Passerby
Michael Phillipps
I look once more at our relatives before I turn to sit beside Momma. As the weight is taken off my feet, the pinch finally goes out of my toes. That squeeze had driven me to such a state if I stood another minute I’d have screamed. The most trying week of my life. That’s what it’s been, but don’t you worry. The Lord has seen people through worse. Though my back is to the relatives now, I can still hear uncles and cousins murmuring; but one familiar voice I expected is not here.
I’ve watched everyone who’s come through the door from the beginning, and she hasn’t shown yet. It would be like her to claim a bigger problem all her own, a sprained wrist, a migraine, or something else to keep herself away. Which is fine with me. Thank the Almighty for small favors. It’s all quite enough without adding Aunt Hildy to the mix. Momma leans against me, so I take her arm and gently prop her up again. My dark macramé gloves cover my hands like coal dust. They
blend in well with Momma’s dress so I don’t suppose anyone noticed my little nudge, though Jessie and Ray are probably scrutinizing us good. I can’t help but think of that one button on the back of my dress I couldn’t reach this morning and which Momma was in no state to help with. Ever since their daddy left home, Jessie and Ray have become mean-spirited. Anything my cousins can find to make fun of, especially as regards me, will serve to entertain them. They particularly love it when I go at it with Aunt Hildy, head to head in argument, as I have done more than once, though I never dared pick a fight with her when you were there. Jessie and Ray enjoy seeing people divide, I suppose, as they have themselves been divided from their father. They’re at their happiest when folks just about spit at each other, but they will be getting no such sport on this solemn afternoon.
