As the car came to a stop all six feet of my mother unfolded from the driver side door and headed to the front door of the house. Even in her regal glory, she was outmatched by my grandmother who was a little under five feet but made up for it with a throbbing fury and determined march.
Oh, and a baseball bat. I do remember a bat that day.
It was already growing late when we left, and I'd wafted through an undulating sleep, one of the effects of August heat in a city where the buildings were too tall and too crowded together to allow any significant breeze to pass. To a five year old confined to the back seat the journey seemed to take days, but I did drift into consciousness often enough to notice what I considered to be a series of unique landmarks. There was the clover shaped freeway that pressed me against the driver side door just before tossing me toward the passenger side, the overpass with the grafiti that I could just barely read, but even then made no sense, and of course there were the rows upon rows of cookie-cutter houses that said we were most definitely not in the Bronx anymore. No, we were going to Aunty Morgen's.
The curtains were drawn in the window and I could spot them inside. Aunty Morgen's boyfriend was yelling so hard his white face had gone red. Aunty Morgen herself moved by like a ghost in front of the window. She had a frazzled red 80's coif, great big hoop earrings, and a near lethal application of mascara that had run most of the full distance down her cheeks. Craig, her boyfriend, tried to cut her off from opening the door but the crack of space was all the two woman cavalry on the other side needed to push their way through. Like a trained swat team they both forced their way in and while one secured the hostage, the other subdued the target.
And by subdued, I mean she pinned him against the wall with a baseball bat pressed firmly under his chin. What Grandma was saying to Craig was the only thing I think I didn't hear that evening. Whatever it was though, it was intimidating enough to keep Craig at Bay even after Aunty Morgen had been placed in the back seat with me and we all waited while Grandma backed out slowly. Craig regained his confidence, along with his anger when the car was started and we began driving away. He was beet red and came out screaming for Aunty Morgen, and calling the others names that I wouldn't understand until years later. For a moment, Aunty Morgen seemed to hesitate, and she turned toward him as he ran along side the car.
"Ey! Look at me!" Grandma had turned her intensity toward her youngest daughter. "Aint shit back there for you." She informed her sternly, then turned back to face forward as we drove on.
I hugged Aunty Morgen almost all the way back, hugged her just like I hugged my own mother when she cried. I remember thinking how menacing they were, and remember seeing the same bat in the trunk of the car that took me to school, and to museums, and to the beach. I remember thinking how strong and determined they were in that moment, and how much I looked to them for nurturing every other. And as I sorted through what I once thought were conflicting attributes, I remember how proud I was, and still am, that they were on my side.
Oh, and a baseball bat. I do remember a bat that day.
It was already growing late when we left, and I'd wafted through an undulating sleep, one of the effects of August heat in a city where the buildings were too tall and too crowded together to allow any significant breeze to pass. To a five year old confined to the back seat the journey seemed to take days, but I did drift into consciousness often enough to notice what I considered to be a series of unique landmarks. There was the clover shaped freeway that pressed me against the driver side door just before tossing me toward the passenger side, the overpass with the grafiti that I could just barely read, but even then made no sense, and of course there were the rows upon rows of cookie-cutter houses that said we were most definitely not in the Bronx anymore. No, we were going to Aunty Morgen's.
The curtains were drawn in the window and I could spot them inside. Aunty Morgen's boyfriend was yelling so hard his white face had gone red. Aunty Morgen herself moved by like a ghost in front of the window. She had a frazzled red 80's coif, great big hoop earrings, and a near lethal application of mascara that had run most of the full distance down her cheeks. Craig, her boyfriend, tried to cut her off from opening the door but the crack of space was all the two woman cavalry on the other side needed to push their way through. Like a trained swat team they both forced their way in and while one secured the hostage, the other subdued the target.
And by subdued, I mean she pinned him against the wall with a baseball bat pressed firmly under his chin. What Grandma was saying to Craig was the only thing I think I didn't hear that evening. Whatever it was though, it was intimidating enough to keep Craig at Bay even after Aunty Morgen had been placed in the back seat with me and we all waited while Grandma backed out slowly. Craig regained his confidence, along with his anger when the car was started and we began driving away. He was beet red and came out screaming for Aunty Morgen, and calling the others names that I wouldn't understand until years later. For a moment, Aunty Morgen seemed to hesitate, and she turned toward him as he ran along side the car.
"Ey! Look at me!" Grandma had turned her intensity toward her youngest daughter. "Aint shit back there for you." She informed her sternly, then turned back to face forward as we drove on.
I hugged Aunty Morgen almost all the way back, hugged her just like I hugged my own mother when she cried. I remember thinking how menacing they were, and remember seeing the same bat in the trunk of the car that took me to school, and to museums, and to the beach. I remember thinking how strong and determined they were in that moment, and how much I looked to them for nurturing every other. And as I sorted through what I once thought were conflicting attributes, I remember how proud I was, and still am, that they were on my side.
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