I'll Even Settle For A Mountain Of Peas

I’ll Even Settle For A Mountain Of Peas

The familiar smell of chicken, mingled with some other pleasant ones she could not describe and a revolting familiar one, filled her nostrils.  She fought to concentrate on the smell of the chicken.  The persistent gnawing in her stomach was intensifying.  As she contemplated her present meal, she thought of the time her mother batted her hand away as she reached it up and out from her hiding place under the table to retrieve a piece of fried chicken from the plate which set upon the edge of it.  That table was always covered in mama’s favorite white lace cloth.  “Your daddy’s mother gave that to me as a wedding gift,” she’d told her.  She noted the tear in her mother’s eye as she told her the story that first time.

Fried chicken, my favorite, she thought preparing to eat the indiscernible morsels presently before her.  She closed her eyes and sent up a prayer to the only person she felt could help her now.  The words He’ll always protect and look out for you and make a way of escape in your time of need came to her.  She prayed now that He’d let her taste her beloved fried chicken.  And perhaps some mashed potatoes, or peas even.  Peas, which she hated, instead of the questionable treasure she unearthed after brushing away, as best she could, the maggots which had all but covered it.  The repugnant odor threatened her resolve.  God, she pleaded silently, I’ll settle for just a mountain of peas.

Tears rolled down her face.  She hugged her treasure to her chest to keep from dropping it to the ground as her body shook.  Her knees ached from her squatted position beside the large trash bin.  Its odor a formidable opponent for that of the chicken, afforded her by the vapors emanating from the restaurant’s vents.  She was thankful for the darkness, which enveloped her and hid her from potentially prying eyes.

The gnawing inside her stomach was becoming unbearable.

It’d been a week since she last ate.  She’d surely die if she didn’t do so today.  She'd left the shelter, fearing the continued unwanted attention of the man who came by but thankfully never stayed the night.  He had tricked her into going with him behind the building once where he tried to do things to her which made her uncomfortable.  She managed to get away that day, but he persisted.  She had to repeatedly refuse to accompany him.  He eventually began threatening her.  She had no choice but to go.  Not only could her aunt not be trusted, but nor could the company she kept.

Her desire to survive driving her, she calmed herself and thanked God for her meal.  Eyes still closed, she lowered it from her chest and fumbled for a small sample with her fingers and placed it in her mouth.  The familiar taste of fried chicken exploded within her as she chewed.  Eager, hungry she took another piece.  In honor of her mother and in thanks to God, she tasted peas.  The sweetest good-for-you peas ever.  “But not sweet as yours mama,” she breathed.

Digging in for a third time, her hand was stayed by a much larger one.  She jumped at the contact and opened her eyes.  The stranger was looking down at her meal.  She chanced a glance herself and nearly vomited.  This obviously was lost on him.

“Whatcha got there?” he said.

His voice was soft and he was smiling at her.

“Is it good?” he said, after she failed to answer him.  She wondered if maybe he was making fun of her, but didn’t think so because he was just smiling and not laughing.  He was in a squatted position like her.  He had on all white including a funny tall white hat.  If anything, she could laugh at him.

She looked down at her treasure again.  Treasure?  A couple of maggots remained imbedded in it.  Ashamed, she dared not stop him as he removed it from her hand.  He returned it to where she had found it.  Where it belonged.  She jumped up to run, but he caught her with his left arm.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said.  She stiffened her body and kept silent, afraid to speak.  Bringing them to a standing position he added, “Come the back way into the kitchen.  I’ll get you something proper to eat.”

She slowly moved away and stood back from him.  Edging around, she effectively situated herself in the open, abandoning the corner next to the trash bin.  Though still cautious, she felt safe, as he did not try to prevent her from gaining her freedom.  “I don’t have no money,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

“Well, I've got some dinner I’m not too hungry for,” he said.  “And there’s no point in letting it go to waste.”

She shifted her weight as a loud growl came forth as if to testify to the foolishness of her hesitation.  “You're right to be cautious...” he began, but stopped, perhaps rethinking.  “First, my name's Alex.  What’s yours?” 

“I shouldn’t say,” she said after a moment.

“Yes,” he confirmed, shaking his head in agreement and leaning against the trash bin.  “But I only want to help you.”

Having not eaten enough yet, she spoke to that end.  “What have you got?”

“Ummm, many choices.  I haven’t decided yet.  Steak, pork chops, chicken...”

Fried chicken?  she wanted to ask but didn't.  She continued listening.  Willing him to hurry up.  Another loud grumble came to stand between them.  She hoped he had not, but knew that he had, heard it.  He couldn’t not have.

Discontinuing his tirade after glancing at her stomach, he said, “Well, many choices.  If you’re interested, follow me, and I’ll show you a menu and you can choose.”

He walked to the door, stepped through and held it open while smiling at her.  She moved forward and passed before him.

“No point in wasting it,” she mumbled.

As much as she wanted her fried chicken, something called Chicken Cordon Bleu sounded more interesting.  The creamy and cheesy part in particular.  And blue was her favorite color after all and not the color of peas, which was her main reason for not liking them.  Besides, chicken is chicken, surely.  So she got that.  And a fried thigh just in case.  And some peas, mama.  She would let him bring up desert.

As she ate she answered his questions.  She told him her name, “Marie.”  She told him about her mama, who had died just last month, about her aunt letting her stay in the shelter she volunteered at if she just “keep your mouth shut and not tell anyone,” and about her leaving.  Not comfortable enough to tell him about the man, she simply said she left the shelter because she got tired of her aunt’s bad words toward her.  You killed your mama, she told him her aunt had said.

“I love my mama,” she declared.  “I’m eating this mountain of peas ain’t I?”

“Right you are,” he said.

They shared a laugh at the expense of her fool aunt.

Realizing she was now the only one laughing, Marie stopped and smiled awkwardly at him.  He looked so serious and like he wanted to say something.  Which he did.

“So, I got a lovely wife who would love to meet you,” he said.

“Why?”

“She loves children, especially girls,” he said and tapped a finger to her nose, “and we have always wanted a child.”

“Oh.”  What does he want?  She screwed up her face.  She ain’t got nothing.  And according to her aunt, having driven her mother to the grave, she was not going to let Marie drive her there and no one else would either.  What about her drove people to the grave she didn’t know, so she couldn’t stop it even for the opportunity...

“Well, Marie?”  he said.  “I know it’s a lot to think about.  And it won’t be easy.  But thinking won’t hurt and no harm in doing it at my house.  Right?”

She hung her head and fingered the napkin in her lap.  Could her aunt be wrong?  She could be mean, but that mean?  Marie’s mama never accused her of driving anybody to the grave.  “People die, Marie,” her mama had told her when she explained about Marie’s daddy.  “We all die.”  A mama and a daddy would be nice she allowed.

“Sharon wouldn’t try to take the place of you mother, Ma...“

“Who said I want her to,” shouted Marie in defiance.  Her breathing became heavy and tears waited behind clinched eyelids.  She beat her clenched fists against her thighs and would have stormed out, but she was too tired of running and not knowing if she would eat each day or not.  She was bone weary and had prayed for help.  Protection.  Was this what this man was offering?  She wouldn't be alone with him if he wasn't lying.  He had a wife.  Worse came to worse, she could just up and hit the road again.  She looked down at the white lace cloth napkin as it fell to the floor.  Could this white man and surely white wife actually care for her?  A used up, drained, clothed in rags, lanky, tar baby?  She agreed to go with him but wanted him to call home first so she could speak to Sharon and know she really existed and she would not be alone with him.  And praise God, there was a Sharon.

After closing up the restaurant, they headed to Alex's car.

"Sharon and I will call social services in the morning and do things proper.  Officially become your foster folks and if that works out for all of us, we can try adoption after a while.  But only when you're ready."

She got into the passenger side of the car and mouthed softly, "Okay."  She relaxed her worn out bones into the seat and closed her eyes.  When they arrived to Alex's house, he had to rouse her.

Sharon must have been looking out for them for she opened the door as they made their way up the cobblestone path.  Once on the porch, Sharon reached out and cupped her hands on Marie's shoulders and said, "Welcome home!"  Then she embraced her fully and Alex enveloped them in his strong arms and breathed a silent thanks to God and said a brief prayer that all would work out for the three of them.

Hot, silent tears ran down Marie's face.  Oh God, she thought, please don't take this away from me.  As they began to walk inside the house, they kept a hold onto one another.




"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this:  to look after orphans ... in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world."  James 1:27