Chapter three: Cast Away

The ground beneath my feet creaked as if it would break and gulf me in one snap. My mama was gone. The form was over. The murmurs had stopped, but the judgments hung around like banks that refused to clear.

I stood before our apartment, this same gravel cinch gripped in pulsing hands, gaping at the empty space where Mama's presence had towered. No steps down the hallways, no climate of her favorite radio dominie growling through the walls.

Silence.

Heavy.

Complicating.

Inside, the air was heavy with the smell of dry incense and unshed tears. I sat on the same faded seat she would sit and plait my hair as a child. My eyes drifted to her print on the wall — still smiling, still full of life, still alive in that moment, suspended in time.

I was about to lose myself each over again when a loud knock snapped me out of it.

"Sophie, open the door," Mrs. Adeyemi's voice was heard. I moaned, rising sluggishly.

As I opened the door, her eyes darted first to my belly, then to my face.

"Hmph," she scented, lugging on the headscarf." You should come out and meet the people who came for the burial, people are talking formally."

I blinked." I — I just demanded a minute."

"Minutes?" She squinted." Some of us left our businesses for this. You think it's easy carrying the name of a widow's daughter who eloped and came back pregnant?"

The words burn like a poke. My lips parted, but nothing came out.

She arrived unsought, her eyes surveying the room as if she was waiting to catch me groveling in shame among the pillows." Your youthful women's moment. No sense of shame at all. Getting pregnant outside of marriage, and your mama carried the shame to her grave."

I stood immobile, the bite creeping back into my knees." Please, you do not understand"

"Understand what? That you were sleeping around while your mama was dying?"

Her voice rose, high and tone-righteous. "Your mama was a prayer legionnaire and a good woman, but look what you brought to her name. You were always too proud, too independent, running off with rich men, thinking we do not know."

My scratched gashes, which I had preliminarily tried to hide, now scorched my eyes. My throat constricted, yet I battled my voice through it." I did all I could to get her out alive. I contended, I labored, I supplicated for help, but nothing heeded. You—you stood at church each Sunday morning and said effects about' God will give,' yet where was your being when we most demanded yours?

Her expression turned cold." How could you speak to me that way? After everything I have done?"

"What did you do?" My voice quivered." Did you go visit her formally? Did you ever ask if we had anything to eat? How was she breathing with half a lung under an oohing ceiling?"

I could feel the bane welling behind her eyes, but I did not watch presently.

"You are there to point fingers. Say what you have to say and leave."

Adeyemi gripped her Bible more tightly and moved back. "You will reap what you sow. A child born of sin will never know peace. Flashback to that."

She stormed out, slamming the door shut.

I collapsed onto the seat, my body wringing in on itself as heartbreak ripped through me. Not because what she said was true, but because I had formerly yelled it at myself a thousand times.

I do not know when Kattie arrived. She slipped in and sat beside me, her head against my shoulder. We did not speak. Her silence, formerly, was safety.

"You okay?" she asked ultimately.

I smelled a sour laugh." Do I look okay, right?"

"No. You look like a man who has been crucified with no stopgap of being revived."

"Well, that is right," I said, rubbing my eyes.

She gently poked me. “ You know what people say doesn't count, okay? They always go to converse, that's what they do."

But they are right," I murmured. "They are right about the shame, about the gestation, about me being alone. I went into that club, into that man's bed, and looked at what it brought me. My mama's life– My character–Everything."

Kattie was quiet for a moment before she spoke," It brings you a lot, yes. But you also got something out of it."

I faced her." What? What exactly did I get?

She smiled noiselessly. “Ethan."

I exhaled. Deep. Painful. Healing. She was correct. That bitsy twinkle that had been inside me months ago had come to be the only reason I had not walked out into the night.

"Suppose you can handle this?" I asked." Raise him by yourself?"

"You've formally started," she replied." And I will always be there."

The coming many days were a blur of sidelong glances, wagging lips, and silences that bellowed louder than words. I noticed others crossing thoroughfares to avoid me. The lessee pretended not to flash back my name when collecting rent. The churchwomen no longer saluted me with a call, but with a renewed request. Indeed, some of Mama's friends stopped dropping by.

But every night, when I tuck Ethan into bed and hear him say, "Goodnight, Mommy," I know I could not crack.

I went to the church one day for my mama's final Thanksgiving. My black dress clung to me, but I stood upright.

As I walked by, the murmuring began.

"That is her —"

"Shameless —"

"Got pregnant before her mama's burial was over —

I stood there like a statue, soaking it in, letting it burn into me, but not bending.

Pastor James asked me to come up to the balcony to say a word about Mama. I climbed the way sluggishly and spoke to the congregation — some pitying, others reviling.

My Mother, I began, in a pulsing voice," was the strongest woman I ever knew. She loved me, tutored me how to supplicate and persist, and in no way gave up on anyone- indeed, those who gave up on her."

My eyes swept across the crowd.

"She was better, she was good for further help than she got. But she failed peacefully, soliciting for all of you. Indeed, those who would not help.".

A murmur ran through the church, but I didn't stop.

Still, I hope you also flash back to her," If you have come, then there is the moment to judge me. Flashback to how she smiled at your children. How she gave her last piece of yam. How she walked to prayer meetings on an empty stomach."

Some eyes dropped.

"I'm her daughter. And I'll not let your shame define me."

As I stepped down from the altar, my knees nearly gave out, but I cleaved. Ethan waited outdoors with Kattie, laughing about something in her hand. My heart softened.

Later that night, I sat down to write in my journal.

They can throw me down, but I'll survive. For my Mother, for Ethan, and for myself.