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Home  Browse All Articles Writers Showcase Fish Bait
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Fish Bait |
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Written by Glenda K. Fralin
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Tuesday, 15 August 2006 |
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This is the first installment of a series of short stories of similar topic. The name of the collection is "The Slightly Exagerated Tales of a Redneck Madwoman Momma". I hope you enjoy it.
Ah, finally home from work. It’s 3:30. Angie will be coming home from school in about 5 minutes.
Lord what a day. We lost Mrs. Vence, admitted two terminal cancer patients, one of the CNA’s hurt her back. Lots of paper work. Oh well, the kid will be home soon, and I’ve got to get Tony down for his nap.
I tell my 3 year old son it’s time for his nap which, of course, starts the battle. “Tony, come on, mommy’s tired and needs a break.” I finally get him down and he’s snoozing. Angela, why aren’t you home from school? I call the school to make sure she didn’t get held there. No, they tell me. She left when the others did. I make a bet with myself that she’s at Margaret’s again, so I call, “Is Angie there, Margaret?”
“She stopped here for just a couple minutes, but she left about fifteen minutes ago.” she reports. Then I get the well meant but indulgent speech, “Now that is a precious child, don’t you get onto her.”
Dear Margaret. Yes, my daughter is very precious, and I’d like to keep her alive for a while. A sweet seventyish gray-haired lady, Margaret babysat the kids last year when we lived next door. But she never quite understood that I needed to know where Angie was. She’d give Angie a treat every darn time she snuck off to her house. I’d talked to Margaret 'til I was blue in the face, but she just didn’t get it. This year it got to the point that Angie was later and later to and from school almost every dang day. We finally figured out she’d found the way to Margaret’s house. After that we made an arrangement, tried anyway, that Angie would only stop for a visit one day a week after school. And this sure as heck wasn’t it.
I was angry, now I’m both livid and afraid. Angie’s my slow poke, but this was the worst it had been after school. I’m tired of your lateness nearly every afternoon, you little brat. I dash outside and stand on the sidewalk looking toward the direction of Margaret’s place. I tap my foot, about ready to get in the car and go hunting. I dig in my purse for my keys. Looking up I see a small head atop a short body shuffling toward home.
The least the kid could have been was half dead. You better have a darn good reason, or… I’m one of those reactors. I’m a bit like a nuclear core that gets exposed. Watch out 'cause all hell’s breakin’ loose. While many mothers would run to the kid hugging, bawling, and slobbering kisses all over them, I’m the mom who explodes when I know the danger is past. I’m ready to throw words like a whip across my child’s backside.
Standing staunchly with my hands on my hips and my legs set wide apart, I let my jaw fly like a released bear trap grabbing its prey. “Where have you been?” yelling at the top of my lungs, “I’ve been worried sick, and I’m tired of you pulling this crap.” I knew my eyes were throwing daggers and the flames were pumping out of my lungs burning the neighborhood with her.
But, when you awaken the ire of a redneck madwoman momma, there are no rules.
“Mommy,”
No kid, you aren’t getting a word in. I should ground you for a year at least - FROM EVERYTHING. She’s hiding something behind her back. Oh, I’m really going to blow now.
“You sneaky little brat,” I squeal my favorite name for a child in the path of my anger, “what have you got behind your back?”
“But mommy,” she rushes on, heck I’d never seen this kid move or talk so fast, “I got you a present.” Now she was near yelling as tears streamed down her 7 year old face.
I grab for the edge of something – anything. I’m shrinking, lower and lower. I need something to grab before I turn to a heap of manure on my sidewalk.
“What?” Breathing heaves of air to blow out the flames.
My child’s voice continued to shake. “I lost the first quarter, and Margaret gave me another one. So I went down to Charlie’s Bait Shop and got you this little fishy.”
A small clear sack appeared from behind her back. Inside was water and a small swimming, gray thing. Still stunned, all I could do was look dumbly at the gift. Now what was I going to do?
My tongue now whipped back at me from the kind mouth of my victim. Ah, crap, why do kids do this to us? How does a parent win? I slid to my knees and took the bag from my daughter’s outstretched arm. I was trying to speak, but I was totally muted.
That’s when I started to bawl like a baby. Yeah, the madwoman momma put in her place. I grasped my daughter hugging, bawling, and slobbering kisses all over her.
Finally a couple weak words, “I’m sorry.” Wait, I can get a couple more out. “I love you, babe.”
I looked up again, and Angie was pointing to the door. There stands my son, wide-eyed like a kid who found the monster in the closet. Ah, sh—!
That fish lived two months in a jar I found. |
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