Free Family Thang by James Henderson Page B

onward each step. Tears clouded his vision and he stumbled forward as if he were drunk.
    Estafay walked in carrying grocery sacks in each arm, overlooking her ailing husband. He watched her put the sacks on the table and stock groceries.
    Yes, Estafay was a tad on the frumpy side, more weight on the bottom than atop. The left side of her face was darker than the right, a color line zigzagging down the middle. Her large brown eyes were askew, the right a bit higher than the left, which conveyed a curious scowl.
    Large nose, open-faced nostrils. Bad teeth, the uppers in exceptionally poor condition, two of which protruded out of her mouth even when closed.
    She noticed him. “What happened?” she said, coming near.
    Her forehead rather expansive, the hairline bordering the top of her head. He wondered how she would look in braid extensions instead of the unflattering style she favored, her short, auburn-colored hair, a tint of orange at the roots, parted in the middle and brushed down.
    “What happened?” she asked again.
    “The fag choked me!”
    Estafay sat beside him, gently removed the towel and tenderly rubbed his neck.
    She ain’t Halle Berry. Or Rihanna. But she ain’t a dang orangutan!
    “Does it hurt?”
    He grimaced. “Only when I exhale.”
    “Why did he choke you?”
    “Momma confessed to killing Daddy. I said something, can’t remember what. Next thing I know the fag snuck up behind me and started choking me.”
    “Your mother confessed?”
    “Sure did.”
    “She didn’t do it.”
    “She said she did. Why would she say she did if she didn’t?”
    Estafay rewrapped the towel around his neck. “It’s just bruised. Should feel better in the morning. If not, we’ll go to Doctor Springer. You want a couple of aspirins?”
    “I’ve already taken two.”
    “Did Sheriff Bledsoe arrest your mother?”
    “No. After Leonard and me got into it he ran us all out. A good thing ’cause I was fixin’ to wax Leonard’s ass real shiny.”
    “There’s no reason to be profane.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “We need to pray. Ask the Lord for strength, help us through this crisis.”
    “Crisis?”
    She gave him a stern look, eyes squinting, almost lining up evenly. “Yes, this is a crisis. Get on your knees.”
    “Honey, my neck.”
    “At least close your eyes.”
    He did, though reluctantly. He didn’t like Estafay’s impromptu sanctimonious exultations, and he certainly didn’t enjoy joining in. He’d gone along with all of it--eight or nine different religious conversions--had even accompanied her to several revivals, not liking one bit all the chanting and shaking and shouting going on.
    He opened his eyes.
    Estafay knelt on the floor a few feet before him, rocking back and forth, hands clamped together, eyes clenched shut. She didn’t have a clue how gruesome she looked when she prayed.
    “Ohhhhh Lord!” she shouted, and Robert Earl jumped. She held her hands overhead, as if waiting her chance to wave at a football game. He knew what was coming next, had seen it a thousand times, so he closed his eyes again. Estafay was convulsing, shaking harder than an overloaded washing machine. He heard a thud and forced himself to take a peek. She rolled on the floor, ankle-length white dress bunched up around her waist, revealing white cotton panties.
    Rolled away from the coffee table…and then back again. Another thud. Can’t she feel her head hitting the table? Apparently not. He closed his eyes again, tighter.
    Several thuds later she stopped. Robert Earl waited for her to say amen, and then he mumbled amen and opened his eyes.
    “Did the Lord speak to you?” she asked, rubbing a spot on her head.
    God, he hated when she asked him that. He nodded.
    “He spoke to me, too,” Estafay said. “What did He tell you?”
    “Uh…He told me to pray more often.”
    Estafay stared at him for a beat. “Give Him the glory! You definitely should pray more than you do. He told me your mother didn’t kill