I know that handwriting.
She’d recognize it anywhere. The way the first letter of each word was oddly larger than the rest, and the peculiar mixture of cursive and block script that popped up every now and again. Hallmark brand, dark ink on the envelope, addressed to Mama. It looked as if it had already been opened.
The lighter slipped from her grip onto the dresser. Then, she glided the card out of the envelope which featured an artistic rendering of a Black woman standing by another woman, looking contemplative and content.
Happy Birthday. I hope it is all that you wished for.
Every Day that passes is a new opportunity that you create. Seize it.
It wasn’t signed. But she knew.
Damned if she didn’t know…
With envelope in hand, she raced out of her parents’ room to ask her mother about this appalling discovery—an otherwise innocent piece of mail to those with an undiscerning eye. In the living room, she was met with a horde of people in tasseled party hats blowing birthday whistles. Some were dancing, others speaking loudly, their words blended together and clogging her thoughts like an ever-growing wad of gum.
Mama was not where she was sitting just moments ago. In fact, it was as if she’d been swallowed in the middle of the mass. A birthday bash blackhole. Frantic, English searched all over, her head spinning. All she could see were shades of Earth all around her. The odors of mingling sweet and spicy fragrances, tobacco, strong cigars, sweat and fried foods assailed her. Abrupt nausea came on, her stomach clenching like a fist around one’s last dollar.
The blasting sounds of Maze and Frankie Beverly’s ‘Happy Feelins’ weaved its way from the speakers, while the merrymaking crawled into her ears and banged on the drums of her brain. She felt as if she were being seduced by a strange emotional sorcery that caused her to feel lightheaded, sluggish, and weak.
And then, she burned with anger. The rage built and built, and this was the brick that would make the whole thing tumble like a bad move in Jinga. The envelope in her hand twisted in her grasp. When she finally found Mama talking to one of her best friends, Alisha, she pushed her way past some man she didn’t know, and screamed for her mother’s attention. She was certain that she looked insane, but appearances be damned.
“Mama, where did you get this card from? Did it come with a gift or anything, too?”
“Card? What card, honey?”
“I was in your bedroom to get a lighter for the cake, and saw this.” She held the pink envelope up high and followed Mama’s line of vision.
Mama narrowed her gaze on the envelope, as if seeing it for the first time. Then, she relaxed and nodded with a smile.
“Oh! That came in the mail ’bout two days ago. It had an Italian food menu in it. Strange. A place I never heard of. I don’t know who it was from, though,” she said with a shrug. “I got so many cards and gifts this year, baby, I can’t keep up.” Mama’s cheeks reddened with pride.
“Was the Italian restaurant outta Portland, Kentucky, Mama? Place called Vincenzo’s?”
“Yes!” Mama’s grin widened. “That’s the name of the place… don’t know where I put that menu, though. It was way over there in Louisville, so I knew I wouldn’t be goin’ anytime soon. What a blessing to know so many people were thinkin’ about me. Wasn’t no return address on it, though.” Mama shrugged, then her smile faded and her eyes widened as she said, “Is something wrong, English?”
Vincenzo’s was a place she often went on her lunch breaks. He’s been watching me…
English swallowed. For a split second, one fleeting moment in time, she nearly blurted out the cold, unfortunate truth.
I’m not going to ruin her birthday. If Mama and Daddy know Master is harassing me, they’ll start worrying all over again. It took years for them to stop babying me after what happened. This situation was supposed to be dead and gone. Buried. This is probably the only address he knows for me. It makes sense he’d try to go through her to get to me since I haven’t responded to his messages. They tried so hard back then to encourage me to get out of that outlandish group and leave that monster, but instead, I caused them so much stress and sleepless nights while they were dealing with their own issues.
“No, Mama… I, uh, I just was told by a friend of mine that she sent you a card and didn’t know if you got it.”
Mama gave her an odd look. English was not an experienced deceiver and was typically pleased that she hadn’t grasped the art of trickery, but in cases like these, being convincingly disingenuous would’ve been quite helpful. But no doubt, Mama knew she was hiding something. The woman was no fool. She could tell in the way her attractive mother peered at her over her thin-framed gold glasses, the slight cock of her head, and her hand on her hip.