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| Painting Created by Tina |
Timothy
looks through the kitchen's bay window and watches a red sedan crawling along
his dirt driveway. He dashes out the screen
door and stands and waits on his front porch. As he lowers his head, he
attempts to look through the windshield of the car as it drives closer. He
smiles because he recognizes the silhouette of a small head covered with long locs.
“March!”
Timothy waves his hand.
A young
woman with dark-brown skin smiles as she stops and parks the vehicle.
“Dad!” She
swings open the door.
“You were
supposed to be here tomorrow! What are you doing here?” Timothy embraces his
daughter.
“I just want
to hang out with you and Mom today before everyone else comes.”
Timothy
scans his baby girl. She is especially picturesque today but she is a little
too slender. Her apparel: a cotton,
knee-length yellow sundress and maroon wedge heels agrees well with her black locs that drape along her face. However, her wide eyes seem full of worry.
“You look hungry. Your mama cooked yesterday.
We still have some greens, corn bread, roasted chicken, and sweet potato
pie. Come in the house and I'll heat you
some.”
“OK.” His
daughter laughs. “Let me get my luggage.”
“Don't you
worry about that. Pop the trunk. I get them. Go on in the house and relax. I
know how long that drive can be.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Go on
now.”
March nods
her head. She knows which battles to fight with her father and this battle is
not the one. She knows that her
attempts to get her own luggage will lead to her and her father standing in the
driveway throughout the day and night. So reluctantly, she reopens the car and
retrieves her handbag that sits on the passenger seat and she clicks her key's
remote button toward the trunk and she
walks up to the front porch into the house.
March sighs
and grins as she walks in the front door. She looks at the kitchen walls. Her
father and mother never updated the gray-flower wall paper that occupies the
whole house since the 1989 death of her great grandmother, who owned the house
previously before her parents. She saunters to the next room, the living room
and then strolls through a narrow hallway which leads to stairs.
March peers
up the stairway. “Mom?”
“She is not
here. She had some errands to run.” Her father rolls a leopard print luggage
behind him as he walks closer to March.
“Oh. OK.”
She nods her head and bites her lip.
“I'm gonna
put this bag in your room. Then I am gonna fix your lunch. Alright?”
“OK. Dad.”
“You wanna
watch some TV?”
“No. I'll go
back to the kitchen.”
“Are you
alright?” Timothy squints his eyes and stares at her frame.
“I'm fine.”
March turns around and walks back to the kitchen.
Inside the
kitchen, she drops her purse on a nearby counter and she pulls out a blue
cushioned stool from the breakfast plateau and sits in the seat. She looks
through the wide window, which is placed in front of the stove. She notices
that the sun is fighting its way through the clouds. She takes in a deep
breath because she remembers the sixty percent rain forecast for today during
her morning drive. March stares at the window ledge's contents: four jars fill
with jalapenos. She is for certain that the peppers derive from her mother's
garden.
March smiles
to herself because she hears her
mother's voice repeating the lesson
about the pepper plants being late bloomers.
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| Painting Created by Tina |
“Well. Let's
get started.” March slightly jumps at the sound of her father's voice. “Let's
see. I think there is some sweet tea in here. Yep... there is.” Timothy pulls a
half-full glass pitcher of sweet tea and lemons from the refrigerator and pours
the liquid into a glass. He offers the container to his daughter.
“Thanks.”
His daughter reaches out and grabs the glass.
“You are
welcome.” Timothy looks at March from the corner of his eyes. Then he walks
back to the refrigerator to take out the expected meal. “You didn't tell me
yet. Did you get accepted?”
March sips
her beverage and swallows. “Yes. I start courses in August.”
“I'm so
proud of you. That is smart to use part of your inheritance to invest in
yourself. Do you need any help for your rent?” Timothy carefully places each
dish on the counter.
“Thanks. I
don't need help. I used some of the inheritance to pay my rent ahead for three
years. I put the rest in savings.”
“What about
your utility bill, grocery expenses, and
other stuff?” Timothy washes his hands.
“I might
need help with those expenses.” March admits.
“No shame in
that. We will help you. I am so proud of you.” Her father dries his hands with
a nearby blue dish towel.
“It was nice
of Grandpa to remember me. You know what? Maybe I should of bought another car
instead of going to college.” March's hands cup the glass.
Timothy
pulls a tablespoon from the utensils drawer. “Can you go get my bible from the
end table by the door?”
“Sure.”
March mopes to the small, light green wooden table that sits next to the screen
entrance. She picks up the thick white hard cover Book from the top part of the
table.
“It is time
for my daily devotion. Turn to II Corinthians, chapter ten, verses twelve
through thirteen and read it to me.” Timothy searches and clamors through the
cabinets for a tin pan. He always believed that even leftovers deserve more
respect than to be reheated by a microwave. Good food comes from a stove or an
oven.
March sighs
once more as she sits in her seat. She turns the pages of the Bible. Then she
looks at her father as he places each portion of food cautiously in the tin
plate.
“You ready?”
March asks.
Timothy
nods. He is now concentrating on turning the oven's dial to the correct
temperature.
“OK. For we
dare not make ourselves of the number, or compare ourselves with some that
commend themselves: but they measuring themselves by themselves, and comparing
themselves among themselves, are not wise. But we will not boast of things
without our measure, but according to the measure of the rule which God
hath distributed to us, a measure to reach even unto you.” March looks up from
the bible.
Her father
is now looking through the window. While March read, Timothy completed the task
of placing her lunch into the oven.
Timothy
turns around and faces March. He sighs. “Do you know that I have no regrets?”
“Really?
None?” March's eyebrows raise.
“None. Cause
I took each day as a step...step by step.” Timothy uses his right hand to
imitate steps. He continues. “You will go crazy if you try to create your own
blessings on someone else timetable. And you are crazy to reject blessings
because you didn't received them the time that you wanted them. I know you
heard this story so many times. But I think you need to hear it again. I was
forty and your mother was thirty-nine when we got married. And before we got
married, your mother and I courted for a year. Your mother just graduated from
college with her bachelor's in arts degree and I just got promoted as store
manager. You came into this world when your mother was forty-five years of age
and I was forty-six years old. What a blessing.”
March head
hangs low, as if she is contemplating in a deep thought. “Yes. But you and Mom
didn't need any help especially...”
Timothy interrupted. “So what you don't have a
bachelor's degree and a career by 21 years old. So what you are single. The
good news is now. You have a rare gift. You are able to pay for college out of
pocket, debt free. Your parents and extended family loves you. Your rent is
paid...for three years. You have job and life experiences in your back pocket.
Look at all of those blessings!”
March nods.
“If you keep
thinking about the things you don't have you will never enjoy the things that
you do have. And you will regret about the time wasted on worrying about
frivolous matters. Keep working. You will get there. Trust me. And appreciate
today.”
March pulls
herself from the stool and walks around the plateau. She stretches her arms out
and reaches for her father. “Thank you Daddy for your encouragement.”
Timothy
pulls his daughter closer and hugs her. “Happy early thirtieth birthday
Beloved.”
“Thank you
Dad.” March continues her hug. “Thank you.”
The sun's
rays beam through the window and the clouds vanish from the sky.
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| Painting Created by Tina |
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