ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ANN HITE’s short stories and essays have appeared in such publications as The Dead Mule, Skyline Magazine, and Chicken Soup for the Soul.
Ebb Tide
By Ann Hite
Mary Jo smacked her gum and pulled Mama’s hair so hard with the comb, tears came into Mama’s eyes. A cigarette burned in the ashtray; the smoke curled in front of the mirror like a cobra coming out of its basket to the sound of the charmer’s flute. Tally watched twist and weave.
“Take it easy on my hair.” Mama barked.
“I just wished you’d try some color. This gray would just soak it up, and you’d look years younger, Jodie. You’re too darn young to look like an old woman.”
“I don’t care a thing about looking younger, Mary Jo.” Mama’s face drew up like she was sucking on lemons.
“Don’t you want a man, honey? You’re too young to shrivel up and die.” Mary Jo smacked her gum and wiped at a smear of red lipstick.
“If I can’t get a man without coloring my hair and wearing trashy makeup, then I just don’t want one.” Mama looked at Tally in the mirror. “Besides, I have a child.”
Mary Jo clicked her tongue. “Lord Jodie, no one is saying you have to give your life up just because you got a child.” She ran her fingers through Mama’s hair. “This gray is beautiful, but it’s just not the thing. You need to be a blonde like Marilyn Monroe. I just thought she was the prettiest when she sang happy birthday to the president. You’re just thirty-six. Do something with your life.”
Mama frowned. “I’m thirty-four, Mary Jo, and you know it.”
“Well, see there. Your whole life is in front of you, girl.” Mary Jo began to roll Mama’s hair on little plastic rollers. “You need to forget this old permanent wave and tease a little. Give yourself some height.” Mary Jo wore her hair teased real high, and it was the most beautiful red color. “I’ve gotten so many comments on my hair I’ve just quite counting.”
“I should think you have.”
Tally knew Mama’s tone of voice. It was the one that showed how much she disapproved of something. She heard it often.
“Do I detect a little ‘high and mighty’ in your voice?” Mary Jo pulled Mama’s hair hard again. Sometimes Tally wished Mary Jo could work magic on Mama, turn her into someone new. “You need you some fun, sweetie.”
Mama pulled her shoulders real straight like a proud Aztec Queen—Tally had seen a picture, or a drawing, in her history book—and sniffed. “Tally and I are going to the coast for a long weekend.”
Mary Jo rolled her eyes at herself in the mirror. “Well, la tee da, the coast. Being an operator for the phone company pays more than I thought.”
“I’ll not discuss my paychecks, but I’ll have you know Glover is taking us.”
Mary Jo’s face reflected Tally’s heartfelt feelings. “Lord, Jodie, when you going to learn to stay away from him? Are you going to let him keep interrupting your life, not to mention what he’s doing to sweet little Tally?”
Each roller in Mama’s hair was tight and formed neat rows down the side of her head. “It’s good for Tally to spend time with her father. I am grateful for his time.”
“God! Are you always going to be a door mat?”
Mama winced. “He’s the only man I’ve known, Mary Jo. I’m not like you.”
“Then live on the wild side, honey. Do like me. Find a man with money and sweet love in his eyes.”
Mama clicked her tongue. “And, one foot in the grave.”
“Better than Glover, sweetie.” Mary Jo laughed.
Tally walked out of the shop into the yard. Mary Jo’s shop was in the front of her house. A sign painted in pink sat in the front yard: The Hair Palace. The whole town thought it was the tackiest thing since the mayor painted the water tower black and white checks with the name of the town lettered perfect all the way around: Calico Valley.
Mary Jo just loved the color pink, the brighter the better, and had all the house trim painted in the color of stomach medicine. Mama said it was a loose color.
Tally worked hard to think about anything but Glover’s arrival. It was spring break and her father had decided it was time to once again enter their lives and stir Mama up something awful. But, no matter how she tried to slow time down to a stop, Thursday arrived with a beautiful cloudless sky as if Glover’s arrival was a blessing, something to look forward to on her last few days off.
He reentered their lives just like he left, always sudden. He stood on the other side of the old storm door. Somehow he had shrunk and no longer resembled the prince she envisioned in her younger days. He wore his Air Force fatigues and heavy black boots that could squish a hand to pieces with the right pressure. But it was the gold band on his left finger that caught her breath in her chest with a sharp pain. Why did he wear it? He smiled his crooked toothy grin, and she hug him around the waist, pressing her face into his stomach, inhaling that pipe tobacco smell and a tangy scent of beer that she related only to him.
Published July 2007