Free Pushin' by L. Divine Page A

probably doesn’t and couldn’t care less about the spiritual relevance of having a priestess like Mama making her something to smooth her stretch marks and many other ailments she may experience.
    â€œI see,” she says, finally done with the balm. I automatically claim an empty plastic container from the counter and hand it to Mama to fill. I busy myself with the label making while the thought of me not being here for our now regular Sunday dinner sets in, filling the room with an uncomfortable silence.
    â€œI’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” I say, taking Mickey’s full container and pressing the label onto the front. I then walk over to the ancestor shrine and place the balm next to the rest of the products lined up for blessings. This is the final ingredient that makes Mama’s line of healing and beauty products so special and powerful. Once she prays over them, they’re ready to go. “I’ve been invited by Nigel’s mother to participate in a debutante ball.”
    â€œA debutante ball—by Nigel’s mother,” Mama repeats, rubbing the remnants of the balm into her already glistening skin. “And you accepted the invitation, I assume.” I stare at Mama, who’s focused on her hands. She can tell there’s more I’m not saying.
    â€œYes, I did, but only because Mrs. Esop made me agree to it in exchange for her presence at Mickey’s baby shower, where she only came downstairs to say hello. But in her eyes, her part of the deal was met, so I have to keep my word, too.” I join Mama at the kitchen table, sitting on a stool across from her. Her green eyes look weary and I wonder if she’s been taking her herbs regularly since I moved out. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to Mama because I don’t live here anymore.
    â€œYes, you must keep your word,” she says cryptically. Mama looks behind her at the refrigerator and claims the spirit book from the top. “And?” Mama asks, waiting for the rest of my confession. This must be how it feels to let it all out to a Catholic priest.
    â€œAnd all next week I’ll be an hour late to Netta’s because I’m trying out for the cheer squad. My counselor, Mr. Adelizi, says it will help my chances of getting into a good college.” Mama looks up at me, shocked by that last bomb. “I know, I know, it’s not my thing, but he says that I need another activity to make me a solid candidate.”
    â€œMrs. Esop, Mr. Adelizi. Who the hell are these people to you, Jayd?” Mama taps her long, red fingernail on the book three times before opening it to exactly what she was looking for, I suppose. That’s just how gifted Mama is. The book speaks to her, unlike when I ask it a question. I have to look through the entire thing to find what I’m looking for. I wonder if there’s a silent prayer or something that comes along with the nail tapping that I need to become privy to.
    â€œWell, Mr. Adelizi is my guidance counselor at school and, well, you know who Mrs. Esop is,” I say, realizing how silly I must sound. Mama bends her neck to the right and opens her mouth in total disbelief that I had the nerve to answer her rhetorical question.
    â€œJayd, I have tolerated your recent shenanigans as best I know how. But, girl, I think you’re really losing it.” Mama closes her eyes and scratches her forehead like she’s completely stressed, and I feel her. I hardly recognize myself sometimes, but I feel like the same person. What gives?
    â€œMama, it’s not that bad. I’m just growing up, I guess.”
    â€œGrowing up means maturing, not completely changing who you are at the influence of outsiders.” Mama opens her eyes and silently reads a few lines from the great book.
    â€œOutsiders?” I say aloud, questioning the word’s use in this case. I know what Mama means, but I see