I awoke and stumbled into the kitchen. I filled my percolator with water and measured out the correct amount of coffee. I set the stove on high and then came into the den to awaken my sleeping blogging computer to check my email and the weather radar. Maggie sat at the back door whining to go out. The sound of softly falling rain could be heard outside my windows.
“Come on girl. Head out and do your business,” I said as I opened the back door to let her out. She was greeted by big drops of rain falling heavily from the eaves of my house.
“I’m not going out into that,” She seemed to say as she looked up at me, whined, and wagged her tail at the threshold of my backdoor.
I finally had the bright idea to take her under the basement. A portion of it has a dirt floor. I coaxed her into going to the bathroom. She really had to go bad and it took several minutes. Once the deed was done, we both sleepily walked back into my den. Maggie proceeded to carry around one of my socks. She placed it at my feet. “Here, this is for you. Put it on,” She seemed to say. I smiled and petted her vigorously. She wiggled with glee.
Just about the time my coffee began to percolate vigorously, the phone rang loudly startling me.
“Who in the hell could be calling this early in the morning,” I thought as it was just after 7 AM.
I answered the phone and was greeted by a big, “WHAZZUP!” on the other end.
I laughed and smiled. It was George.
“Momma wants to know if you want to come and eat breakfast with us,” Sherman replied. “She is cooking fried ham and eggs, grits, biscuits and gravy.”
“Oh man, that sounds so good, but I haven’t had a shower yet and look like the dregs of society this morning,” I replied. “And the weather is just horrible.”
“Screw dat shit and get your white ass over here,” George replied.
“Okay man, let me take a shower and drink a quick cup of coffee and I will be right over,” I said.
“Screw the coffee and the shower and come on over,” George said. “Momma is about to have it ready. We ain’t gonna judge how yo ass looks.”
I turned off my coffee pot, threw on some clothes, put on my ugly glasses as Maggie has chewed up my good pair, and ran out to the car to start the 5 minute drive to George’s house.
I arrived and knocked on the door and George let me in. The house smelled wonderfully of frying ham and baking biscuits. You can hear black gospel music playing on the radio in the kitchen.
“Good morning, honey,” The elderly Mrs. Jones said as I walked into the kitchen followed by Sherman.
“Good morning, ma’am,” I replied. “I appreciate you all inviting me.”
“Momma, dat be some good smellin’ shit,” Sherman said.
“Now don’t you be talkin’ like dat on the Lord’s Day,” Mrs. Jones replied as she scowled at Sherman.
I couldn’t help but smile at this little exchange.
We all sat down at the kitchen table and began to eat. The fried ham was the kind of thinly sliced salty breakfast ham they sell in the south. It was delicious in a biscuit with a little mustard slathered on. It had been awhile since I had had fried eggs as well and they were delicious. This grits were also just perfectly cooked; not too runny and not too thick with the right amount of seasoning and butter. George’s mother is wonderful old southern style cook.
“Mrs. Jones,” I said. “This is delicious.”
“Thank you honey,” She replied. “At least someone appreciates my hard work.” She said as she gave a hard look at Sherman.
George ignored her and continued to greedily wolf down his food.
After eating, I got in the kitchen and tried to help cleanup, but Mrs. Jones wouldn’t hear of it.
“You two go on in the den and drink some coffee and watch a little TV,” She said. “I will do the cleaning up.”
George tuned the TV to channel ten and it was Edgewood Baptist Church’s morning service.
“Do you really like to watch this?” I asked.
“I like the music,” George replied.
“Well man, it seems I am going to be sent off for six months,” I replied starting up a conversation.
“So, you are gonna let yo pops incarcerate you,” George said.
“Commit me,” I replied correcting him for the umpteenth time over this matter. “It is just going to be a treatment center and not a psych ward. Dad is going to pay off my mortgage in full if I agree to go.”
“How much is left on yo mortgage if you don’t mind me asking,” George said. “I know it be none of my business.”
“No, I don’t mind telling you,” I said. “$33,000 dollars.”
“Holy son of a bitch,” George said.
You could hear George’s mother holler out not to cuss at Sherman on the Lord’s Day in the kitchen.
“Sorry momma,” George said loudly. “Well, I would go to jail for six months for that kind of money.”
“It is not going to be like jail,” I replied. “It will be a lot of therapy and twelve step meetings.”
“Well, that is good to hear,” George said. “I am going to miss you man. Can I come and visit?”
“I think you can visit on Sundays every week,” I replied.
George changed the channel on the TV to another station that was playing gospel music.
“Well man, I need to run on home and get cleaned up,” I replied. “Dad’s best friend’s son’s birthday is today and he is cooking hamburgers. I promised I would go even though I don’t want to.”
“Me and you will have one last drunk before you leave,” George replied quietly so his mother in the next room couldn’t hear.
“Sounds like a plan,” I replied. “We will get a couple of cases of Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer like old times.”
I told George’s mother, “Thank you so much for breakfast. It was delicious. Sherman is lucky to have you cook for him.”
She said thank you and did a black woman’s version of blushing. It had begun to rain much harder by now and I quickly ran out to the car trying to avoid getting wet as much as possible and drove on home. It was a wonderful breakfast and a grand time this morning. I am going to miss Sherman and his antics and his wonderful mother as well. It is going to be a long six months away it seems. I am going to miss experiences like these.
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