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I hear people moving around outside and automatically glance over my shoulder. The procession has started. The sun isn't quite down yet, but people are gathering on our little dusty path, forming in small groups, exchanging excited snippets of conversation.
“You're not going out there,” Mama announces.
I cringe. I never should have looked at the procession. I never should have let her see what I wanted to do. I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.
“I just thought I'd walk along. Maybe find Tulip or Abbie and see how they were doing with their gardens, you know?”
“Don't you lie to me, girl,” she hisses, slurping back a mouthful of stew and pointing the spoon at me. The room is quickly becoming dark as the sun goes down, and I can't help it but feel like it's all becoming quite urgent.
“I'm not lying… well, I'm not trying to lie. Why would I lie about that? Everyone's allowed to go where they want, aren't we?”
She smirks triumphantly, as though I've admitted to something. “Yes, Angel, everyone's allowed to go where they will. But because you're not yet a woman, you're required to obey me.”
“I'm almost a woman,” I counter.
She shrugs and resumes eating.
“Almost is not the same as is,” she reminds me. “See, you get chosen for this ceremony, you don't get to insist. Father Daddy will decide when the time is right. It's as simple as that, Angel. You know that.”
I want to stretch. I want to hold my arms up or stomp my feet or something, but I know it won't do any good. It would only make this last longer. Mama has some say-so on when I'm chosen. She could delay the whole thing for another year she wants to, even though I'm older than most of the girls who have been through it.
Come to think of it, she must have asked somebody to leave me this way, to take care of the house and such for her. I’ll bet she told them she was ill or something.
Or maybe they just haven't gotten around to me. Maybe walking around without make up, dressed in what looks like a flour sack when it's hanging on the back of a door… maybe nobody noticed me at all.
Maybe they still think I'm seven or eight. Maybe when they look at all those other girls — those prettier, more outgoing girls with their wild hair, their curves blossoming so suddenly and drastically they practically burst out of their shifts like over-ripened fruit, spilling seeds from the top of the tree…. Maybe they have never seen me, at all.
I can't disobey her. She's right. It's against the rules and if she says I have to be here, that takes precedence over my right to wander around like any other Kingdom Come member.
“All right then,” I finally mumble and sit in a chair by the window. I pull my knitting out and start working on the blue scarf I've been messing around with for the last week. This way I'm working, even if I'm stealing a glance here and there at the people outside the window.
She eats noisily, banging her spoon against the bottom of the stoneware bowl to scrape up the last bits. When she's done, she gets up and shuffles over to the sink, washing the bowl and dropping it into the rack without saying anything. I can almost hear her thoughts bouncing around in her head and wonder what's going on in there. Is she thinking about conversations from today? Or is she thinking about the conversation we just had?
Then, strangely, she yawns hugely. Almost comically. When she comes back into the living room, she stretches out full-length on the sofa and folds her hands over her rib cage. Her eyes are closed almost immediately.
Her work they couldn't really have been that tough, could it?
That reminds me of a story that Abbie told me, of how her mom came home smelling of smoke and something sweet. A lot of the aunties brought in some bad habits from outside the compound, and Abbie was suspicious that sometimes the ladies got together and just did whatever they wanted. Gossiped, lied, drank alcohol or even worse. Alcohol is strictly forbidden here. Devil in a bottle, as Mama has told me several times.
And yet, she just started snoring.
The sun is down, and the crickets are loud and exuberant. The night is warm enough that everyone seems energetic. It would have been a good night for a bonfire. A good night for a dance, maybe, or one of those events where Father Daddy tells us Bible stories in his beautiful, haunting voice.
But the ceremony is all we have scheduled. It is literally the only thing happening in our compound tonight. Everyone is going except me.
And Mama, who seems to be snoring just to make the point that she doesn't care.
“Mama, are you sleeping?” I ask quietly.
She doesn’t answer, just continues to breathe. Deeper and deeper, a little slower each time. She's sinking into a comfortable darkness, letting herself succumb to her weariness. It must feel nice. But here I am, all nerves and energy.
I wish I could go out. A group of three girls in shifts has just hurried by, probably the last of everybody. Everybody's ready to go. Everybody's probably already at the barn already. Everybody but me.
“Mama?”
She continues snoring. The sound fills the room. The very clean room, which I was hoping she would have noticed.
“Mama, since I've done with everything… Would you mind if I go?”
