When Mother told me I had to be grateful for the
roof over my head, I looked up when she was talkin'
and bit my tongue, real humble-like, like she was sayin'.
It was then that the tornado hit. Just when her eyes
flickered grey and her preachin' finger
pointed at me. She never saw it comin'
but I did. I surely did.
We had just moved in about a month before. The lot
our house stood on had but one tree; I had just one
friend and Mother said I should be grateful for that
and grateful for having two shoes that barely fit and
one stuffed bear with most of his fur left.
I would sit alone under that tree and wait for
rainbows to come or traveling circuses
with bearded ladies and two-headed snakes
to come to town with ponies and elephants to help
pitch a big colorful tent, so children would come.
One day, the circus really did come to town. I begged
to go but Mother said clowns weren't nothin' more than
bright-colored demons and that no self-respectin'
woman would be caught dead out after dark on the
day before the Sabbath.
We stayed home that night like we did every night.
I lit the fire and sat next to the hearth. The wind was actin' up.
The howlin' noise it made in the chimney almost
drowned out the sound of Mother's rockin' chair rockin'
and her sayin' her bible recitations. Come unto me with a grateful heart...
I stood up and shouted...
I am not grateful for a stupid one-eyed stuffed bear or shoes that hurt my feet
and I am mostly NOT grateful for eatin' bread with sweet milk
every mornin' for breakfast and having' to listen to God's word
every night especially since God had no idea what it was like to be
alone 'cuz he had Jesus and Jesus had twelve disciples
'cuz disciples is what they called friends back then and there was
those three smart men who followed a star in the dark just to find him
so's they could bring him presents and Jesus had sheep and a donkey
and a God-Father and a regular dad named Joseph and a mother named
Mary who went out at night and Jesus' mother was grateful all right, grateful for him.
Mother's eyes flickered grey. The tornado hit fast. I never saw her
so mad. She never saw that birch tree from the side yard come
crashing' through the roof like a bolt of lightnin' and I didn't tell her
it was comin'. It hit her and she fell and I was pretty sure she was dead
'cuz her eyes wasn't flickering' and they was blue again; blue just
like they was supposed to be, blue just like mine.
She would'a read from the Bible if someone up and died in her house.
After the storm passed, I looked around for it but the wind must'a scooped it up
and sucked it out through the hole in the roof. So I just sat in her chair and rocked
for a bit. I told God I wasn't grateful for tight shoes and my stupid bear and
Mother raised me right so I couldn't lie and I told Him I loved my Mother but I
called her Mother not Momma because that's what she wanted not what I wanted
and we didn't go out at night because Mother said it was wrong and that I was sorry
Mother died on the night before the Sabbath but that I was gonna drag her out to
the side yard where the stars shined the brightest at night and she was gonna see 'em
because her eyes were open, real wide open, and blue, just like the sky in the daytime,
the sky He made.