Short Fiction: Mudpies, Part I

It seems like nine year old Takayla is about to learn what her and her mother have in common.

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Rainclouds eased westward across the grayish sky while Takayla stood in the living room, holding her royal blue raincoat in her left hand. She was dressed in her favorite biker shorts with a pink halter top and pink flip flops, awaiting the clouds to clear so she could go outside and play. Her plaited ponytails were starting to come a-loose but her mama said she’ll comb her head later on that day before Takayla got ready for bed. She turned to call for her mother because it was time to see if she could get the go-ahead. Before she did so, her mother entered the living room, smiled a bit, and nodded her head, affirmatively.  Takayla dashed towards the front door and once on the porch, she noticed that it had stopped raining altogether. She threw the raincoat on the porch and bopped down the steps into the front yard. 

At the corner of the porch, she saw her pink pail and shovel. Earlier, when it started to rain, Takayla sat the pail under the edge of the roofed porch to catch rainwater. She lifted the pail, full of rain water, a few flies and roof shards then poured it on the ground in front of her. Leaning down with her shovel, she began to mix the water into the dirt, forming a muddy paste. Plopping down on the ground in front of her mud pile, Takayla dug her hands deep into it. She scooped the mud up and smashed it between her hands. She was making her first muddy chocolate pie. Her mama told her that she would teach her how to make a real chocolate pie but for now, Takayla settled for this one made from rainwater and dirt. She stood up to go to the porch to grab her toy box and then returned to her makeshift kitchen in the yard.  She continued rounding out the corners of her mudpie, and then pulled her toy phone from her box.  She propped the toy cordless phone up to her ear and hunched her shoulder to hold it in place. Then, she began mimicking her mother’s conversations. 

Takayla chirped loudly, “Girl, that woman know that man is lying. That’s all he ever do. You know that’s what he told my husband. You know, Ricky saw him at the gas station last week and he asked him what happened.” 

Once she formed the mudpie, she pressed the outer edges down as she’s seen her mother do. Takayla pulled a piece of aluminum foil from her toy box and put the mudpie out into the recovering sun so it could ‘cook’.  The sky had cleared almost completely and the humidity of the August day resumed. It didn’t matter to Takayla. She was in her own world. While she was continuing with her mud pies, she could hear the phone ring from inside the house. Within five minutes, her mother came to the door to check on her. 

“You alright out there, little girl?” Her mother inquired. 

“Yes, ma’am. I’m making my pies.” Takayla responded proudly. 

Her mother chuckled. “Oh. Ok. Make sure you let me taste one when they’re done.” 

“Ok.” 

“Your daddy just called and said he’s going to work a double tonight so it’ll just be me and you for dinner.” 

“Aww. We were supposed to watch the game, Mama.” Takayla said, with a bit of disappointment in her voice. 

“I know, Baby. We can still watch the Bulls play and tell Daddy all about it.” Her mother said, trying to sound convincing. 

“Ok, Mama.” 

The smile on her mother’s face faded slowly as she watched Takayla, covered in mud and playing without a care in the world. Her mother disappeared back into the house. By this time, Takayla had finished her ‘gossip session’ as her mother called them. She had laid four chocolate pies into the sun to cook. Then, she decided she wanted to have some mud biscuits. Picking up her pink pail, she poured some more of the rainwater onto the damp ground in front of her. Instead of using the shovel this time, she used her hands to conjure the muddy paste. While she was mixing up her ingredients, she pretended to hear her toy cordless phone ring. 

“Hello?”, Takayla answered, with her mud-covered hands on the toy phone. Then, she started to whisper. 

“Hey. Naw. He ain’t gone yet. What time you said you was coming?” Takayla was speaking under her breath like she’s seen her mother do at different times throughout the day while her father was at work at the lumber yard. She didn’t exactly know who her mother was talking to but she does know that sometimes her mother would have a friend over. This friend was tall with a salt and pepper beard. His arms were big but not big like her daddy’s. He smelled like tobacco and whiskey most of the time and he drove a blue truck. If Takayla was in the yard playing, he would come up to her and smile in a way that made Takayla suspicious. It was like he was trying to make her like him or something. But Takayla would just speak to him and turn away to continue her play. 

Before he would go into the house, he’d always take off his shoes and hide them behind one of her mama’s big flowerpots. Then, he’d look around to make sure nobody on the street could see him before going inside. When he came over, Takayla’s mother would come to the door with the same instructions about staying outside until her company leaves and she calls her to come in the house.  Sometimes, Takayla would hear her mother laughing real loud and then sometimes, she would hear something that sounded like crying. Takayla wasn’t really sure.

One time, she was running in her own imaginary marathon around the house when she stopped abruptly by her parents’ bedroom window. Takayla heard the bed squeak the same way it would squeak sometimes when her daddy didn’t have to work late and she’d wake up in the middle of the night to pee. That man who hid his shoes on the porch was there that day. 

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Takayla’s biscuits were done cooking and she had already put the chocolate pies into some aluminum foil and set them to the side. As she stood up to assess her clothing, the blue truck drove up and parked across the street. The man with the salt and pepper beard got out of the truck and briskly walked through the gate and up the walkway to the house. He almost didn’t see Takayla until she moved closer to the porch steps. Once he saw the child, his face registered a bit of surprise. 

“Hey hey there, little lady. Is your mama home?” He asked, nervously. 

“Yeah. You think she leaves me here by myself?” Takayla asked back, with a slight innocence in her voice but there was also an undertone of sarcasm.  

“Naw”, he chuckled, “I know she don’t do that.” 

He jogged up the steps quickly before leaning against one of the columns on the porch to take off his shoes. As he was hiding the shoes under her mama’s large rose flowerpot, Takayla saw her mother standing in the door, looking at her with an expression she had never seen before. She smiled just a bit before darting her eyes to the man who takes his shoes off on the porch.  Like her daddy, the man just opened the door and walked past Takayla’s mother into the house as her eyes surveyed the street to make sure no one was looking over at the house.

Takayla mustered up a bit of courage and asked, “Mama, who is that man?” 

Her mother turned to look at the man standing in the living room, then stepped outside on the porch. “Oh, he’s just a friend, baby.” 

“Why is he always coming over here when Daddy ain’t home?” 

Her mother paused again and looked down at her feet before replying, “Your daddy know who he is. He comes over to help me out when your daddy is not here.” 

“Help you out with what?” Takayla asked, watching her mother fidget a little.

Takayla’s mother looked into her daughter’s eyes for what seemed like a small eternity. 

Then she asked, “Why do you like playing in the mud? Don’t you know you get real dirty like that?” 

Takayla looked at her clothes, completely soiled. Her feet were soggy with soft damp dirt and her fingernails were coated in dried mud. She even had some mud on her face and in her hair. Those two plaits were completely undone by now. She giggled at the sight of it all and then turned her eyes back to her mother. 

“But Mama, I like playing in the mud. I don’t care if I get dirty.” 

Takayla’s mother smiled at her daughter and before turning to go back into the house to the man who was now sitting on the living room couch, she quipped, “Well, just like you, I don’t care if I get dirty either.” 

—END—