Feeding
Written by Estha Simon

(2,714 words)
" Thank you, mother" the mid 30's Angeline Dance whispered in delight. The tray of Lasagna placed in front of her was cheese full and nothing taste better than three servings on it. It melts chewily in her chubby mouth, and let out a tremor of food passionate feel, that lust her…highly.

As a food review critic, her job was always onto feeding, a soul in hunger as she hunts for the best food around New York, but back from the city spins, she loved monthly visits to her mother's where the soul food came served piping hot from the oven. The recipe was secretive, mother said that…and not until she lay on her death bed would she passed it out to any god damn hell one. Angeline wouldn't mind… but people does, with words going that she's not her mom's child. That's not true, or perhaps it is. Her mom is the only person that tells her every time of her visits ," Young Lady, you look a bucket size smaller…"

And came a laughing retortion. Angeline, a woman in 30's with a fiancé and a 170 pound body to look after. How could she, if she only eats and writes, a puzzle in her placed by the inner heart. But Angeline was ever jovial and plays along those teases about her body size, the fats and the cholesterol plays no harm in her self-esteem, nor any insults when she buy second handed rap music at the black alley. Yo mama's ass so big that makes you blurt!

Kindly, she's a lady everybody wants to meet up with. The Atlantic Monthly offered her a job as their new food critic, she turned down, and wanted more value visits with her mom.

" The Atlantic Monthly wants you?"

" Uh-huh…" she mumbled as a piece of the melting cheese slide into her throat. She licked her thumbs, both of it and it made her good, and wiped clean with the serviette beside her.

Her mom stepped forward ready to sink her mossy plate of cheese. Angeline set her mother aside and dipped into another serving from the pan. Mom looked disbelieving, how is she gonna tell her daughter? It would hurt her, yes it definitely would.

" That's the fourth…"

Her fork plays with the food and parted a section into her. Mother still disbelieving. The cold night strays the Dream Shack, Mr. Dance built it when it was just a small wooden shack… single story now bloomed into a well furnished cozy compound, they proudly called it home. As the sky darkens, the kitchen lights were switched on, the swinging cord led to the light of the bulb, a dim wonder in a small village, far from the urban New York, from the black and from anything that could hurt Angeline more.

" You want some dessert, dear?" her mom suggested " Will fresh pecan chips do?"

She chipped of the sticky cheese, " Thanks mom, you're best lady in the world!"

Her mom smiled, and it was not easy to let her have it all, but her daughter is hurt in a way which is too much, she needs a person to trust or she'll break up, like the summer they were in back then, and the Nigger boy that tried raping her. If mom ever talks about her diet, she'll blast. That's why, she must eat. Dad's not here for a very long time already, perhaps three years? The mind gambles with the date. And her daughter looked so pretty under the shade of light. But it was the county that made most remembrance.

Past Summer
It was an unforgettable summer afternoon, back here the county fair bazaars paraded the entire town, the place was placed into the festive joy and it plays with the gigantic ferries wheel, roller coaster(mini one) and carousel which they thought only Magical World of Disney possessed such luxurious rides. The cameras were taken and the flask with water was too, the budget was just a walk, no eating and no other drinks allowed. Mr. Dance made them clear on how the family should spend wisely.

It was a fair, a game of life, which was fully pact with waves of enormous crowd. It dances like a play with such a touch, the place was a beauty and the camera started itself. It's for the Town's weekly paper The Paragraph. Come to think of it, the paper was so dully written in short pieces format, it suited the title of the weekly.

For Mr. Dance was on assignments, or not, they don't even think of coming. A night stay in the shack will be worth much more than the Café he quoted from a memoir he tried writing. But it never went to the market, the publishers disagreed on the pinpoint his mingled mind that wanted to include the theory of how actors rots in hell…

In the end of the day, he landed up in town jail for giving the editor two punch in the cheek and was bailed out three days later by a close friend, we couldn't, because it's the end of the month and we've no more money until pay day.

They walked the entire fair, the story teller spun into photography and left his family about and trailing behind him. The ferries wheel spun a circular motion and Angeline wanted to ride on it badly, she yelled at father when he wouldn't let 'em and got a hard spank on her cheek, the circus went entire quiet for a moment, all eyes strayed onto the evil father, and he beamed a hatred eye on Dan and then, things will get worse, when it's time to go home. The circus moved on, continuing its merry jovial sensational day, with the anger inside, the belt and the rusty smear awaits Angeline's return, and it was what Dad wanted to do, for disgracing him in public.

Present
And now, with her daughter so big, bigger than the father… that she wonders where in the world does she gets her genes from… That's when her mind strayed into the topic of illegitimate child, she gasped disbelieving of her cruelty even of thinking about it, Mrs. Dance pour over in comfort, " Honey, you okay? Yer eating good…but make it slow okay?"

It left her blank but she nodded a little, a slow sign of recovery after a strenuous thinking.

" Tell me, honey…" her mother was into coffee talk now " When are you gonna tell the world about your mama's lasagna?"

She always prefer if Angeline would ever call her by mama, instead of formally addressing her as mother or mom, that lost the Southerner feel'. That ran her an irritation since she's been with Washington post, tryin' hard with a Yankee proficiency. She never welcomes a Yankee tongue, but what the heck! Her daughter is into the eastern fad…

" Later… mom" lamented with a mouth full of chewy gooey, " The minute you give me the recipe and I'll type out the draft the very next second…"

The mom walks over with her China tea cup, precious gift won during a county fair two years ago, that beam as her latest asset, that brims with a small speck of class.

" Hell got me swearin' in fronna( in front of) Virgin mother," she blurted like a drunkard, with just few sips of coffee? " Gotta make sure, me mother gracious left a seat in Heaven fer me!"

Little girl smiled, the mother and daughter embraced monthly meetings with a drunken coffee talk. It's a ritual, to make a drunk hell and spun in each time, Mrs. Dance would ask for her deserved fame and daughter little would asked for the recipe, and God, and the existence would come into this topic. That worked for the two theology applicant.

Past
Little does young Angeline know, after the good old Southern wuppin' Daddy dearest gave Angeline,a smacked for good, and everything curse and swear for the good. Angeline rolled in sheets, crying her bitter brutal bruises received for being wanting and that's for the greed that Satan wanna plant in her, that's to get rid of the sin… for the good.

Three days later, the mighty gigantic fair still rush through a pact for the most successful and joyous fair in history, and mayor of the town, Sonny Whitefield, a black man too white to be black was claiming a pride and wanted a plague in memory of the successful county fair in the duration of his office.

Young Angeline, still hurt in physical appearance, decided not to put more burden by placing more hurt in her emotions. That's good, Mrs. Dance said and sent her out to get some coffee powder in the general store due ten minutes away.

A little shift in the weather made her hurry, Mrs. Dance wanted to stop her, but she went on. Down the dirt path to the junction of the main street, a nigger boy snucked up behind her and dragged her covering up her mouth, helpless with the boy's enormous strength, she helplessly gave up until he dragged her behind the bush.

" Mercy me lady, I'm just a nigger boy who wants somethin', you done better share it with me, and I want it fast."

Unzipping his pants, instantly Angeline wanted to give out a loud scream, but the boy kept her shut, forcing her and reaping off her clothes. He pulled off her panty and just the right moment he was about to enter, the bush parted with Mrs. Smith cracking her voice disbelieving his act.

" Damn you Joseph! You nigger witha hungry dick!" she started to raise her umbrella whilst he sheath from her hitting with his hand. Quickly, he ran off leaving his pants behind and a sobbing Angeline in shame. " God darn that kid, I swear he'll goes to jail and rot hell there!"

Mother, Mrs. Dance, was of course devastated.

Present
They where now over the drawing room, a place hardly any Southerners reckon. It was Mrs. Dance idea to extend the back porch into a drawing room two years ago, when she got her China wares with a beam of pride for finishing War and Peace, that's where she heard of a drawing room, although, she doesn't really know what's it for.

It aroused Angeline to see a plate of freshly baked pecan cookies placed right in front of her, the steamy hot pastries send out a slow wavy breath of steam. Her took her first sink into the cookies. Good, she said.

Mother came in with two teacups, one with tea, for her daughter, she read up a book which introduce tea to her as a secondary method to help the digestive system to her regular fruits. Which doesn't really helps.

" Ginseng is good for you…" she tried to talk " This ginseng formulated tea I found last week in Jame's."

Angeline smiled. Mrs. Dance sat closer to her daughter, they were bonding, where mom finally decided to tell her the truth. The truth? What is there anymore truth to tell after 5 years of monthly visits, they practically run dry of truth, and the truth is, there's more truth to a mother daughter relation. And this truth, might either help her or destroy her for the rest of her live.

" Angel dear…" she softness frosted the heart of her daughter " I wanted to tell you something for a very long time but didn't manage to, but what the hell…"

Don't hell me! Angeline spoke loudly within her.

" Remember the inccident during the summer when you were eleven? That nigger boy?" she tried hard to continue, but tears shed her redden cheeks, " Well, your father sent him to do that… I mean he's not even your father… you're a Walker and your father, your real father is dead."

In one breath, she said it all out.

" Momma…" she whimpered. " Don' play no bullshit…"

" I done hell with bullshit…" impressed with her daughters change into a Southerner. " Your father, I mean Mr. Dance told me when he was on his dead bed…"

Angeline rose up, confused and mad with her mother.

" Five years… I came to you to make sure we get a good mother daughter relation everybody envy of, and now you tell me?" she almost wailed in tears," what the hell is wrong?"

I wanna slapped you hard lady… her mom's heart beat the hatred.

But no avail, she let it out… loud.

" You think I wanna play God keepin' secrets till the end of the world, or letting you on my death bed begging for the truth… you think it's easy for me?"

" What? What's so hard, you tell me…"

" I'll tell you what's yo so hard… it's because it's feeding! It's feeding you with shame, desperation and sorrows, with all the dead that will kill ya. You think I wanna stay with these to my death bed, it's so much easier like that, with you still thinkin' that the nigger boy was a shit accident. Tell you what, it's not…"

" Then what is?" her voice began to lower.

" It's planned because I loved you like hell more that the two boys he and me got fucked up! It's you the darn piece of trash I'm after, after Walker died, he want you dead, he want the Nigger to kill you for a cheap $100 and done me for not killin' him on his death bed, because I know he's goin' to hell and not that I don't want to. I want you to know that life can't be in food, the soul food I cooked for you isn't gonna help. Throw up those feeding, throw em' up…"

" Momma…" she purred.

" Come on… throw em' up!"

5 months later
Mrs. Dance hasn't seen her daughter for five months. The morning rusted with a fear of loneliness, she might have regretted telling her daughter that and made her go away, but that's the best remedy. She was tired and got the Doctor's confirmation on her liver cancer and told to have her last few months with her close ones, but she wanted it alone, solitude is like a snowflake, it is beautiful and daring…

The mailbox flagged up, the last time she got mail was 9 month's ago, she got near and opened the box, it was a letter from her daughter, beloved little Yankee…

The letter reads…

Dear momma,
Dearest dearest dearest momma… how are you?

Sorry for not calling you, the moment I got back, I packed and head straight to Seattle leaving my dandy house to neighbor Wilsons to care off, I darn lost your phone couldn't get through. I'm fine now in Seattle with the Amazon.com, I've changed my job and now as a book reviewer. Guess what? I've found a book suitable for me… can you believe it?

I love jobs out of food, I threw em' out for good. I've got bulimia for the past five months and still goin' on therapy and hope to marry Shawn soon…maybe next summer, don't worry, your name is on the first of the list, I can't come over monthly now, got a big scale to lock myself in the room reading a big stack of books, but it kept me entertaining.

Guess what mom? I've lost 71 pounds, made me slim enough to be a super model. Shawn said he should bring me to a Hawaii for honey moon, he wanna show off my assets, then I told him will that make him jealous of other man staring at me…. He said not to worry, because we're only going to the pool where the old folks are…

Dear momma,
I love you…

From your ever lovin' daughter,
Angeline Walker…

Mrs. Dance looked up, she knows she won't be able to attend her daughter's wedding, the letter was left aside, her cheeks sagged with a droplet of her tears, her knew how much things change, as she went back into her drawing room, retracing Tolstoy's masterpiece.