Mama by Terry McMillan Read Free Book Online Page A

buy at least two bottles of cough syrup, a jar of Vicks, and extra toilet paper so they could blow their noses.
    The kids stayed home from school the entire week, and Mildred didn't go to work. She was sick, too. Christmas was three weeks away and two of the families she cleaned for called to tell her they were letting her go. They were mailing her checks, along with a small Christmas bonus. There wasn't much she could do about it except walk down to the Social Services Department like everybody else and ask for help. This humiliated and embarrassed the hell out of her—Mildred hated the idea of begging, which is what she thought it boiled down to—and she also didn't like the nosy people in town knowing all her damn business. They talked enough as it was, which was one reason she didn't go to church, and she didn't want them to know just how bad off things really were in her house. She had always prided herself on being self-sufficient and self-reliant. But Christmas was right around the corner, so for once Mildred ignored her pride.
     
    "Mama, here's my list," Freda said, handing Mildred a piece of notebook paper itemizing everything she wanted. The other kids handed Mildred pieces of paper with equally long lists.
    "I want a Baby Sleepy," said Bootsey. "She pees and cries and then falls asleep. She comes with clothes too."
    Money said, "All I want is a racing car set, a Mighty Moe, and, oh, I almost forgot, a pair of ice skates. My other ones are too small."
    "We want skates too, Mama, with tassles on them," said Angel, "and a cooking set." Doll nodded in concurrence.
    "Hold it! Just wait one damn minute here. Let me tell y'all something. First of all, now, you know your daddy ain't gave me a dime since he left. And you know I just got the first check and I still gotta pay off that furnace bill, and y'all be lucky if you get something to eat for the rest of the month, so all these elaborate lists y'all making can be cut right on down to three thangs. First I'ma get you what I know you need, then what I can afford. But ain't nobody in this house got no money to be going out spending hundreds of dollars on no damn toys that'll be torn up before the weather breaks good. You understand me?"
    "Yes, Mama," they said, holding their heads down and returning to the sun porch.
    "Chunky and BooBoo are getting bikes," Money whispered to the girls.
    "Yeah, and Rita Morgan and those guys are getting new sleds and a toboggan and real skis," said Bootsey. "I don't want them cracking on me when we get back to school if I ain't got no new skis." Bootsey was the most competitive of the kids, and many times she and Freda would argue because Bootsey swore she was smarter. On one occasion, she decided she was stronger and asked for a fight. Freda slapped her so hard she made Bootsey's lip bleed. That was the end of that.
    "I ain't never had my own bike," Freda said. "I want some fabric 'cause I start homemaking class next semester. Boy, what I wouldn't give for a sewing machine. Then I could make all of our clothes!"
    "I don't want no homemade clothes," Bootsey said. She was three years younger than Freda.
    "Why not?" Freda asked.
    "'Cause they look too homemade." Bootsey stuck her tongue out at Freda.
    When Christmas was two days away, Mildred hollered to Freda from her bedroom. "Can you come in here for a minute?"
    Freda came to the doorway.
    "Close the door, baby."
    Freda closed it suspiciously and stood in front of it.
    "Sit down," Mildred said, patting the mattress next to her. Freda sat down. Mildred had a worried look on her face. She'd counted her money ten times and every time it came out the same. She didn't have enough. There was no way she could stretch it to get the kids' things out of layaway. Somebody was going to have to do without—at least wait till she got her check after the first of the year. She knew the younger kids wouldn't understand. But Freda was almost twelve, and half grown. She could fry chicken better than