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Hell Hath No Fury

Daddy is not coming for me. I’ve waited. Since I was three. Since he and Mommy had that huge fight in court. He lost everything, so I’m told. Trying to take me away from Mommy.

I lost things, too.

My Mamou died during the whole business. She was my only other family, besides Mommy and Aunt Bertie. And Daddy.

She lived in a house on St. Charles. Twenty steps from the streetcar to the zoo. I counted, all the way to the Neutral Ground, when she sent me with one of the servants.

I remember seeing Daddy in that house. The way his upright bass matched his voice against the tall ceilings. Mamou played along, her fingernails tapping on her leg.

Sometimes, we made our own band. I was the lead singer. Daddy played strings, and Mamou pounded chords on the piano. We were a threesome. Formidable, Mamou said. We threw the doors open and let the Garden District in. Hearing that music, mixed with traffic and the streetcar, is the last time I remember being happy.

Now, Daddy’s gone. All the way to Nashville. Mamou’s gone, too. Stuck in one of those above-ground graveyards, where her body doesn’t get pushed underwater.

I’m managing. I smile at Mommy’s boys and try to charm them like she wants.

But, I’m waiting for Daddy.

To save me from this scary, confusing life of Mommy’s. Her cards and her boys.

And me.

Welcome to Mommy Dearest, a series of fiction. If this is your first visit to the series, please click here to read the first installment, go here for the second installment and click here for the third. Thanks for your feedback on fiction posts. Your thoughts will help me make a believable character.

22 Comments Post a comment
  1. You really wanted to get me started on streetcars? And I am so jealous of you being in New Orleans. And smelling the smells, hearing the voices, and of course, riding my precious streetcars! (You know most of those were made up in North Carolina, right? Same company that makes most of our school buses today.)

    October 4, 2012
    • I tried to work a streetcar into this story just for you.

      October 4, 2012
  2. I’m hoping Daddy will come and save her from this seedy life.

    October 4, 2012
    • At this point, I am not sure Daddy can. The reasons are part of his series, though.

      October 4, 2012
  3. I am so afraid for that child. This is very good, Andra

    October 4, 2012
  4. I have a feeling this kid is going to have to save herself

    October 4, 2012
  5. I’m afraid this little girl is going to have to save herself

    October 4, 2012
    • I hope she’s tough enough to do it, if that’s what it comes to.

      October 4, 2012
  6. Mommy, her cards and her boys; all conjure up tragedy. Maybe, just maybe, Daddy will come?

    October 4, 2012
  7. I think the fact that this post made me very sad and near tears is evidence of quality writing, Andra. This little girl is not unlike thousands of children waiting for their lives to change. I could picture her losses and they hurt. I’m such a fan! D

    October 4, 2012
    • I’m glad to hear it, Debra. I’m sorry I put you near tears, but your comment made my day. Thank you.

      October 4, 2012
  8. Aww, I’m really hoping this girl gets the life she really wants!

    October 4, 2012
  9. Love this, Andra. Great the way you isolated “SInce I was three” into its own sentence. Helps emphasize our narrator’s sense of lostness–and isolation–I supose.
    Hope Daddy comes soon.
    Hugs,
    Kathy

    October 4, 2012
    • I hope a little girl would isolate that way. It’s been so long for me. :)

      October 4, 2012
  10. My name is Envy. For the inspiration, the location, the trip, and the story finding it’s way out into the world here on this screen.

    October 6, 2012
  11. Yikes.

    That passage about the band is so sweet; makes the whole situation so much sadder.

    October 8, 2012

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