Mary Hill-Wagner - Girlz n the Hood: A Memoir of Mama in South Central Los Angeles

Contents

Girlz n the Hood

A Memoir of Mama in

South Central Los Angeles

Dr. Mary Hill-Wagner

Pact Press

Copyright 2021 Mary Hill-Wagner. All rights reserved.

Published by Pact Press

An imprint of

Regal House Publishing, LLC

Raleigh, NC 27612

All rights reserved

https://pactpress.com

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN -13 (paperback): 9781646030781

ISBN -13 (epub): 9781646031030

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020948459

All efforts were made to determine the copyright holders and obtain their permissions in any circumstance where copyrighted material was used. The publisher apologizes if any errors were made during this process, or if any omissions occurred. If noted, please contact the publisher and all efforts will be made to incorporate permissions in future editions.

Interior by Lafayette & Greene

Cover images by C. B. Royal

Regal House Publishing, LLC

https://regalhousepublishing.com

The following is a work of creative nonfiction. The events are portrayed to the best of Mary Hill-Wagners memory. While all the stories in this book are true, some names and identifying details have been changed or have been eliminated to protect the privacy of the people involved and to minimize harm.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of Regal House Publishing.

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

To Mama, who wanted to;

to Ellerbe, who said I could;

to Clancy, who said I must;

to Andrea, who believed in it;

to Geoff, who did the same;

and to my beloved Marcus, who made it all possible.

A note from the author:

Memory has its own story to tell. I have tried to recreate events, locales, and conversations from my memories of them. I have retold them in a way that evokes the feeling and meaning of what was said in all instances, the essence of the dialogue is accurate.

One

MAMA THROWS A PARTY

My mother was plotting murder at the kitchen table. Again.

You shouldnt put up with this bullshit, Pat, my mother said. Just get yourself a big boilin pot and wait for that son of a bitch to go to sleep. Put that pot on nice and long and put in a little lye. Go in. Shake the bed so he knows its you, and dump that shit over his lyin, wife-beatin, cheatin-ass head.

I stood in the kitchen on the red Carnation milk crate. I tried to keep the dishes from clattering and clanging. But I just knew that my mother was going to glance over, notice my seven-year-old self, and yell something about getting out of grown folks business. I knew that as soon as they started discussing Pats husband, Gene, I was supposed to excuse myself and leave the room. It was risky to keep doing the dishes, but I wanted to hear what happened.

Even though I was doing the dishes as I was supposed to, I wouldnt have been surprised if shed kicked the crate from under me and let my head hit the tile floor, just to teach me a lesson about snooping. My mother didnt like kids getting all up in grown folks conversation.

Pat said, But I caint. I just caint. You know I love that man. And he say he real sorry.

You is a simple-ass bitch, my mother said to her best friend in the world. You gonna get enough of not listenin to what Im sayin. I hope I dont have to go to yo funeral or send that good-for-nothin man to his.

Pat was a very tall woman who could reach anything on top of the refrigerator without getting up on her tiptoes. Now, she sat in one of the flowered, padded dinette chairs with her long brown arms draped over the back. She could almost reach to the floor. Her wig seemed to be on sideways. Her apple-red lipstick was smeared and her eyes were bloodshot.

My mother got up and went over to the refrigerator, reached in, and got out a red Popsicle. She handed it to her friend. Pat held it against the knot over her right eye.

You know what I been tellin you. I told you and told you that that man was going to raise his hands to you one day. Remember? When you told me that he couldnt keep his Johnson in his pants and he was running around with every little ho in that pagan-ass church you go to, I said, a man that will cheat on his woman will beat on his woman. I know you remember when I said that shit. And I said back then that you should put a cap in his ass or leave him. I told you those was yo choices.

I thought about sending up a wish and crossing my fingers so they would be sure not to notice me. But its hard to do dishes with crossed fingers. And if my mother discovered the dishes werent donein addition to the fact that I was snoopingwell, I would get a wake-up whuppin. Those were the worst kind because you couldnt even pretend to outrun the blows when you were asleep.

Pat pushed her big body away from the table and scratched the chair loudly on the floor. She smoothed down her sundress that had giant daisies on it. The dress barely covered her bottom. She tried to set her wig to rights but it still hung crooked.

I gotta go get dinner on, Say, she said, using her pet name for my mother. Ill call you later.

Pat came over to me and handed me the Popsicle. I took it, although I was still pretending to be invisible. I set the Popsicle on the counter and finished the dishes.

My mother stood and accepted a hug from Pat.

I climbed down from the crate awkwardly with the Popsicle in my hand. I tried to tiptoe out of the kitchen past my mother. My mother grabbed the back of my collar.

My mother stood over me like a large dog, but instead of whipping me she just said, Dont you tell nobody what we been talkin bout up in here. You hear? We dont need to add gossip to your sins. You hear me, girl?

Yes, maam, I mumbled.

The next day all was forgotten as far as I could see. The whole house was in an uproar because Uncle Lo was getting out of jail. I still dont know why it was made out to be such a big deal when he got out. Uncle Lo always seemed to be getting out of one jail or another.

Uncle Lo ducked as he came in through the front door. His real name was Lorenzo Gordon Senior, but everyone seemed to think it was really funny to call him Lo. He was even taller than Pat. He could see the top of the refrigerator all the way to the back. His head was shaved so he was bald now. Hed grown a pencil mustache. It stood out on his caramel-colored lip. He said it made him look like Earl Flynn, whoever that was.

Uncle Lo was carrying his usual can of Schlitz Malt Liquora 16-ounce can because an 8-ounce can of anything was for guys with sugar in their shoes.

His wife, Annettewho was almost as tall as our living room picture window and just about as widebroke through the crowd of children and adults in the tiny living room and threw her arms around him. We called her Ainey because Aint Annette was too hard to say. Uncle Lo put his massive hands over Aineys butt.

Annette, I got your present right here, Uncle Lo said as he pushed Ainey up against him.