a trailer community so it’s all pretty much open space. But my mama has some sunflowers planted in front of our single wide. I skip over to them and grab a handful and hand them to my mama.
“Sahara, get a hold of yourself. We need to talk about this. And you know I don’t like you picking my sunflowers.” She hands them back to me.
“Yes, mama.” I take them inside with me and find a jar. No sense in letting them go to waste since I’ve already picked them. I fill up the jar with water and stick in the sunflowers. They look so pretty. Too bad my mama doesn’t think so. Well, maybe she does think they’re pretty, just not out of the ground. She probably likes them stuck right where she planted them.
My mama’s sandals squeak against the linoleum of our home. “Now, Sahara, I know you’re real excited and that’s something you’ve always had a problem with.” Her hand grazes against my shoulder like she is going to pat my back or maybe even turn me around for a hug, but that couldn’t possibly be what she means to do. She lets go of my body. “You have to be more realistic about this situation. You have no place to stay. You don’t know anyone there. Why would you want to do this?” She sighs.
Why would I want to do this? I’ve only been doing everything I can – other than steal a car – to get out of this town for years. There is nothing here. Nothing other than a few small shops. No real opportunities. We don’t own a farm. We aren’t old money. We are zero money. My mama has worked every single day of her life and, lord knows, I admire her for it, but this is not the life I want for myself. I want my Saturdays and Sundays off. I want a nine-to-five job. A job with a set schedule. With expectations and guarantees. Like health insurance and a retirement. My mama should be retired but she is still scrubbing toilets for a living. And to me that ain’t no way of living. Well, I mean I know that I will have to clean my own toilets, but I wouldn’t want to be cleaning strangers’ toilets at her age. My chest tightens. I mean my mama no disrespect. She has an honest to goodness hardworking job but that’s not me. I want more. I want a career. I almost feel like Ariel in The Little Mermaid; I want to change my tail for legs so I can run and dance and be something more than confined to the small-town world of Mexia, Texas. There’s nothing here. Not for me.
“Mama, I love you and I loved growing up here. But I’ve grown out of this town. I need more. I need –”
“Now, bite your tongue, little miss. I’ve done raised you better than that. Ain’t nobody but a president going to be too big for this town. Mexia is a nice place. Did you forget we got the Target last year?” She’s got both hands gripping her hips. Not a good sign, but I can’t let this go.
“Yes, mama. But I want more than Target. I want to explore –”
“Well, now, hold on a minute, Sahara Smith. Are you saying you want to go an’ be like Sacajawea and lead an exploration or something?” She wipes some of her strawberry-blonde hair off her face.
I laugh but quickly silence it under my mama’s watchful eye. “No, mama. I’m just saying I want to experience something outside of Mexia.”
“Hmm. Outside of me. Is that it?” Her hands are back on her hips and her chin is jutted out. This is not going to end well.
“No, Mama, I will miss you. I just want to see what’s in the world besides Mexia.”
“Then open up a book or click-clack on that computer of yours. You can see all over the world on that contraption, can’t you now?” She points at my computer. The computer that I just received a great email on, but that’s not being received by my mama in the same way. She’s not opening up her arms to the idea at all but I’ve already decided.
“Yes, but it’s not the same thing. I want to see it for myself. I want to really be there. Not just see it on the screen.”
“I see.” She lets the “e” linger in the air and leaves me alone in our small kitchen that’s only big enough for two people to stand side by side, and now I’m standing all alone.
I’ve never been so alone. And my mama is still in our single wide. But it is so empty. The silence is louder than the sound of a cereal box being opened for the first time. The crunching. The tearing. It’s like my heart is being opened up but no milk-and-sugar-coated treats are being poured out. It’s just pain. Pure pain. It hurts bad. I need my mama. I need her to want this for me, too. Not to be against it or dismissive of it. I want her full-on support. I want her to make an afghan that reads “Go, Sahara, go” and I want her to really mean it. I want to know my mama believes in me. But this is silly, like most of my thoughts. My mama has never been a big supporter of Sahara or her ideas. And I’m sure she has already filed this into a compartment labeled Sahara’s failures. She had probably already rubber-stamped it so even before I began.
I shake my head as if I can shake off this sadness and sudden sensation of failure that is brimming over inside of me. But I’m not going to go there. No. Because I have a plan. Well, I have a semi-plan. I’ve been offered the job but my mama was right. I need a place to stay. I need to figure out if they have housing or maybe a discount for students at the factory. Shoot, I don’t even know. I’d better dig through my paperwork and find some answers. I step into my room and the sounds of my mama on the phone are coming through my wall. Granted, the wall is paper-thin. I can hear when my mama sighs in the next room. To overhear a phone conversation is not unusual. But this one is different. I’m not sure who she is talking to but it doesn’t sound like my mama’s normal voice. She tickers between a sweet tone and a commanding one. It sounds like she is trying to prove a point and win a battle. But she keeps back-peddling and if there is one thing my mama isn’t, it’s a back peddler. Who in all the great state of Texas could she be talking to? I tiptoe out of my room and sure enough her door is a bit cracked. I edge closer to it and it swings open.
“Well, now, Little Miss Career is being a nosey Nan? Sahara Smith, I know by the good Lord above I have raised you better than that.” She taps her foot on the floor. Her hands are pressed hard against her hips. This is my mama’s serious business stance. Shoot. I don’t want to add to the grief she’s already feeling for me. Now she is madder than a hive of bees that just got knocked off a maple tree.
“I’m sorry, Mama, I, um, didn’t realize you were on the phone.” I press my lips together because lord knows if I open my mouth another lie might fall out, and one is enough for a lifetime, especially told to my mama.
“You did not just lie to your mama, did you, Sahara? Shameful, Sahara, downright shameful. I tell you what. Why don’t you go and gather the clothes from the line for us? And then swing on over to Ms. Jenkins and see if she needs her floor scrubbed again?”
“Yes, Mama.” I shuffle outside and take all of our clothes off the line. I’m faster with our undergarments. I can’t believe my mama is still hanging them out here. I’m too old for our neighbors to see what I’ve got on underneath my clothes. That’s just not even right. Not one bit.
After I scrub down Ms. Jenkins’ kitchen, I make my way back to our home. Mama is not on the porch as I would have expected, or in the kitchen. I search the house. Which is not much of a search as the whole trailer is smaller than a public restroom with four stalls.
Mama is in her room, sitting on her bed, flipping through some book.
“Hey, Mama, I’m sorry about before.”
She slams the book shut and glares up at me like she’s seen a real ghost, not like Casper or anything cartooney.
“Hush now, Sahara, we’ve got too much to contend with to live in the past.” In one swift motion she is grabbing
