Date: between 08/01/94 and 05/31/98
Setting: Some time during college
Form: Prose
My mother always to’d me, like
I’m showr mos’ mothers do, “Joshua Henry Patrick, if you don’t have somethin’
nice to say, don’ say nothin’ at all!” Yep, tha’s wha’ she always said. An’ like a good mama’s boy, I listened.
It wasn’ always a bad thing; tha’
sayin’ got me out ov a lot a troubled spots.
Granted everyone called me a wuss and wha’ not, but I never listened to
‘em. See, I know, ‘cause mama to’d me,
she’d say, “Joshua Henry Patrick, youra good boy. Yes, sir, you are. You remember that. Never listen ta anyone tha’ says otherwise,
alrigh’?”
Boy, di’ my mama raise me
righ’. She tried raisin’ the perfect
little boy. She tried ta instawl values
and morals in me. I don’t suppose anyone
could ov asked for a more lovin’ and kin’ women an’ mother.
Yes, I loved my mother, I truly
did. I’m just sorry it had to come to
this. Mama always taught me, she’d say,
“Joshua Henry Patrick, violence is bad.
I don’ ever wanna catch ya doin’ tha’!
Ya understan’ me boy?” Hmm, the
funnay thing was, once when she did, catch me that is, she whooped my ass real
good. I could never understan’
that. Yet, some how, she instawlled tha’
upon me too. And I’m truly sorry tha’
she did. Otherwise, this would ov never
have happened, never.
She was a good women, yet now I
ques’ion how good ov a mother she was.
If it wasn’ for her, my boy wouldn’t be dead. Mama always told me, “Joshua Henry Patrick,
two wrongs don’ make a righ’, they make ya even.” I guess tha’ was sorta how she explained why
I gotta whoopin’s every now an’ again, when violence was bad an’ all. I guess she never thought that tha’ would
bring her life to an end.
Hmm… I know I’ma justa ramblin’ on. And I know, tha’ you hava no idea as to wha’
happened, so I’ll explain. I jus’ like
ya ta keep in min’ all the things my mama always said; they hava lot a bearin’
on whata went on.
* * * * * *
It was Friday day. Josh, tha’s my son, had jus’ returned from
his school. Mama was over. Me, her and Marybeth, tha’s my wife, we were
havin’ tea an’ cake. That was our normal
Friday day. Mama, Marybeth
and me, we always had tea an’ cake on Fridays.
Mama’d bring the cake an’ Marybeth would make the tea. Me, I’d get the table readay. I always got
the table readay
Anyway, there me and mama and
Marybeth were. Just sitting havin’ tea
an’ cake an’ Josh, tha’s my son, walked in.
He smiled, gave his mother and grandma a kiss an’ a nod ta me. Then he wen’ an’ grabbed a piece a cake from
the plate.
Marybeth slapped his han’, she
said, “Joshua Henry,” she left off the Patrick so as not ta get the two ov us
confused. She said, “Joshua Henry, you
know bedder than tha’. If you’ra goanna
have a piece, pick up a plate, sit down an’ use a napkin.”
Josh was always stubborn, but he
nodded an’ took a plate an’ sat. I know
he didn’ like bein’ at the table with the three of us ol’ foggies as he put it,
but he joined us just the same. We
started talkin’. ‘Bout nothin’
inparticular, jus’ stuff. We were a
talkin’ fur quite a while. Josh would
even pitch in now an’ then.
Soon, one thing led to another, an’
we were a talkin’ abou’ love at first sight.
Marybeth was so cute; God how I love her. She wasa talkin’ so pretty like. She was talkin’ abou’ how sweet love at first
sight was, how roman’ic it was. Josh just laughed. He said, “Mama you’ra fool, plain an’
simple. You’ra fool.”
I could understan’ wha’ he was
talkin’ abou’, all tha’ sappy stuff an’ all.
We men, we ain’t suppose ta think tha’ way, but it was sweet wa’chin’
Marybeth talk like that.
Anyway, my mama, well, she took one
look at Josh an’ she said, “Boy, hasn’t your father taught you nothin’?!? Don’t you know if ya ain’t got somethin’ nice
ta say, ya don’t say nothin’ at all?!?
Now opallogize ta your mama.”
Josh looked at his
gran’mother an’ said no way, “I ain’t apallogizin’, she’s a fool for believin’
in all tha’ sappy stuff!” Then, Josh got
up an’ walked outa the room. Mama, she
followed.
“Boy, I said opallogize to your
mother!” I could see through the
doorway; Josh shook his head. “No ma’am,
gram.”
Oh, how the adrenaline musta been
pumpin’ in her. She slapped Josh. He flew half way across the room. He landed on the floor, hittin’ his head on
the fireplace. I ran in as quickly as I
could, but blood was a gushin’ everywhere. Josh was dead.
I know a grown man ain’t suppose to
cry, but I cou’da feel the tears swellin’ up inside. I stood up an’ turned an’ looked at my
mama. She musta saw the anger in my
eyes. Ails she could say was, “Joshua
Henry Patrick, remember wha’ I said, two wrongs don’t make a righ’, they make
it even. An’ tha’ righ’ there was wrong
number two!”
Yeah, well I could do math as
well. I said, “Mama, we may be even, but
now we’ra at odds!” I drew back my hand,
without even thinkin’. I punched Mama
righ’ in the nose. ‘Parently, her nose bone went up, righ’ into her brain. Mama was dead. Josh was dead. Marybeth was justa kneelin’ there at her
son’s side, cryin’.
* * * * * *
Tha’ was how it happened. I’m sorry i’ did, truly I am. I loved my
mama. I loved my son. Now they’ra both gone. Ov course now, I still have Marybeth. Together we’ra workin’ on gettin’ over wha’
happened. Tha’ an’ forgettin’ wha Mama
always said!
Notes: I thought I'd switch things up a bit. There was a stint (during college) where I toyed around with prose. I wrote a handful of rather twisted and unusual pieces. This one was a bit fun to write because I chose to incorporate the dialect not only into the dialogue, but also the narrative as well. I do quite enjoy reading it with the appropriate accent.
