within the ego of the male, there is always the need to be reminded of the possibility to attract the opposite sex, especially when the male is married.

They rode and talked. When he stopped in front of her house, he put the car in park and left the engine running. Her name was Christine Hicks; she had a five year-old daughter out of wedlock and lived with her mother. In the early 60’s, a young woman in such a predicament was not highly thought of in the publics’ eyes, according to them she had already failed. So, Christine’s situation was a desperate one and it explained her alluring gestures toward Richard. Whether she new it or not, society and family pressures blinded her to Richard’s wedding ring. Lack of affection and a recent break-up will surface forsaken desires to a person’s mental and physical actions. Times move faster and people must run the race or wait patiently in the past. Christine’s decision was to run the race, regardless of whom she ran over in the process. It was only a matter of finding the right road to run on.

“Would you give me a ride home tomorrow, if you don’t mind?” she asked innocently, acting upon those forsaken desires, eye, body movement, and fragileness. Richard’s ego was hungry and was being fed. But from his point of view, this was the reward for the good deed he was doing out of the goodness of his heart.

“Yeah, ok. Be at the same place, I’ll take you home.” he grinned not only at her, but at the situation also. Outside of his marriage, this was exciting. They said goodbye and he watched her twist away to her porch, then he drove off and went home.

The scene at home was normal for the Holiday family. Richard’s two daughters of age 9 and 10 came running from the front porch to greet him. He gave them hugs and each some candy then watched the front door open and his five-year-old son run out. This welcome from his children always did Richard’s heart good. He took pride in his children and loved them dearly, and to them he was such a fun father. He always made time to take them places and make them happy. Happy children was his heart, not only his own children, but other peoples' also. He was a child at heart himself. He enjoyed the evening atmosphere with his family. His nature was always peaceful, never warring. Any wars in Richard’s life remained outside the home and within the world around him. However, the enemy strategically places himself in everyone’s life.

“Hey champ!” he lifted his son and embraced him. Randall and the girls, Angela and Sylvia, all took the complexion of their mother, light-skinned with hair of curls. Neither took Richard’s skin-tone of brown. He was average height, firm built and his face had a solemn look. He asked the girls what their mother was doing as he neared the door. He dreaded to walk in on one of his wife’s drinking days because the house would be unclean, nothing cooked, and she would be on the phone in an argument. Now that they had the new baby, this would be the last thing Richard wanted to see. But it would not be the first time since the baby, not even a week ago, only three days after they brought the baby home; they had a nasty verbal argument about her drinking with the kids around. The whole drinking thing had almost worn Richard down. Though despite his outburst at her and their fighting, Richard loved his wife and kids and she loved him, and his fits of anger were mainly struggles from within to keep them together and to help her with her problem.

When he entered the house, he heard voices of laughter coming from the kitchen. If he was correct, this was a different one of her days when her uncle, or drinking-buddy, Fred, would come by just before payday to secure a weekend. He frowned and sat Randall down then proceeded to the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway and yes, his guess was correct. The table held up four cans of beer and Fred smiled when he saw him. His wife, Ann, avoided eye contact and lit a cigarette. Richard’s eyes passed from her to the kitchen sink full of dirty dishes then to the baby crib in the middle of the kitchen floor. Richard ignored Fred’s words as anger woke him like a bad dream. He drew enough strength to maintain his composure then spoke, “What the hell is going on Ann!”

Ann stood up to throw away the beer cans still avoiding eye contact. She was a small woman of height carrying the weight of a recent delivered mother. Her hair was over her shoulder in a natural curl and her face was of innocence but emotionally scarred by the abuse of life, especially her mothers. If a person could be inserted into their place in society according to their physical appearance, Ann Tucker Holiday would be a ballerina. Ballerinas are taught to dance and flow to the grace of the music, with expressions free and easy and with beauty as a motive. But when you remove the ballerina from her place and toss her into real life, only pity will be felt. Life poured Ann into a family of drinkers. She was a literal doll in her first years of childhood. She had a different father than her siblings, and as the oldest among all six, she caught the most hell from her mother.

A Cinderella, one might say. Reared by a mother whose abusive actions stemmed from a point of pressure she herself reached, Ann’s mother physically and emotionally abused her more and far worst than the others. She drank and abused them all. Growing in this kind of environment a child will either humble to the demands of the abuser or seek for the very first means of escape. A broken heart fleeing for compassion will fall into compassion’s arms. Ann found Richard’s arms in 1952. A few years later, it had become obvious to Richard that Ann had a drinking problem but his love for her was stronger than the truth.

A tense anger fell over the kitchen after Richard’s words. He did not wait for her answer he just left the kitchen. Embarrassment and guilt brought forth a slight anger in Ann; Fred decided he would leave. She fixed dinner and fed the kids then cleaned parts of the house in frustration. Now and again, she snapped at the kids for their behavior and showed resentment toward the duties of the newborn. Richard napped a couple of hours then ate dinner. After the kids went to bed Ann undressed into her gown and sat in the living room with Richard as he stared at the television. They had not spoken to each other all day and Richard was still angry. Ann had worked her emotions from anger to an aching, but sincere apology. She began to explain and fuss at the same time, but Richard cut her off with a shout. “I don’t want to hear it!” If frightened, and hurt her. His reaction was hasty and bitter toward her, and she got angry. That evening they cursed and physically fought. Ann cried and cursed and the kids began to cry. Richard hollered and fought her yelling heart-breaking names at her. They said things they could not take back that would be lodged in each of their memories forever. The baby screamed, Randall cried and the girls buried themselves under their sheets weeping silently without understanding. They could only hurt for the fear, and out of love for their parents.

Fighting was not always the atmosphere in the family, only in recent years, and not everyday of those years were violent. The good days outweighed the bad days. Love and care attached them to one another. Love and care naturally attaches people. But over time, things that are bound within are bound to surface; they build then explode. The igniting of the explosion usually prevails over love and care when pain emerges: pain from the core, the heart, which is at the truth of the matter. The pain that has always been, which refuses to be ignored. Know the truth from the beginning and leave no room for explosion. Richard searched for the reason of things and for the care and love that was imperishable. Torn between the Ann he loved and the Ann that he hated, all Richard knew was that he did not want to live with the Ann he hated. He fought with that Ann blind to the one he loved anymore. Deceived by the explosion, he did not care to search for his love. He was only human. He could only spew forth what was on the surface. Of course, he was a victim of circumstances.

On the other hand, emotions drove Ann. Mainly hurt. Driven madly by love mingled with anger, a good scream was what she felt she needed: a scream that would release her life into the ears of the world. It was a scream fathered by confusion. She wanted peace, she wanted to love, but she did not understand that her means of escape during her state of confusion was a deceiving force of destruction. To drink was all she understood. She did not know how to go beyond drinking and concentrate on matters. She did not learn this in her upbringing. Her upbringing was another matter she wanted to escape, but what she knew best made her a victim of her upbringing. She loved with all she had and best she knew how. She perceived with all she had and best she knew how. When she could give no more, her mind stopped short and her emotions called for alcohol.

Richard’s source of escape was a step above alcohol. The next day, he drove to his mother’s house after he dropped Christine off at home. A mother is always a good source of comfort because there is care and security, and the slim chance of a breakup. His mind was at peace when he drove in the driveway. Her car was there and he had just had a pleasant conversation with Christine. He felt content in his moment of liberty, but still slightly troubled. He entered the house and found his mother in the living room. They spoke. Yet even through his solemn look, she, Francis, could sense something was bothering him.

“How’s Ann and the kids?” she asked, sitting, flipping through the pages of the newspaper. She glanced at him over her glasses as if to expect a true answer. His face went sour and he shrugged off a solid “ok.”

“You two haven’t been fighting again have you?” she asked as a matter of course. She knew it was true, but brought it up anyway, though Richard may not have wanted to discus it, plus the subject brought sorrow to his heart. But it is routine for a mother to ask children about personal problems at any sign of trouble but are they aware of what personal doors are being opened? Maybe she was trying to prove a point. Before, or even if he wanted to answer, she took her glasses off and closed the paper.

“Has Ann been drinking again?” She asked again, routinely. With that question and those actions, it only brought more pain from Richard’s heart and face. He already knew the problem, and he is already bearing the pain. She shook her head and put her glasses back on then continued reading, and he had not even answered yet. Yes, she found the problem and most likely already knew it, but was not above bringing it to the surface. She could have just known it and went to the next phase, maybe comforting with a good subject or a joke, anything but that. Maybe some mothers are without understanding. Some people thrive on catastrophe, while others soak up self-pity, but this is just what Richard wanted, pity. Her prying was just what he need. He was use to it. If she had reacted any other way, he may not have been able to handle it. She only added grief on top of sorrow. However, that is the way she raised him, so he wallowed always in misery and self-pity. A person in that mental state can never see the positive, but constantly expect the worst. With sorrow on sorrow, there is never comfort. There is neither light nor future. Time and again, misery is perceived and the worst expected, and when it comes, it is the only thing possible to relate to: never noticing the good when it comes and never able to relate to joy. Overmuch sorrow never leaves room for the joy of good things to last but a moment.

After they talked about Ann’s drinking problem and the marriage, Francis reminded Richard that overall he was a good man. She extended the pride she had in him and his city job and his success in school, following in his fathers, James, footsteps and the way he provided for the kids. Although not leaving much to say for Ann, except for her drinking problem. Of course, a mother has to suggest trying to work things out to even be a mother figure, but that would mean going to the root of the problem. Drinking was the problem. Why? They never searched deep enough to find that Ann had given all she could give and could have been a victim of her upbringing. No. All they could see was what was on the surface.

During his drive home, Richard felt that he was not the problem, Ann was. That is easy to ponder after a discussion with one who is looking out for her child’s best interest, now her job was done. Then Richard thought of his other means of escape, the ever so innocent, ego-pacifying conversation with Christine. Sure, he still had it. He was young and somewhat successful, how could a lonely woman with a child and nothing going for herself resist. Self-flattery, self-pity, self, self, self. Things that are unrecognizable to the self steal the identity. The identity has more of an effect on others than one realizes. Naturally, Christine made Richard see himself in a new light. He was interesting to her. He had an affect on her. He showed interest in her with his good deeds. He was a nice person, and he made her laugh, he was well dressed, had a good job, and was handsome, so she liked him. How can anyone blame her? Married, or not, she could not help but to want him. Not that she was out to get him, but what girl would not want a man like this? She knew the chances were slim because he was married, and she accepted that, but her chances grow if he takes a liking to her and pursues her. The reason he would pursue her is that when the wife is the problem in the marriage, how can the husband feel he is doing any wrong? As far as Richard is concerned, he was driven to pursue.

He took her home every day. The route was getting longer with stops in between, an ice-cream cone, sometimes shopping. They laughed a little more and smiled at each other a few times. She went into detail about her life. He told her of his marriage situation and about Ann’s drinking. He met her daughter and began to take them places. Over a period of months, Richard and Ann fought twice about her drinking. She escaped to even more drinking because that is all she knew, and Richard escaped to his same means, his mother and Christine. The wedge was growing and a plunge was near. Confused and hurt, Ann found another strength and tried another means of escape when she could no longer find comfort in the bottle. She started to pray.

During the beginning stages of Richard and Christine’s meetings and the routine shopping and ice-cream conversations, there were a few intimate evenings. By the late winter, the meetings increased to set aside days. Now, this friendship had become an affair. Richard concealed it very well from Ann, who began to lapse deeper into troubled waters. She fought temptation with an unknown strength and began to pay more attention to her duties as a wife and mother. Suppressing anger and swallowing pride, she drew out of her soul an attempt to renew the love in her marriage. She forced smiles and counterfeit laughs when with Richard, only to cry silent tears from the possibility of her causing their marriage and their love to languish. She was humble and at the mercy of an ever growing hope of reconciliation. Her efforts were desperate but the pain and punishment was sufficient for her mistakes. She reaped what she had sown, or maybe more than she had sown. She had driven Richard to the point of no return because of her drinking. Her sorrow and tears increased, not only because of her mistake, but because Richard did not perceive the need of his forgiveness and for comfort toward her. It was what she needed. His compassion for Ann was blind and replaced by the enchantment of another woman. A predicament of this sort leaves little room for a person to invest what is needed to mend a situation after they have given over the best of their affection to another cause. Without the needed touch of a mending process, the hope of reconciliation deteriorates. For one, it was the beginning of a search for hope of a better and more deserving life; for the other, it was the end of something always hoped for.

There was a noticeable change in Christine’s weight. Her mother stared from the kitchen doorway at Christine as she sat on the couch eating cookies and playing with her daughter. The only logical thing entered her mother’s mind and she shook her head and returned to the kitchen.

“Are you going to work today Chris?” Christine hesitated then answered “no” from the other room. Her mother, Betty Hicks, reminded her that she had already missed two days this week, then asked her was she going to quit. Christine answered no again. Betty was only being inquisitive, leading up to what she knew was the matter with Christine. She cursed over the sink about some no good boyfriend then slammed the dishrag down and stormed into the room with Christine. Pointing her finger at her with one hand on her hip, she raised her voice in anger.

“If you done let that piece of trash Charles get you pregnant again, you getting out of my house!” then she told her that she might as well start packing right now and go and live with Charles, especially if she did not have a job. Christine snapped back in defense and before she knew it, she told her mother that it was not Charles’ baby. Her mother drew her head back in shock and said, “You mean to tell me you carrying some other man’s baby?” Then she turned her head in disgust and left the room. Christine followed with an explanation.

“Mama, mama, you don’t understand, this guy is a decent guy mama. He not like Charles at all. He has a good job, he in school, he has a nice car and everything mama.” she stood beside her mother with a nervous, waiting smile. Her mother turned and glared at her with anger. Christine’s smile dropped into shame.

“You’re a filthy slut.” she said and started wiping the kitchen table. Christine’s mouth dropped open and her eyes watered as they followed her mother.

“But mama, I like this guy and...”

“Shut up!” Her mother screamed and stepped toward her. After a short draw back of the hand, her mother slapped her. Christine fell against the counter and her mother stood straight up with one hand on her hip and pointing to the kitchen doorway. “You and your bastard kids get the hell out of my house.” She continued pointing as Christine slowly backed out of the kitchen door in a trembling stagger holding her face. Tears of a misfortune ran from her eyes and sobs burst from her troubled soul.

“But mama...” she whined a stuttering whine.

“I said, get, out!” Her mother said spacing her words firmly. Christine began to cry then ran to get her daughter and they left, slamming the door.

Mothers know best. After so many defeats and so many road blocks and doors closed in the push to success, then coming face to face with a myth that has become the reality of fading opportunities for the unfortunate, to the extreme of a certain class of people; what is left to hold on to but dignity. Betty Hicks paced and thought. It is not logical for someone to not consider the consequences of a night of passion, not these days. What was the use? Let your life go to the demons in hell. Nothings promised anymore, so get it the way you see best. What can I give you but the residue of the hope I once had? If I only knew how, if I could only find it in me, I could promise you the reward of your wildest dreams. And only God knows how much I love you. Betty looked through the curtains and began to cry as her daughter carried her grandchild down the street and disappear into the darkness.

The next day Richard picked Christine up in the usual place, only this time her daughter was with her. Unaware of what had taken place the night before, Richard smiled at the thought of her daughter being with her but was curious as to why. He slowed to a stop by the curb and they got in. She forced a smile and a hello and he asked why Michelle was with her. As they rode and talked, she cried and explained. Along with the news of her being pregnant, Richard stared without expression out of the windshield as a bomb of truth exploded on his life. Acceptance and denial fought an emotional battle within him. After the news of the pregnancy, the words that followed were menial to him, mixed with dim and fading sobs of her crying. Richard’s ears shut down and his brain began to race. Always being a logical man, he reasoned with himself and his conviction, but it was as if the judge had dropped the pallet on the bench sentencing him to life. Cuffed by the bailiff, the prisoner, then and only then, sees their life before their eyes. Richard thought: what have I done? What about my wife and kids, my job, my future; what will people think of me? Oh God, what will my mother say? Yes, he thought of these things before he became intimate with Christine, and yes, as any other criminal he felt he could get away with it. Now come the excuses. Only if Ann had not drank so much, he thought. If only she could have been the wife I expected her to be. I only wanted a peaceful life but she complicated things with her drinking. It is her fault. That was the best reasoning he could do. Inwardly, he was off the hook, plus he had done all that he could do to keep them together. A man can only take so much. Mentally and emotionally, a person can give constantly, but when it comes to taking it in, there are limits.

Richard had an abundance of compassion and guidance to offer; only Ann did not accept her portion, so he naturally began to extend it to Christine. It was his nature. He was good at having compassion for people and counseling them. Even at the beginning of he and Ann’s relationship, he felt for her and pulled her from the physical and emotional abuse of her mother, having answers for her life and promises for her security. Being in the same storm all over again, he only did what he was naturally good at. The storm knew him well and began to tug at his nature. The obvious was not obvious to Richard, how he made the same mistake twice. The bait is set by the circumstances, and what allows the circumstances to take control is a man’s most primitive intellect, his lust.

Sex is such a deceiving action: horrible. It does not care about a person’s life, their goals, or dignity. It knows it is needed and loved, and will not be ignored. It maneuvers the body and mind and hurls them from side to side, banging them against the wall without concern of the consequences. If money is lost, it does not care. It winds the desires around in confusion, the emotions through delusions, hurting and wounding all in its way. But it is only wanted more and it knows this, it knows it is loved so it does what it wants with a life. It hates dignity, morals, values and especially common sense. No matter what age, it is no respect of persons. To defeat lust a person must know its weakness, which is love. When love prevails, it powers all desires, and it is not so much that love is hard to find, but one must know it when it comes. Richard once knew love, but he also knew lust, and it lied to him. It lies to everyone it meets, and if believed, just because a person knows love, they may not understand it.

Be a man, his mother told him. Do the right thing, face up to your responsibilities, accept your wrong doings and go on with your life. Learn something from this and do not do it again. It will all work out, I’m sure Ann will understand when you tell her. "Trust me son, it is the right thing to do." Then she looked at him from the corner of her eye.

Ó 2001 By CR Hamilton

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