Chapter 7
The days and weeks went by slowly as my aching body healed. Most days I sat in my apartment and felt sorry for myself. I didn’t know whether to be happy or sad that Marie and Kayla didn’t catch Batgirl that night in the Quarter. All I know is I miss her desperately.
Batgirl.
She saved my life. I don’t know how to explain our relationship. It was magical. That is a great word for it. Many people would call us deviants or degenerates, but we did what we felt was right at that moment. We helped each other heal after terrible traumas. Our hearts were broken when we ran into each other on a fateful night last August…just after I returned from a trip to South Dakota that I can’t seem to remember. What I do remember is Batgirl. She is the one person who helped me get begin to heal. The one who cleansed my soul. The one person who helped me try to get over Joe.
Joe.
Joe was my world prior to my ripping his to shreds. I regret what I did to him each and every day. But he said throughout it all that he loved me. Then he tore my poor heart in half when he said he was leaving me. He spit on it when he said the reason he was leaving was because of Kitten. After that I went on a wild bender through the Midwest that I cannot remember. The only images in my head are South Dakota, bikes, and Boom-Boom. I wish I knew what happened and why it is affecting my life. I can’t even remember returning to New Orleans until the night I met Batgirl.
Batgirl.
She claims I saved her life, but I don’t think she really knew the extent of what she means to me. She healed my broken heart. Then she ripped it to shreds the night she left. She left to save me from her former biker friends. She never spoke of her prior life, but I know she did some bad things too. That’s why we are soulmates. Now she is on the run, and I am a prisoner in my own apartment.
“Marie, I want to visit my mother.”
Marie is sitting across the room in a deep chair snoozing. I can’t help but look at the former gymnast in fascination. She looks like a child-angel. Her blonde hair frames a small face that could rival any supermodels in sheer beauty. Her demeanor is calm…almost lazy…but she never seems out of control. Her body’s incredible strength is hidden by her tiny size. At just 4’11” 95 lbs, she is the perfect gymnast. But she is the most vicious fighter I have ever run across. Marie has left a multitude of broken and beaten victims in her wake. Most of them underestimated her tiny size. They paid dearly. A little over a year ago we met for the first time and we have hated each other ever since. Maybe it’s because we are both small. Maybe it’s because we both have “win at all cost” attitudes. Or maybe we are attracted to each other. Who knows? On many occasions she has literally tried to cripple me. Just as many times, I have tried to hurt her.
Her icy blue eyes settle on me. I can’t help but stare in her incredible body still clad in her lycra shorts and sports bra from her recent workout. “I thought you hate your mother. I can certainly understand why she hates you,” she says with a smirk.
“Fuck you, Marie.” I reply in a low voice. “I want to go visit her. Jenn says you have to stay with me…wherever I may be. Now I am going.”
I get to my feet and head for the door. Exasperatedly, Marie says, “Let me shower and change clothes.”
It’s all I can do to keep myself from following her and stepping into the shower too.
A couple hours later, we arrive at a big house on the Bayou Teche near City Park in New Iberia. The house sits off the road close to the bayou. Pecan trees provide shade for the veranda where my mother sits on a porch swing. She squints as I get out of the car and rolls her eyes when she sees me. Although we hug and exchange pleasantries, the greeting is without warmth from either of us. We both blame the other for my father’s death when I was 17.
“Why are you here, you?” My mother is a Cajun born and bred. She can interchange her language patterns from English to French to Cajun without skipping a beat…usually it’s a mixture of the three. She grew up close to the Shadows Plantation in New Iberia. She has maybe spent 6 months of her life outside of Acadiana. Those few times were when the University of Louisiana, Lafayette played football out of state. She was a Ragin’ Cajun cheerleader. She met my father on one such trip out of Louisiana. He was a quarterback for Arkansas State University and he was immediately smitten by the exotic beauty from the swamps of Louisiana. One thing led to another and less than a year later they were married. I guess this is where my attitude comes from…I’m half Acadiana Cajun and half Arkansas Peckerwood.
“I needed to get out of the city. I thought I would drop in to see you.”
She settles her deep green eyes on me but says nothing for a moment. But then, “Well, that’s mighty sweet of you….you lyin’ little bitch. You ain’t never come ‘round here unless you want something.”
Now it’s my turn to be exasperated. “Momma, I wanted to see you. Nothing more. I’ll leave if you want me to.”
“Nah, stay. You always good for a laugh or two. Jus’ tell me what it is you want.”
“I don’t want anything, Mamma.”
“So you just came to visit poor ol’ mamma in her old age, you?” She says with her quiet snicker that I have come to hate over the years. “That’s bullshit, but I guess we can visit until you reveal why you here.”
I think the reason we never got along is because we are so much alike. We can read each other like a book. I never understood why she hates me. I think it’s because my father and I were so close. Did I ever mention I am a scratch golfer? I could have played on the LPGA Tour if my father hadn’t died when I was young. I lost my competitive fire and drive. Momma claims my fire and drive is what drove my father to do himself in. The official cause of death was an accidental drug overdose. The whispers in the backroom were he committed suicide because he couldn’t handle the pressures of raising a family, balancing a bevy of waitress/mistresses, and dealing with a demanding fiery Cajun wife. He died just before Christmas. Today is the anniversary of his death. I doubt the irony of me being here on this day is lost on momma. That’s why she was sitting on the porch wiping away tears when Marie and I arrived. She used to sit on the swing every evening with my father. She never uses the swing anymore.
“Momma…..”
I want to say something, but the words catch in my throat. I look down when her eyes meet mine.
“What is it, pischouette?”
I ignore the obvious insult but I can’t say anything for a moment.
“Well, what is it you want, peeshwank?”
This time I can’t ignore the comment. “Please don’t call me that. Momma…I’m here to settle things about daddy with you. I want to make things right.”
Her head whips around and she stares at me, her cheeks turning red. I know she hates me and I struck a nerve. She doesn’t say anything for a few moments as if she is seeking the right words.
“Jonica, you know what today is right, you?” Her eyes take on a malevolence they only have when I am around. “We ain’t talked about this since the man died, and you show up to day to ‘make things right?’” The smirk is gone. “You know you my little pischouette…you always will be. I love you more than you know. But the only way we gonna make tings right about yo daddy is out behind the shed. You ready fo’ dat, you?”
For the first time since I really was a pischouette, my mother has told me she loves me. I don’t know whether to hit her or hug her. But she is right. There really is only one way for us to settle things. “Okay, momma, if that’s what it takes….”
She looks at me with a mixture of animosity and adoration as she stands up and walks to the door. “Go tell your friend to come into the house. Get her something to drink and turn on the television for her….then meet me behind the shed.” She disappears into the house and I walk to the car to fetch Marie.
A few minutes later I walk across the back yard toward dad’s old tool shed. I knew the location she meant because this is where she would bring my sisters and me to ‘settle our differences.’ It’s also where she would discipline us after we misbehaved. I guess that’s what she has in mind for today.
I round the back corner of the shed and there she is standing in a flat spot devoid of grass under a pecan tree. She has just finished sweeping rotten pecan husks to form a clearing. Momma is small like me…only 5’2” but a little heavier…maybe 120 lbs. But she still has the body of a cheerleader at 52 years old. I have always been a little frightened of her…maybe because she completely took me apart when I was 17…just after my father died (the first time we decided to ‘settle things’).
“So you really want to ‘settle things’ huh?” Momma says as she slips off her sandals. She ties her blouse under her breasts and adjusts the waistband of her khaki shorts. “Ok, peeshwank, we settle things here and now.”
I kick off my own sandals and tuck my t-shirt into the waistband of my denim shorts. When I look up, a quick right jab slams into my cheek knocking me off balance and onto my butt.
Cajun women have always been known for their heartiness and toughness. My mother is no exception. Who cares if Jenny Thibodeaux was married to John Desjarlais, the golf pro at New Iberia Country Club. Jenny is mean as Hell, and it doesn’t matter if she is my mother or not. She fights to win. She always has.
I hit my butt and I know what is coming next…I’ve seen her do this before…so I roll to my right to avoid the heel of her foot with which she intends to decapitate me. But she has apparently seen this before. The top of her bare foot slams into my side with such force that I am nearly lifted off the ground. I fall onto my side and moan, but I try to push myself off the ground.
“You nothin’ but a possede' little cocotte,” she says almost without emotion as she grabs my hair and pounds my face and head into the ground. “Yo’ papa’ loved you da best and you shit on him. Dat why I hated you!” Her fingers tighten as she grinds my face into the ground. My legs kick wildly and my arms flail as my toes futilely kick at the ground. Bucking my hips, I manage to get to my knees and push enough to pitch her over my head. Her fingers still grasp my hair as she tumbles to the ground, but I immediately start throwing wild punches over my head trying to hit anything I can…which turns out mostly to be her arms.
“Maudit! Lil’ Salope has some fight in her after all!”
She gets to her feet and keeps her hands in my hair. As she walks backwards she drags me off my knees belly first to the ground and tugs me into the pile of pecan husks. I try to push off the ground, but she gets behind me and straddles me again.
I knew the folly of coming out here. I knew the consequences of my actions. But this is one dark cloud that has hung over me for far too long. I have too many loose ends, and this one can be tied up pretty easily. As a matter of fact, that is exactly what it happening. But I do intend to get some licks in before it’s over.
“I’m gonna kick yo’ little ass, me!” She yells as she grinds my face into the pecan husks this time, but I manage to shift onto one side and elbow her in the chest. She gasps in shock but when she bends down to protect herself, I slam another elbow into her, this time into her chin. Finally, she rolls off me. I push myself up, and roll onto my side. My face is burning from scratches caused by the pecan husks. Momma is kneeling across the clearing staring at me. To my satisfaction, there is a small trickle of blood on her chin. I get to my feet, take a deep breath, and rush at her. My fists raised to cause damage as I plow into her. Just as I reach her, however, she sits back on her butt and drives the bottom of both feet into my belly. “OMMMMPPPPPHHHH!!!” I grunt then I am head over heels in the air as she flips me over her. I slam into the back oak wall of the shed with another “OMMMMPPPPHHHH!!!” then I land on the ground in a heap.
I open my mouth trying to pop my ears and get feeling back into my body. Shaking my head to clear it of cobwebs as I push off the ground, I am suddenly helped to my feet by a tug of the hair. “You wanted to ‘settle things,’ Couillon, where here we go.” She rams the back of my head over and over into the back of the shed until my knees are sagging but she refuses to let me fall to the ground. She stops just before I black out but then she pins my head to the wall by grabbing my chin. Letting go of my hair, she pounds punch after punch into my belly.
“Are things settled yet, peeshwank?”
My body screams yes they are, but I have never been much known for common since. Through a cloudy haze, I hear myself say, “Fuck you, vielle!” and I lash out with weak punches aimed where I think her head is. I even feel a few of them land.
Now laughing at me, momma steps back and lets me drop to my knees. “So we ain’t ‘settled things’ yet, us?” She stomps down on my shoulder blades until I am prone on the ground again. Grabbing my hair, she drags me to the middle of the clearing where she straddles my back again. Viciously yanking my head up until my entire upperbody is off the ground, she puts her left forearm around my throat and holds my body up as she lets my hair go. Using her right hand, she twists my head around by the chin. I feel her warm breath on my ear as she whispers, “Okay then, putain, I told you I love you more than anything in the world. But I brought you into dis’ world and I can take you out of it, me. If things ain’t settled between us now, then I’ll just break your little neck, me. Now, are things settled between us?”
My mind races for something to say…any little smartass comment or insult, but for the first time in my life, I am at a loss for words. It may be momma’s admission that she really does love me…or it could be the fact that she is twisting my neck so painfully that I know she meant what she said about breaking it. I slap the ground and gasp out, “Yes, momma…things are settled.”
Immediately she lets me go and lets me flop to the ground. She pulls me up again, but this time tenderly. “Oh my dear negresse! Oh mi ami! I love you so much!” She cradles my head against her bosom for a few brief moments as we both weep. Finally, she lets go and stands up. “Go into the house…the back way, pischouette…and get cleaned up, you! I will make a big pot of shrimp etuffee for you and your friend, me!”
For the first time since I was 17, I truly believe momma and I have finally ‘settled things.’ I stand up and stagger to the house and clean up for dinner. Marie looks at the scratches and bruises on both momma and I, but she never brings them up. We leave the next day after spending a wonderful night in the huge old plantation house I grew up in.
To be continued....
