BOMAW 1-3 (7 page)

Sylvie was laughing, so stunned and distracted by him, she forgot the bacon.

"Woman, you gone burn my bacon! Would you pay attention!" he reprimanded, kidding.

Still laughing, Sylvie rushed to the stove, flipping the bacon. A couple of slices had to be removed after being scorched. She lowered the burner's heat and wiped at the tears squeezing from her eyes. "You are one crazy white man, you done lost your min'. Come up in here, 'cause you done had a dream...and I do stress
dream
! Thinking I'm gone fix you breakfast and talkin' smack about
my
bacon." Still she was grinning, with one hand on hip.

"Now look here, you stop fighting this," he directed.

"Fighting what?" This turned her away from the stove.

"This here set-up. This arrangement. You need to stop fighting it," he furthered.

"And you need to wake up and smell the coffee," she corrected him in her fashion.

"Well, you don't have any on, so how can I? I, ah, like it black, by the way," he informed her. Sylvie stood once again with her mouth open and speechless. "I'll take instant or brewed. Whichever. I prefer brewed, but if instant is all you have, that's fine," he went on, just as bold as you please. "And while you're standing there, where is Darren's breakfast? I could be feeding him while you're cooking my breakfast. And, are you gonna let Isaac sleep all morning?" Sylvie was still too stunned to respond. "Well, come on, woman, don't just stand there." That snapped her to as she went into action, getting Darren's oatmeal out of the microwave. With a slice of buttered toast in hand, she gave him a piece or two of her mind.

"Now you listen here, Everett Styles...I don't know what kind of game you playing, but it don't wash with me,” she said, stirring the oatmeal, walking to the silverware drawer to remove Darren's baby spoon. "You ain't settin' me up, and there sho' ain't no arrangement! Here…you know how to feed a baby?" she asked, handing him the bowl and laying the toast on the tray.

"I had four younger siblings, two brothers and two sisters to feed; just like riding a bike. You get back to that stove and get my coffee on." He couldn't keep the grin from his face.

"All right, don't make me go off on you up in here. Ordering me around, you must be crazy," this said as she started the water running to fill the coffee pot. "And I'm not fixing this coffee because you told me to. I'm a nice person and I know how to be a gracious host when I invite someone for a meal—"

"See, I told you you invited me!"

"Look! I did not invite you!"

"That's what you just said!"

That stopped her, she glared at him, fighting not to smile. "Everett Styles, you want this pot upside your head?"

He feigned a look of fear. "No, ma'am."

Sylvie headed for the coffee maker to fill it with the water. "You best leave me alone then and not push it." Everett grinned, turning to Darren winking at him, then began feeding him. "Ummm, ma'am…by the way, the bacon's burning again." Sylvie quickly put the pot down and dashed across the kitchen to the smoking pan. "Doggone you, Everett Styles, you made me burn my bacon!"

He acted stunned. "How'd I make you burn the bacon? I think you just one of these new millennium women with no domestic skills." Taking the pan to the sink, she dropped it in and turned, cocking her hip with hands on them to do battle.

"Oh no—you did not—say that to me!"

He turned, spooning another mouthful to an observing Darren and then lifted his toast to his mouth so he could take a bite out of it. "Well, I'm just going by what I see. Bacon burned. No coffee on. I gotta feed the baby or else he'd be starving. Lucky for him, man invented microwaves and instant oatmeal...can I have a bowl? I'm hungry!"

Finger up and pointed dead aim at him. "You listen here, Mr. Styles, you about to get tossed out of here on your ear!" she warned. He leaned up to look towards the stove again. "What you got boiling in that pot over there?" he continued in his teasing antagonism.

"Don't you worry about it! I was making some grits!" she growled, going to the counter grabbing the container which held grits and spooned in the proper amount. "I don't know if you oughta attempt that. Not just anybody can make good grits," he stated, shaking his head, spooning in more oatmeal for Darren.

She turned, looking down her nose at him. "Like you know anything about grits!" she accused.

"I know plenty about grits. My mama made the best grits anywhere, and I followed in her footsteps. Having to feed four younger brothers and sisters," he reminded her once again.

"You eat grits and know how to cook 'em?"

"Black folks aren't the only ones who eat grits, you know. There's many white folks that eat grits! Collard greens, turnip greens, mustard greens—"

"Get outta here!" she blasted, stunned.

"Wash 'em, cut 'em up, fry up that salt pork, get that fat to moving—"

"Get outta here!" she repeated, dumbfounded.

"Peel up a couple of big white turnips, chop'em up and put'em in with the greens, pour in the fat and salt pork, some chopped onions and garlic—I like a little crushed red pepper myself—and pour in the water...not too much! Man, lemme tell ya...some corn bread, that's all you need! That's all we could afford, but it was good."

"Oh, my goodness!"

"Um-hm. You be a good girl…be nice to me, I might cook you some. If you can't fry no bacon and cook no grits...which are about to boil over," he inserted to warn her, "I know you can't handle no greens," he finished, punctuating his litany with the last spoon of oatmeal to Darren's open and waiting mouth. Then winked at him for finishing to the last drop. Sylvie was running to the sink to get a towel for all the water and grits that boiled over. "Listen here, white man, you done push me too far, early this morning! Talkin' about my cookin'. This all your fault, distracting me!"

"Um-hm," he mumbled.

"Don't be 'um-hmming' me! I was doing just fine before you come up in here, trying to run something. That's what I get for being nice and lettin' yo' butt in!" she fussed, turning from the sink to say something further to him, but saw Isaac coming from the hallway rubbing his eyes.

"Oh, great!"

Following the direction of her stare, Everett turned in his chair to see Isaac trying to wake up, shaky and stumbling in his early morning toddler steps. "Good Morning, baby," Sylvia called to him. Isaac stopped halfway to them and looked at Everett, then bugged eyed, looked up at his approaching grandmother. "I'm gon' ride the moto'cycle, grandma!" Sylvia stopped in her tracks, looked back at a grinning Everett, then back at her grandson. "Good morning, grandma." Her tone and look gave him a clear hint of what should first be his greeting.

"Mornin', grandma," he repeated, then, "Am I gone ride a moto'cycle?" Everett and Sylvia chuckled at his persistence and excitement.

"Yes, you can ride the motorcycle today...but I think you should say good morning to Mr. Styles." Without hesitation, Isaac was right there at his lap, looking up into his blue-gray eyes.

"Good mornin', Minner 'tiles." Followed by the biggest smile his grandma had ever seen. Everett chuckled and stroked his hand over Isaac's head fondly. "Good morning, Isaac...you sleep good?" Isaac bobbed his head in agreement with only one obvious thing on his mind.

"I'mo ride yo’ moto'cycle?"

Everett picked him up on his lap, holding him there he said, "As soon as I cook us breakfast. 'Cause your grandma...well, let's just say, I need a little something more than instant microwave oatmeal."

"You know what? Have at it! Let's see what you can do!" Sylvia challenged, having enough of his criticism.

"You're on, baby! Take a seat right here, and I'm gonna give you a little schooling on how to fix breakfast and conduct a conversation at the same time. Have a seat..."

Sitting on Everett's small front porch with Darren perched between her thighs, they sat waiting and watching for him and Isaac to return. He jabbered away as she thought over the morning so far. Everett had indeed whipped up a delicious breakfast for them, and kept her laughing as well Isaac and Darren in the process. To her amazement, he was totally unaffected by his macho, handsome male image. He was silly, funny...animated with the boys, free and easy, teasing and torturing her. With absolutely no fear of her, their racial difference, or what he might inadvertently say to offend her. She was surprised as well to discover that he was not Italian as she first thought, but Irish. He was a talker, and enjoyed speaking about his life as a young man growing up on a farm with watchful, disciplining parents—who were not rich, but loving, kind and supportive. He spoke as if he missed having someone listen to this side of him, about the life that he obviously missed, longed for, and she was just as delighted with the fact that he felt comfortable enough with her to show this side of himself.

"Ohhh, Darren. What's happening here, baby? Hm? Now you know grandma don't need this kinda pressure startin' up in her life. That's right. I'm comfortable, got a nice house. I have you guys over every now and then...and by the way...where is your mama and daddy?" Darren looked up at her, smiling and laughing as usual. He was a happy, easy baby to care for. She hugged him to her, running her fingers through his silky, blond hair, sighing deeply. Just then, they could hear the motorcycle's rumbling exhaust as it came roaring up the road towards the driveway. Isaac sitting in front with a harness strapping him to Everett. His little head swallowed up in the helmet. Everett wore his shades and no helmet. He was as handsome as any woman's dream. Sylvia sensed that he just may be dangerous to her heart...to her peace. Darren's little pudgy hands shot up into the air waving his hands in circle, his dexterity in waving the correct way still undeveloped. Sylvia smiled hearing Isaac cry out in his happy excitement. "Grandma! Grandma! I ride the moto'cycle! I ridin' the moto'cycle!" he announced as Everett guided the bike into his short driveway to stop next to the porch where she and Darren sat waiting. Looking up from Isaac, her smile and gaze was drawn to the man who sat silent and still...the bike still running, his one hand resting on the handle bar, the other on his thigh...through the dark shades, she knew he stared at her. In her mind's eye, she saw beyond the darkness of the glasses to blue-gray eyes, sensing what they would relay were he to remove his eye protection. As if to confirm it, he reached up and slowly removed them. Sylvia felt her heart skip a beat, with the fluttering in her stomach following suit.

God almighty, look at her. I want you, lady...I want you, and come what may, you're going to be mine,
Everett thought as he pulled up to his porch, having his pulse race to see Sylvia and her grandson sitting there waiting on him and Isaac. The picture was one that gave him a feeling of contentment, a feeling of rightness. She was what he wanted...and he wasn't a stupid man. His nearness, his presence, did things to her as well. Things she tried to hide, but it was too late. He'd laid up last night thinking long and hard...and seriously. He was willing to take another chance on a serious relationship, because he knew with her it would have to be that...or nothing. Isaac was talking to him. He had to tear his eyes away from her to give him his attention. "Can we go again?" Isaac pleaded.

"That's enough, Isaac," Sylvia announced, having gotten up from the porch, overhearing as she approached the bike. Everett reached past Isaac and turned off the engine. "One more time," he begged. Sylvia looked him straight in the eyes, shaking her head with an expression that said loud and clear,
No! And don't ask again!
He knew the expression; he'd received it enough from his mother, grandma's daughter. Isaac sighed but then looked at his little brother and immediately brightened. "You see me, Darren? You too little to ride, you just a baby...when you get big like me, you can ride then," he announced as Everett removed his helmet from his head. Darren gave a perplexed look and laughed, then said his one dependable word, "no", unsure of what Isaac was saying. They all looked towards the road upon hearing a car horn blow.

"That's my mama and daddy! I ride the moto'cycle! I ride the moto'cycle!" he began yelling as he worked to get down from the bike. Everett chuckled, handing him down to the ground, and he took off towards the road to his parents.

"Isaac!" Sylvia, Everett, and Victor, Sylvia's son in law, yelled at the same time to stop him. He skidded to a halt.

"What did I tell you about that road and running into it?" Sylvia scolded as she marched up to him, reaching down, grabbing his hand. "I wanna tell my daddy about the moto'cycle," Isaac whined. Sylvia sighed deep, shaking her head as Victor sat partly in her driveway glaring at his son. Shaking his head as well, he pulled the rest of the way in and around the inner curve as Sylvia walked into the yard, one grandson on her hip, the other in hand. As soon as she stepped out of the car, Crystal, her daughter, started in on him. "Little boy, you are going to get the worse spanking you ever had about running into that road. I've told you over and over about that!"

"I ride the moto'cycle!" Isaac whined, the scolding stealing his joy from the telling of his great adventure on a machine he'd admired since the first time they rumbled by him, sitting in his parent's car, strapped snugly in his car seat. "Chile, get yo’ kids. I'm done. They stuff is waitin' at the door," Sylvia announced, turning Isaac loose and handing Darren over to his mother. His arms outstretched, his little fingers pumping eagerly for his mother to take him. "That's right, baby...go to yo’ mama. Grandma love ya...but grandma done had enough."