God Still Don't Like Ugly (2 page)

Lillimae chuckled. “Daddy got a notion in his head that the world’s goin’ to end any day now. He won’t even buy nothin’ on credit no more.”

I was too nervous and confused to go to my daddy. I wanted to hug him and slap him at the same time. More than thirty years was a long time to be separated from somebody you loved. He had a reason to be angry with me for taking so long to come see him, but I had even more of a reason to be angry with him.
He
was the one who had run out on my mother and me at a time when we needed him the most. It was time for him to answer for what he had done.

CHAPTER 3

Iwas devastated that long-ago morning when Daddy deserted my mother and me, leaving us in a run-down shack with just ten dollars and some change to our names. A tornado had swept through Miami the night before, destroying most of our few possessions. That had been enough of a trauma. For many years I had blamed that storm for helping destroy my family, but Daddy had put his plan in place even before that.

His cruel departure was unexpected and thorough. I knew he wasn’t coming back, because he took everything he cared about with him.

Everything but my mother and me.

I never got over losing my daddy. He had been the most honorable, gentle, dependable man I knew back then. He’d loved us with a passion and I had adored him. Like a slave, he had worked in the fields from sunup to sundown almost every day to support us and we had depended on him. He’d kept my mother and me happy by spending most of his meager wages on us. He would wear his shoes until the soles flapped, his clothes until they fell off his body, and sometimes he’d go without eating a meal so we could have seconds. But like it was a rug, he had snatched that security from under us and left us struggling around like we didn’t know which way to turn. And we didn’t.

It was almost like being blind. I always knew that someday I would track Daddy down and make him sorry.

GOD STILL DON’T LIKE UGLY

9

My mother had shed so many tears and spent so much time in the bed those first few days, I felt like the parent. I had to help her bathe, comb her hair, and cook. And all that had frightened me. It had been a heavy burden for a three-and-a-half-year-old child.

I had grieved, too, but behind my mother’s back. I could not count the number of times I’d wallowed on the ground behind an old orange tree in our backyard crying until I’d made myself sick. I didn’t want my mother to know that I was in just as much pain as she was.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be all right,” I assured her. My mother must have believed me because right after I said that, she stopped crying and leaped out of that bed.

It didn’t take long for us to spend that last ten dollars and change.

After we ate all the food in the house, we ate berries from a nearby bush and oranges from the tree that I’d cried behind. My mother didn’t believe in going to the welfare department for assistance. Other than a distant aunt we rarely saw, there were no other relatives that I knew of for us to turn to. Both of my parents had taught me that it was wrong to steal, but that didn’t stop my mother and me from sneaking into other people’s yards in the middle of the night to steal fruit, vegetables, and anything else edible. One night we got caught snatching a chicken out of a man’s backyard. The man turned a dog loose on us that chased us all the way back home with that doomed chicken in a pillowcase squawking all the way. We got our best meals at church each Sunday and from food we stole out of the kitchens of some of the white people my mother did domestic work for.

Like an answer to a prayer, one of my mother’s female friends moved to Richland, Ohio, and shortly afterward encouraged us to join her. She even sent us the money to cover our fare. In the middle of the night, my mother and I tiptoed out of our house owing back rent and loans, taking only what we could carry. Just like thieves. A segregated train took us from one pit of despair to another.

That year was 1954.

It was hard to believe that I’d made it to 1985.

As weak and sad as Daddy now looked, I would make sure that he knew just how much he had hurt us by sacrificing us for that white woman. And I would never let him forget that because I couldn’t.

Anger consumed me as I looked at him. The knife that had been in my back for so long only shifted its position.

I managed to postpone my wrath and wrapped my arms around my 10

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daddy. His body was as rigid as a tree trunk. He had the strong, musky smell of a man who didn’t waste money on man-made fragrances. He leaned back and stared through me as if I were not there, bug-eyed and unblinking, like a dead man.

Finally, Daddy hugged me back with limp arms that trembled. He hesitated for a moment before he rested his knotty head on my shoulder. “Annette, I am so, so sorry for what I done to you and your mama.

I can’t change the past, but I swear to God I’ll be there for you from now on.” Then, my daddy cried like a baby.

And so did I.

CHAPTER 4

As much as I had hated living in Ohio those first few years, I made the best of it. Living in shacks and wearing secondhand clothes were the only things I’d ever known, but to lighten our load, my mother took in an elderly boarder. Mr. Boatwright, a homely, one-legged man with beady black eyes, a suspicious smile, and a mysterious past was a poor substitute for my daddy but he’d made my life easier. For a little while, at least. He showered me with the things I enjoyed the most, like toys and money. And even though I was already the largest first-grade student at Richland Elementary, which he complained about all the time, he helped me grow even larger by stuffing me with unnecessary snacks.

Within months after Mr. Boatwright’s arrival, he revealed a side of himself that nobody but me would ever see. When we were alone, he no longer treated me like the granddaughter he never had. He treated me like a secret lover. He spent more time in my bed than he did his own. I got to know his tired, plump body as well as I knew mine. The endless wrinkles that covered him like a suit of armor, nappy gray hair, and the stump where his leg used to be all formed a grim picture that has been permanently seared into my brain.

In his scratchy voice, spraying my face with foul, yellow spit, he told me, “You ain’t the prettiest gal in the world and I could do a lot better.

Ain’t too many men would touch a child as black, fat, and ugly as you.

12

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You done good to open up
my
nose, girl. I’m real particular.” He added threats that kept me silent for years. “You ever was to tell about that little thing we do, I’ll have to kill you. . . .”

Mr. Boatwright secured his threats by whupping me on a regular basis and waving a gun in my face. Not only did all that keep my mouth shut and my legs open, but my mother idolized this old man and so did everybody else I knew. I never even had a ghost of a chance.

“Brother Boatwright is more of a daddy to you than your own daddy was,” my mother insisted whenever I complained about Mr. Boatwright whupping me. “Forget about Frank. You ain’t never goin’ to see him again nohow.”

No matter how hard my mother and Mr. Boatwright tried to make me forget my own daddy, I couldn’t. My life was like a jigsaw puzzle that I had been trying to put together for years. The only piece still missing was Daddy.

As much as I had wanted to see my father again, I suddenly found myself wishing I could be anywhere but back in Miami. I decided to put that and Mr. Boatwright and his threats out of my mind and focus on the real reason I had made the trip to Florida: to straighten out my tortured life.

There were just the three of us at the dinner table, but Lillimae had prepared enough food to feed twice as many people. As appeal-ing as everything on the table looked and smelled, I couldn’t eat. My stomach was in knots and my head was spinning and had been from the moment I got out of the cab that had brought me from the airport.

If Daddy and Lillimae were as uncomfortable as I was, they didn’t show it. They inadvertently entertained me by loudly gobbling up mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, and greens like they had not eaten in days. A platter of grilled catfish, the flat, black eyes still intact, stared at me. Daddy and Lillimae stared at me, too, as if it were my responsibility to keep a conversation going. I did the best I could.

I regaled them with details of my plane ride, the delay I encountered when I went to retrieve my luggage, and the cab ride from the airport.

These mundane things didn’t even interest me, but Daddy and Lillimae hung on to my words as if listening to me deliver their favorite psalm. When their eyes were not on me, I peered into a bowl next to the catfish that contained lumps of mysterious, root-like items GOD STILL DON’T LIKE UGLY

13

in thick, brown gravy. Whatever it was, it must have been good, because Lillimae and Daddy dipped into that bowl with a vengeance.

It was hard to keep my eyes off Daddy’s face. However, between him and Lillimae, his face was the easier one to tolerate. Seeing a white version of myself was a shock to my system. Lillimae’s existence was a profound reminder of Daddy’s betrayal. But I knew I had to work around that if I wanted to keep Daddy in my life this time. No matter how much it hurt.

“Sister-girl, you ain’t barely ate a bite. Now, them greens is screamin’

too loud for you not to eat ’em. But don’t worry about them smashed potatoes. They are sure enough lumpy. I can feed what we don’t eat to that greedy cat from next door. Clyde. That mangy old feline would eat a rock,” Lillimae told me, chewing so hard her ears wiggled. An onion strip hung from her bottom lip like a ribbon. “I told Daddy not to smash them potatoes with a spatula.”

“The mashed potatoes taste fine but I . . . I ate on the plane,” I muttered, sliding food around on my plate with a slightly bent fork. “And, I’ve been trying to lose a few pounds anyway,” I lied.

Daddy nodded and snapped a mighty pork chop in two with his sparse teeth. Lillimae burped and snatched another huge chunk of cornbread from a cracked bowl next to my plate. She slapped the cornbread with a gob of butter and continued stuffing her mouth. It pleased me to see somebody else appreciate food as much as I did, when I was in the mood to eat. It brought tears to my eyes to have to ignore all the good food sitting in front of me. But every time I tried to swallow something, a huge lump in my throat blocked the way, almost making me choke.

Daddy took a long swallow from a can of beer and let out a great belch. “You ain’t got to lose no weight, girl.” He paused and gave his chest a punch with his fist; then he belched again, covering his mouth and excusing himself. “You look fine just the way you is.” Daddy grunted and punched his chest again. “Black men like women to have some meat on them bones.” That sounded strange coming from him.

I had only glimpsed the
white
woman one time that he had left my mother for. From what I had been able to see, there had not been a lot of meat on her bones. Daddy gave me a sharp look and asked harshly, “How come you ain’t married yet? What’s wrong with them brothers up there in Ohio, lettin’ a fox like you run loose?” Before I 14

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could respond, he turned to Lillimae. “Girl, pass me that bowl of smashed potatoes.” Daddy eagerly scooped up what was left of the potatoes, but not before Lillimae dipped her spoon in again.

“I’m engaged,” I said proudly. “Jerome, my fiancé, is a high school guidance counselor.” I paused and turned to Lillimae. “And he is so handsome.” I felt it was necessary to let it be known that even a plain, heavyset woman like me could attract a good-looking man who loved me enough he wanted to marry me. Other than the man who had raped me for ten years, Jerome was the only man who had ever put me first in his life. That was something I couldn’t even say about my daddy.

With raised eyebrows, Daddy and Lillimae looked at one another, then back to me with wide smiles on their faces.

“Well, I declare. My girl done outdone herself.” Daddy beamed proudly, grinning so hard the skin on his bottom lip cracked. “You done found you a educated man, huh?” He sniffed and wiped a speck of fresh blood from the crack on his lip.

I smiled and looked away before answering. “I didn’t find him, Daddy. He found me.”

I spent the next fifteen minutes bragging about Jerome Cunningham and how good he was to me and for me.

CHAPTER 5

The few letters and telephone conversations I had shared with my daddy during the last five years had not revealed much about him and his new family. But when he and Lillimae started talking, while we were still eating dinner, I heard everything I had been anxious to hear. And a few things I didn’t want to hear.

Even though Daddy had admitted that he was sorry he had deserted my mother and me, he made it clear to me that he was happy with his new family. My other two half-siblings, Amos and Sondra, were both in the military, stationed somewhere in Germany. Daddy had retired from a security guard position at a rough high school and now lived on a monthly pension check.

Other than an occasional dinner with a pushy grandmother he referred to as “Miss Pittman,” Daddy had no love life. “I don’t miss havin’ no lady friend,” he insisted, a faraway look in his eyes. “Women done got me in enough trouble to last me from now on.”

Immediately after the elaborate meal, Daddy excused himself from the table in the middle of a sentence. He ran to the bathroom, moaning and cussing all the way.

“He’s got weak bowels,” Lillimae whispered, rising from the table.

I had almost forgotten how kicked-back people were down South.

It was late in the evening and Lillimae was still in her bathrobe from that morning. There was now gravy on her bare feet that had dripped 16

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off her overflowing dinner plate. She ignored the gnats hovering above her toes, but every few minutes she lifted her feet and shook them.

“Poor Daddy. He’s so proud and independent, it took me a year to talk him into movin’ in with me so I could look after him. And not a minute too soon, girl. Miss Pittman was just about to reel him in like a carp.”