Momma Said Quotes

If I should have a daughter…“Instead of “Mom”, she’s gonna call me “Point B.” Because that way, she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I’m going to paint the solar system on the back of her hands so that she has to learn the entire universe before she can say “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.” She’s gonna learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder-woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried. And “Baby,” I’ll tell her “don’t keep your nose up in the air like that, I know that trick, you’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to see if you can change him.” But I know that she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boats nearby, ‘cause there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything if you let it. I want her to see the world through the underside of a glass bottom boat, to look through a magnifying glass at the galaxies that exist on the pin point of a human mind. Because that’s how my mom taught me. That there’ll be days like this, “There’ll be days like this my momma said” when you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you wanna save are the ones standing on your cape. When your boots will fill with rain and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say “thank you,” ‘cause there is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away. You will put the “wind” in win some lose some, you will put the “star” in starting over and over, and no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life. And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting I am pretty damn naive but I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it. “Baby,” I’ll tell her “remember your mama is a worrier but your papa is a warrior and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.” Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things and always apologize when you’ve done something wrong but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining. Your voice is small but don’t ever stop singing and when they finally hand you heartbreak, slip hatred and war under your doorstep and hand you hand-outs on street corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.

He said in a deadly serious tone, ‘Momma, am I dead?’ And I said ‘no honey, you’re not dead’, and he shook his head, looking all confused about something. Then he pointed to you dancing and said, ‘if I’m not dead, then why is there an Angel in our house?

When I want to be lectured on strategy, I'll consult someone who's actually won battles,' Amelie said. 'Not one who ran away from them.' 'Snap,' Eve said. 'You know what they're talking about?' Shane asked. 'Don't need to know to get that one. She smacked him so hard his momma felt it.

He turned to me, and do you know what he said to me ? He said in a deadly serious tone, 'Momma, am I dead?' And I said 'no honey, you're not dead', and he shook his head, looking all confused about something. Then he pointed to you dancing and said, 'if I'm not dead, then why is there an Angel in our house.'

They'll be days like this" my momma said. When you open your hands to catch, and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you try to step out of the phone booth and try to fly , and the very people you want to save, are the ones standing on your cape. When your boots will fill with rain, and you'll be up to your knees with disappointment And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say "Thank you".

Do you think I’m pretty?” Smitty glanced away from the computer screen he’d been staring at for the last three hours, looked at his sister, and shook his head. “No.” “What do ya mean no?” “You asked. Sorry if you didn’t like the answer. I always thought you were funny lookin’. Asked momma, ‘What is that thing laying in your bed?’ And she said, ‘I found it hiding under a car, you be nice to it now.

When I was twelve, my parents had two talks with me. One was the usual birds and bees. Well, I didn't really get the usual version. My mom, Lisa, is a registered nurse, and she told me what went where, and what didn't need to go here, there, or any damn where till I'm grown. Back then, I doubted anything was going anywhere anyway. While all the other girls sprouted breasts between sixth and seventh grade, my chest was as flat as my back. The other talk was about what to do if a cop stopped me. Momma fussed and told Daddy I was too young for that. He argued that I wasn't too young to get arrested or shot. "Starr-Starr, you do whatever they tell you to do," he said. "Keep your hands visible. Don't make any sudden moves. Only speak when they speak to you." I knew it must've been serious. Daddy has the biggest mouth of anybody I know, and if he said to be quiet, I needed to be quiet. I hope somebody had the talk with Khalil.

You have to tell him ‘go toodles, Bits, go toodles for momma,’” I said, pitching my voice high in imitation, “or else he won’t go.” Blane looked at me. “I’m not doing that,” he said flatly. “But then he’ll go on the bed,” I protested. “How about I just point my gun at him,” he deadpanned.

My momma always said the best way to get what you want from people is to give them what they think they want. They expected me to be stupid, so I used that to our advantage.

Momma said people are like streams, and when you meet your beloved, you become a single river flowing in one direction; currents, waves, ripples, indistinguishable from one another.

Momma said that ghosts couldn't move over water. That's why Africans got trapped in the Americas.. They kept moving us over the water, stealing us away from our ghosts and ancestors, who cried salty rivers into the sand. That's where Momma was now, wailing at the water's edge, while her girls were pulled out of sight under white sails that cracked in the wind.

Her red eyes remind me of what Khalil said when we were little, that his momma had turned into a dragon. He claimed that one day he’d become a knight and turn her back.

Listen up, ’cause I’m only gonna say this once,” Ty muttered as they walked to their gate. “I don’t talk when I fly. I sleep. And I don’t listen when I eat, understand? I don’t wanna be buddies. I don’t wanna chat,” he said with a sarcastic lilt to the word. “I don’t wanna know about your childhood or how your momma whipped you with a rubber glove or how much therapy you had to go through ’cause you flunked out of preschool. I don’t wanna hear about how you want to be Director someday or how many collars you got chasin’ those Internet freaks or how proud you are of your bowel movements. I don’t wanna go shopping at Barney’s with you, and I’m not gonna help you pick out your ties to match your socks and, I swear to God, if you get me shot, I’ll kill you.

They rung my bell to ask me. Could I recommend a maid. I said, yes, your momma.

I couldn't have been more than six, but I was calling her an ignorant little bitch. Her momma stood on the porch step shaking her mop at me and saying there were snakes and lizards coming out of my mouth, to which I said i didn't give a shit.

Can't introduce ya,' the feline admitted. 'Why not?' 'Don't know his name.' 'Snuggling up to a man y'all don't know. My momma was right. Yankees are whores.' 'Well, I know him,' MacDermot volumteered. The She-wolf stared at her. 'So?' 'You said y'all.' 'I didn't say 'all y'all.' So I wasn't talking to you.' 'I don't understand your country-speak,' McDermot complained, dropping into the desk chair across from Crush.

My momma always said, 'You and Elvis are pretty good, but y'all ain't no Chuck Berry.

My momma always said that two rattlesnakes living in the same hole will get along better than two sisters. So I had three daughters to improve the odds.

We came here because no place would take us after our momma died. They all said go away, come back when you're older, when you know better, when you've learned. Only no one wants to teach how to be older or to know better - not even Devin. They just teach us how to be broken.

In the South, history clings to you like a wet blanket. Outside your door the past awaits in Indian mounds, plantation ruins, heaving sidewalks and homestead graveyards; each slowly reclaimed by the kudzu of time.

Don’t act like some quiet mouse, Viviana. Don’t stand at my side with your head tucked down in those pretty dresses I buy you. Don’t be the weak little mafia princess your momma said you’d have to be. That’s not what I want—not what I need. Stand straight, meet their stare, and be my fucking queen.

Momma always said a healthy serving of scorn before dinner keeps a girl slim.

Hey,” the other said, coming to life. “You’re supposed to be in jail.” Al grinned at him, his white-gloved grip tightening on the wooden handle, which was intricately carved in the shape of a naked, writhing woman. Nice. “And your momma wanted you to have a brain,” he said, yanking the door open and slamming it into the guy’s face.

He carries what he feels for people deep inside. Even as a kid he was that way,” Aunt Margaret said. “Your momma knows that.” But I had wondered then as I did now what good love was that couldn’t be expressed.

Miss Trudie said, “Well, like my momma used to say, butter my butt and call me a biscuit. This takes the cake.

As Momma said often, life got much easier when you learned to accept apologies you never got.

What you mean he’s staying with us?” “Just what I said. He got in a little trouble in Garden Heights and needs to stay here.” She scoffs, and I know where Momma gets it from. “A li’l trouble, huh? Tell the truth, boy.” She lowers her voice and asks with suspicious, squinted eyes, “Did you kill somebody?” “Momma!” my momma says. “What? I better ask before y’all have me sleeping in the house with a murderer, waking up dead!” What in the . . . “You can’t wake up dead,” I say. “Li’l girl, you know what I mean!” She moves from the doorway. “I’ll be waking up in Jesus’s face, trying to figure out what happened!” “Like you going to heaven,” Daddy mumbles.

Pick,” he said, “or we kill them all.” On her knees, weeping, Helaena named her youngest, Maelor. Perhaps she thought the boy was too young to understand, or perhaps it was because the older boy, Jaehaerys, was King Aegon’s firstborn son and heir, next in line to the Iron Throne. “You hear that, little boy?” Cheese whispered to Maelor. “Your momma wants you dead.” Then he gave Blood a grin, and the hulking swordsman slew Prince Jaehaerys,

Momma,’ he said, ‘haven’t you thought that God’s will was for some doctor to invent that drug so you could live longer?

Like I said, nobody likes selling drugs,” he says. “I hated that shit. For real. But I hated seeing my momma and my sisters go hungry, you know?

I don’t know how you’ve managed a tan,” Daydra said, “but you’ll have to keep it up, and talk like a pirate. If you want to work for Momma K, you’re going to be the Sethi pirate girl. You have a husband or a lover?” Kaldrosa hesitated. “Husband,” she admitted. “The last beating nearly killed him.” “If you do this, you’ll never get him back. A man can forgive a woman who leaves whoring for him, but he’ll never forgive one who goes whoring for him.” “It’s worth it,” Kaldrosa said. “To save his life, it’s worth it.

If you can’t translate Parentish, this is what they really said: Momma: I don’t condone what you did, and I’m not saying it’s okay, but I probably would’ve done it too. What about you, baby? Daddy: Hell yeah, I would’ve. I love them for that.

Momma always said the common misconception in relationships was that people got so caught up in finding someone who understood them when, in reality, all they needed was someone who wanted to understand them. With the right person, that would be more than enough.

He liked the phrase “mother’s tit.” It said so much, so simply. Momma’s tit had a good deal more power to move these men than her apple pie.

he said in a near whisper, “My momma once told me, you don’t need to be pushed in order to fall. I don’t think you’ll need to do much pushing, Jessica.

My momma always said bossy was good for a deputy and bad for everything else.

We need art, Nietzsche said, lest we perish from the truth.

Well, you know Chick, like old momma said, next best thing to playing and winning is playing and losing.

Momma intended to teach Bailey and me to use the paths of life that she and her generation and all the Negroes gone before had found, and found to be safe ones. She didn't cotton to the idea that whitefolks could be talked to at all without risking one's life. And certainly they couldn't be spoken to insolently. In fact, even in their absence they could not be spoken of too harshly unless we used the sobriquet “They.” If she had been asked and had chosen to answer the question of whether she was cowardly or not, she would have said that she was a realist.

[O]ut of the blue Sophie asked, "Aunt Faith, what's a vibrator?" Faith was in mid-swallow and choked on her coffee. ... "Baby, where'd you hear that?" ... "My momma was on the phone with her friend Ms. Kim last night, and she said that Lottie Bishop kicked her in the crouch so many times that she didn't know if she'd ever be able to take her vibrator for a test spin again.

Momma said that's why you had to be wary. "Janie, you mark my words: You be careful who you trust. You never know when the man you married is gonna turn around and try to take a nibble out of your neck.

GIRL'S STORY #7: THE HARD-TO-PLEASE MOMMA Momma, I got a B, the daughter said. Who got an A? Momma answered. Momma, I showed in the track meet. Who placed? Momma answered. Momma, I placed in the track meet. Who won? Momma answered. The daughter was chosen Homecoming Queen, the daughter ran all the way home, Momma, Momma, the most wonderful thing happened, I was chosen attendant to the Homecoming Queen. Who's Queen? Momma answered. I am, said the daughter.

You finally get it together enough to get over them—live without them—and bam, they show up on your doorstep expecting you to feel the same way. My momma always said, ‘Don’t ever count on a man to realize his wrongs on your emotional timeline ’cause men always take way longer to come around and deal with their feelings. They’re emotionally stunted.

Momma crossed her arms over her apron bib and worked the small of her back against the edge of the doorframe. Daddy drew a Tareyton out of the pack in his shirtpocket and looked straight at me and talked straight at Momma and said, “Madness.

Whenever I’d get howlin’ over something, he’d grab my ass up from wherever I was and head straight for the john. Momma said my head would get banged up along the way, but she said it was probably bein’ dunked under water that made me stupid.

After Shelly left the bedroom earlier, I’d gone through my stuff, looking for something decent to wear. All I had were jeans and T-shirts, so I picked the least worn of each and pulled them on. Then I put on socks. My momma always said you should meet a guest in shoes, family in socks, and friends in bare feet. I don’t know why she said this, but it stuck with me.

That he does my bubbakanoosh,” Hamish said, nodding firmly. “You remember what your Momma always said to do with men like that though, don’t you?” “Cut off their fingers then their dingers,” they said in unison and I snorted a laugh, sharing a look with Tory.

A’ight, so what do you think it means?” “You don’t know?” I ask. “I know. I wanna hear what YOU think.” Here he goes. Picking my brain. “Khalil said it’s about what society feeds us as youth and how it comes back and bites them later,” I say. “I think it’s about more than youth though. I think it’s about us, period.” “Us who?” he asks. “Black people, minorities, poor people. Everybody at the bottom in society.” “The oppressed,” says Daddy. “Yeah. We’re the ones who get the short end of the stick, but we’re the ones they fear the most. That’s why the government targeted the Black Panthers, right? Because they were scared of the Panthers?” “Uh-huh,” Daddy says. “The Panthers educated and empowered the people. That tactic of empowering the oppressed goes even further back than the Panthers though. Name one.” Is he serious? He always makes me think. This one takes me a second. “The slave rebellion of 1831,” I say. “Nat Turner empowered and educated other slaves, and it led to one of the biggest slave revolts in history.” “A’ight, a’ight. You on it.” He gives me dap. “So, what’s the hate they’re giving the ‘little infants’ in today’s society?” “Racism?” “You gotta get a li’l more detailed than that. Think ’bout Khalil and his whole situation. Before he died.” “He was a drug dealer.” It hurts to say that. “And possibly a gang member.” “Why was he a drug dealer? Why are so many people in our neighborhood drug dealers?” I remember what Khalil said—he got tired of choosing between lights and food. “They need money,” I say. “And they don’t have a lot of other ways to get it.” “Right. Lack of opportunities,” Daddy says. “Corporate America don’t bring jobs to our communities, and they damn sure ain’t quick to hire us. Then, shit, even if you do have a high school diploma, so many of the schools in our neighborhoods don’t prepare us well enough. That’s why when your momma talked about sending you and your brothers to Williamson, I agreed. Our schools don’t get the resources to equip you like Williamson does. It’s easier to find some crack than it is to find a good school around here. “Now, think ’bout this,” he says. “How did the drugs even get in our neighborhood? This is a multibillion-dollar industry we talking ’bout, baby. That shit is flown into our communities, but I don’t know anybody with a private jet. Do you?” “No.” “Exactly. Drugs come from somewhere, and they’re destroying our community,” he says. “You got folks like Brenda, who think they need them to survive, and then you got the Khalils, who think they need to sell them to survive. The Brendas can’t get jobs unless they’re clean, and they can’t pay for rehab unless they got jobs. When the Khalils get arrested for selling drugs, they either spend most of their life in prison, another billion-dollar industry, or they have a hard time getting a real job and probably start selling drugs again. That’s the hate they’re giving us, baby, a system designed against us. That’s Thug Life.

What's the most important thing in life?" Coleen asked. "Pie," Charlie said with a grunt. "Pass it, Momma." Coleen was undeterred and stares at Lena, awaiting an answer. "Love? Respect?" Coleen stabbed the table with her finger. "Family. Most of the time, you don't love or respect them, but they're important.

You do it and see how hard that thing is to control. I swear it has a mind of its own." Hadyn "No sugar, that's your front tail." Edena "Edena! I can't believe you said that to your brother! Where did you hear that?" Seraphina "Good grief, Matera! I am almost 30 years old. I am the last of my friends who hasn't had a lover yet. And if that's what concerns you, then you need to talk to your son about where he's been planting that shorter front tail lately." Edena

The other talk was about what to do if a cop stopped me. Momma fussed and told Daddy I was too young for that. He argued that I wasn’t too young to get arrested or shot. “Starr-Starr, you do whatever they tell you to do,” he said. “Keep your hands visible. Don’t make any sudden moves. Only speak when they speak to you.

He turned his back and went through the door into the cool beyond. Momma backed up inside herself for a few minutes. I forgot everything except her face which was almost a new one to me. She leaned over and took the doorknob, and in her everyday soft voice she said, “Sister, go on downstairs. Wait for me. I'll be there directly.

The ancient philosopher who said “Where death is, I am not; where I am, death is not” was Lucretius, expounding upon Epicurus.

My momma always said crackers were crazy, something about their white skin not being able to stop the sun from cooking their brains.

Yo momma's so old, when God said, "Let there be light," she flipped the switch.

Explaining the myriad delights of a football Saturday in the South to anyone who has not enjoyed them may be impossible – like trying to describe the ocean to a blind man.

He had never once looked at me. He turned his back and went through the door into the cool beyond. Momma backed up inside herself for a few minutes. I forgot everything except her face which was almost a new one to me. She leaned over and took the doorknob, and in her everyday soft voice she said, “Sister, go on downstairs. Wait for me. I'll be there directly.

I didn’t know much about God, ’cept that if you pissed Him off, He’d getcha one day. My momma knew God—she was raised a Methodist. In fact, her daddy was a Methodist preacher. Still, Momma said she wanted more from God, so for the past couple of years she’d been searching for more. I got to go with her on some of those searches. First, we tried the Jehovah’s Witnesses. They were cool, till I learned they didn’t celebrate Christmas. God or no God, I wasn’t giving up Christmas! Then we tried the Muslims (or the “Black Muslims,” as Momma called them). I didn’t like them because when we got to their church (which they called a mosque), they made us change our clothes and put on some of their clothes: floor-length dresses and material to wrap our heads in so our hair wouldn’t show. And they searched us too, which pissed me off. But Momma seemed to understand; she said it was because white folks thought the Muslims were militant, so white folks was always messing with ’em—you know, harassing them, arresting them, threatening them. Momma said the Muslims had to be careful so that’s why they were searching folks. uring Momma’s God search, we tried a few other religions. I never really did care one way or the other. I never really seriously thought about God because, no matter what the religion, they all wanted you to be perfect. And I knew I was far from perfect. So I figured God wouldn’t wanna mess with me. I don’t know which religion Momma finally decided on. Maybe she realized she didn’t need a particular religion to know and love God or for God to know and love her. Whatever she decided, she also decided that she wasn’t going to choose for me. She wanted to wait until I was old enough and then let me decide my religion.

Something creaked beneath me! A soft step on rotting wood! I jumped startled, scared, and turned, expecting to see-God knows what! Then I sighed, for it was only Chris standing in the gloom, silently staring at me. Why? Did I look prettier than usual? Was it the moonlight, shining through my airy clothes? All random doubts were cleared when he said in a voice gritty and low, "You look beautiful sitting there like that." He cleared the frog in his throat. "The moonlight is etching you with silver-blue, and I can see the shape of your body through your clothes." Then, bewilderingly, he seized me by the shoulders, digging in his fingers, hard! They hurt. "Damn you, Cathy! You kissed that man! He could have awakened and seen you, and demanded to know who you were! And not thought you only a part of his dream!" Scary the way he acted, the fright I felt for no reason at all. "How do you know what I did? You weren't there; you were sick that night." He shook me, glaring his eyes, and again I thought he seemed a stranger. "He saw you, Cathy-he wasn't soundly asleep!" "He saw me?" I cried, disbelieving. It wasn't possible . . . wasn't! "Yes!" he yelled. This was Chris, who was usually in such control of his emotions. "He thought you a part of his dream! But don't you know Momma can guess who it was, just by putting two and two together-just as I have? Damn you and your romantic notions! Now they're on to us! They won't leave money casually about as they did before. He's counting, she's counting, and we don't have enough-not yet!" He yanked me down from the widow sill! He appeared wild and furious enough to slap my face-and not once in all our lives had he ever struck me, though I'd given him reason to when I was younger. But he shook me until my eyes rolled, until I was dizzy and crying out: "Stop! Momma knows we can't pass through a looked door!" This wasn't Chris . . . this was someone I'd never seen before . . . primitive, savage. He yelled out something like, "You're mine, Cathy! Mine! You'll always be mine! No matter who comes into your future, you'll always belong to me! I'll make you mine . . . tonight . . . now!" I didn't believe it, not Chris! And I did not fully understand what he had in mind, nor, if I am to give him credit, do I think he really meant what he said, but passion has a way of taking over. We fell to the floor, both of us. I tried to fight him off. We wrestled, turning over and over, writhing, silent, a frantic strug- gle of his strength against mine. It wasn't much of a battle. I had the strong dancer's legs; he had the biceps, the greater weight and height . . . and he had much more determination than i to use something hot, swollen and demanding, so much it stile reasoning and sanity from him. And I loved him. I wanted what he wanted-if he wanted it that much, right and wrong. Somehow we ended up on that old mattress-that filthy, smelly, stained mattress that must have known lovers long before this night. And that is where he took me, and forced in that swollen, rigid male sex part of him that had to be satisfied. It drove into my tight and resisting flesh which tore and bled. Now we had done what we both swore we'd never do.

Momma fussed and told Daddy I was too young for that. He argued that I wasn’t too young to get arrested or shot. “Starr-Starr, you do whatever they tell you to do,” he said. “Keep your hands visible. Don’t make any sudden moves. Only speak when

But one of the nurses took my hand”—Momma grabs my hand again—“looked me in the eye, and said, ‘Sometimes you can do everything right and things will still go wrong. The key is to never stop doing right.’” She holds my hand the rest of the drive.

...she's just an Italian momma. She worries a lot." "Dude, whenever she knew you had a date, she'd call during the day while you were at work, leaving you those disturbing messages—reading off detailed descriptions of what Jeffrey Dahmer did to his victims." "She actually still does that." Gabe cringed, looking over at me. "She only wants me to be safe. The whole gay thing wasn't easy for her." "Boo hoo," I said, "You're queer, not cancerous. She's had plenty of time to get the hell over it.

He said nothing. I knew when I saw him that it would be useless to ask anything while he was in that state. It meant that he had seen or heard of something so ugly or frightening that he was paralyzed as a result. He explained when we were smaller that when things were very bad his soul just crawled behind his heart and curled up and went to sleep. When it awoke, the fearful things had gone away. Ever since we read 'The Fall of the House of Usher,' we had made a pact that neither of us would allow the other to be buried without making "absolutely, positively sure" (his favorite phrase) that the person was dead. I also had to swear that when his soul was sleeping I would never try to wake it, for the shock might make it go to sleep forever. So I let him be, and after a while Momma had to let him alone too.

and he said, i have to stay at home and help momma and attend to him, when he comes from work and fetch the beer from the innkeeper, that takes eight minutes there and back, and if it takes longer, then i'll break your back. and why should you, my daughter, be better off than me?

And he wanted us to call him Twilight. I was too tired and melancholy to truly feel the level of bafflement this request deserved. However, I did notice the initial exchange between my brother and Isaac/Twilight when they arrived with Tina’s momma. It went something like this: Jackson: “Tina. I didn’t know you were bringing Isaac. Good to see you, man.” Isaac/Twilight: “It’s Twilight.” Jackson (looking bemused): “No it ain’t, it’s not even noon yet.” Isaac/Twilight: “No. My name is Twilight.” Jackson (still looking bemused): “Say what?” Isaac/Twilight: “My name. Call me Twilight.” Jackson: “You mean like that My Little Pony character?” Tina: “Jackson! I didn’t know you were a My Little Pony fan.” Jackson (scowling then motioning to Isaac/Twilight): “Jessica was always watching it growing up, and I’m not a fan—not like Twilight Sparkle over here.” Isaac/Twilight: “The name is Twilight, not Twilight Sparkle.” Jackson (irritated): “If you want me to call you Twilight, then don’t be surprised if I slip up a few times and call you Pinky Pie.” A similar conversation ensued when Twilight was brought in to greet my dad, except my dad said, “That’s not a name, son. That’s a time of day.

Daddy looks past me at my boyfriend. “So . . . Plain-Ass Chris.” Seven snorts. DeVante snickers. Momma goes, “Maverick!” as I say, “Daddy!” “At least it’s not white boy,” Chris says. “Exactly,” Daddy says. “It’s a step up. You gotta earn my tolerance in increments if you gon’ date my daughter.” “Lord.” Momma rolls her eyes. “Chris, baby, you’ve been out here all night?” The way she says it, I can’t help but laugh. She’s basically asking him, “You do realize you’re in the hood, right?” “Yes, ma’am,” Chris says. “All night.” Daddy grunts. “Maybe you do got some balls then.” My mouth drops, and Momma says, “Maverick Carter!” Seven and DeVante crack up. But Chris? Chris says, “Yes, sir, I’d like to think I do.” “Daaaaamn,” says Seven. He reaches to give Chris dap, but Daddy cuts him a hard eye and he pulls his hand back. “A’ight, Plain-Ass Chris,” Daddy says. “Boxing gym, next Saturday, you and me.” Chris lifts his oxygen mask so fast. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said—” “Calm down, I’m not gon’ fight you,” Daddy says. “We gon’ train. Get to know each other. You been seeing my daughter for a minute now. I gotta know you, and you can learn a lot about a man at a boxing gym.” “Oh . . .” Chris’s shoulders relax. “Okay.” He puts the oxygen mask back on. Daddy grins. It’s a little too mischievous for my liking. He’s gonna kill my poor boyfriend.

were listening to Tupac right before . . . you know.” “A’ight, so what do you think it means?” “You don’t know?” I ask. “I know. I wanna hear what you think.” Here he goes. Picking my brain. “Khalil said it’s about what society feeds us as youth and how it comes back and bites them later,” I say. “I think it’s about more than youth though. I think it’s about us, period.” “Us who?” he asks. “Black people, minorities, poor people. Everybody at the bottom in society.” “The oppressed,” says Daddy. “Yeah. We’re the ones who get the short end of the stick, but we’re the ones they fear the most. That’s why the government targeted the Black Panthers, right? Because they were scared of the Panthers?” “Uh-huh,” Daddy says. “The Panthers educated and empowered the people. That tactic of empowering the oppressed goes even further back than the Panthers though. Name one.” Is he serious? He always makes me think. This one takes me a second. “The slave rebellion of 1831,” I say. “Nat Turner empowered and educated other slaves, and it led to one of the biggest slave revolts in history.” “A’ight, a’ight. You on it.” He gives me dap. “So, what’s the hate they’re giving the ‘little infants’ in today’s society?” “Racism?” “You gotta get a li’l more detailed than that. Think ’bout Khalil and his whole situation. Before he died.” “He was a drug dealer.” It hurts to say that. “And possibly a gang member.” “Why was he a drug dealer? Why are so many people in our neighborhood drug dealers?” I remember what Khalil said—he got tired of choosing between lights and food. “They need money,” I say. “And they don’t have a lot of other ways to get it.” “Right. Lack of opportunities,” Daddy says. “Corporate America don’t bring jobs to our communities, and they damn sure ain’t quick to hire us. Then, shit, even if you do have a high school diploma, so many of the schools in our neighborhoods don’t prepare us well enough. That’s why when your momma talked about sending you and your brothers to Williamson, I agreed. Our schools don’t get the resources to equip you like Williamson does. It’s easier to find some crack than it is to find a good school around here.

Momma’s going to commit a murder today,” she said conversationally, tucking her bundled clothing up under her arm as she started for the door. “That’s right. I’m going to find whoever woke me up, and I’m going to rip out their heart and show it to them before they have a chance to finish dropping dead. Won’t that be nice, sweetie? Won’t that be nice and bloody?

I need one, Momma, how come I don't have a baby sister?" Rachel smiled. "You're so perfect. There was no need to ask for another." Sophie cocked her head to the side like a puppy. "Ask who?" "The Stork," Faith supplied. Sophie looked thoroughly confused then. "I thought sex caused babies." Rachel patted Faith on the back when she began to cough. Kaycee shook her head. "Rhonda at school told me that special music causes babies. her sister told her that when her mom and dad play music in their bedroom, babies were being made. Momma, you play music in your room, but we don't have a baby." "I don't have that particular CD, sweetie." "My friend told me that it takes a penny and a Virginia to make a baby," Sophie said and sent Faith into another coughing fit.

I tried picturing all those places on that map of BeeCee. That’s what we call our country now, just letters of its real name what most people have forgot or don’t care to remember. The map said that old name behind all the scribblings, all the new borders and territories my nana drawn on, but I could only read letters then, not whole words. All I know is that one day all the maps became useless and we had to make our own. The old’uns called that day the Fall or the Reformation. Nana said some down in the far south called it Rapture. Nana was a babe when it happened, said her momma called it the Big Damn Stupid. Set everything back to zero. I never asked why, never much cared. Life is life and you got to live it in the here- now not the back- then. And the here- now for little me was the Thick Woods, with night coming fast.

One of the reasons for his drinking, Henry said, was Jon's momma used to make the whole family get down on their knees and pray like fury every time Jon's daddy would come home boozed. Jon never quite got it straight that they weren't thanking the good Lord for his blessing, same as they did at the supper table. So according to Henry, booze come to be something holy to him and with faith like that Jon grew up religious as a deacon.

She might bandy back and forth with her pa about all sorts of things just for the jump of it—like refusing her grits, sleeping all day and hunting all night, and spying on the Vanderbilts and their guests—but she never argued about this. She knew when he said those words he was as serious as her dead momma. For all the spiny talk and all the sneak-about, sometimes you just stayed quiet and did what you were told because you sensed it was a good way to keep breathing

People will remember you,” I said, “remember what you did and what you said. They’ll remember the truck you drove, and the fish you caught and the ball you played…and they’ll remember you took care of your momma and your baby brothers in a cold house with no food on the table…,” and when we finally fled that life, down a railroad track in the dark, he walked in front, because even though he was seven years old he was already more grown than most people ever got, but somehow I couldn’t get that part said. “Well,” he said, “ain’t that ever’body?

As I walked toward the front door, a little motion to the left caught my eye. Jenny Sells stood in the hallway, a silent wraith. She regarded me with luminous green eyes, like her mother’s, like the dead aunt whose namesake she was. I stopped and faced her. I’m not sure why. “You’re the wizard,” she said, quietly. “You’re Harry Dresden. I saw your picture in the newspaper, once. The Arcane.” I nodded. She studied my face for a long minute. “Are you going to help my mom?” It was a simple question. But how do you tell a child that things just aren’t that simple, that some questions don’t have simple answers—or any answer at all? I looked back into her too-knowing eyes, and then quickly away. I didn’t want her to see what sort of person I was, the things I had done. She didn’t need that. “I’m going to do everything I can to help your mom.” She nodded. “Do you promise?” I promised her. She thought that over for a moment, studying me. Then she nodded. “My daddy used to be one of the good guys, Mr. Dresden. But I don’t think that he is anymore.” Her face looked sad. It was a sweet, unaffected expression. “Are you going to kill him?” Another simple question. “I don’t want to,” I told her. “But he’s trying to kill me. I might not have any choice.” She swallowed and lifted her chin. “I loved my Aunt Jenny,” she said. Her eyes brightened with tears. “Momma won’t say, and Billy’s too little to figure it out, but I know what happened.” She turned, with more grace and dignity than I could have managed, and started to leave. Then said, quietly, “I hope you’re one of the good guys, Mr. Dresden. We really need a good guy. I hope you’ll be all right.” Then she vanished down the hall on bare, silent feet.

and drew her strength directly from our magickal Oklahoma earth. “U-we-tsi-a-ge-ya, it seems I need help at the lavender booth. I simply cannot believe how busy we are.” Grandma had barely spoken when a nun hurried up. “Zoey, Sister Mary Angela could use your help filling out cat adoption forms.” “I’ll help you, Grandma Redbird,” Shaylin said. “I love the smell of lavender.” “Oh, honey, that would be so sweet of you. First, could you run to my car and get into the trunk. There is another box of lavender soaps and sachets tucked back there. Looks like I’m going to sell out completely,” Grandma said happily. “Sure thing.” Shaylin caught the keys Grandma tossed to her and hurried toward the main exit of the school grounds which led to the parking lot, as well as the tree-lined road that joined Utica Street. “And I’ll call my momma. She said just let her know if we get too busy over here. She and the PTA moms will be back here in a sec,” said Stevie Rae. “Grandma, do you mind if I give Street Cats a hand? I’ve been dying to check out their new litter of kittens.” “Go on, u-we-tsi-a-ge-ya. I think Sister Mary Angela has been missing your company.” “Thanks, Grandma.” I smiled at her. Then I turned to Stevie Rae. “Okay, if your mom’s group is coming back, I’m gonna go help the nuns.” “Yeah, no problem.” Stevie Rae, shielding her eyes and peering through the crowd, added, “I see her now, and she’s got Mrs. Rowland and Mrs. Wilson with her.” “Don’t worry. We can handle this,” Shaunee said. “’Kay,” I said, grinning at both of them. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I left the cookie booth and noticed Aphrodite, clutching her big purple Queenies cup, was right on my heels. “I thought you didn’t want a lecture from the nuns.” “Better than a lecture from PTA moms.” She shuddered. “Plus, I like cats more than people.” I shrugged. “Okay, whatever.” We’d only gotten partway to the Street Cats tent when Aphrodite slowed way down. “Seriously. Effing. Pathetic.” She was muttering around her straw, narrowing her eyes, and glaring. I followed her gaze and joined her frown. “Yeah, no matter how many times I see them together, I still don’t get it.” Aphrodite and I had stopped to watch Shaunee’s ex-Twin BFF, Erin, hang all over Dallas. “I really thought she was better than that.” “Apparently not,” Aphrodite said. “Eeew,” I said, looking away from their way too public display of locked lips. “I’m telling you, there’s not enough booze in Tulsa to make watching those two suck face okay.” She made a gagging sound, which changed to a snort and a laugh. “Check out the wimple, twelve o’clock.” Sure enough, there was a nun I vaguely recognized as Sister Emily (one of the more uptight of the nuns) descending on the too-busy-with-their-tongues-to-notice couple. “She looks serious,” I said. “You know, a nun may very well be the direct opposite of an aphrodisiac. This should be entertaining. Let’s watch.” “Zoey! Over here!” I looked from the train wreck about to happen to see Sister Mary Angela waving me over to her.

She was too narcoleptic to speak. Or move. How long had this been going on? Was she like this yesterday? Had I missed her illness in my quest to prove to my brain that my dick wasn’t the one behind this train wreck’s wheel? I touched her forehead again. It sizzled. “Sweetheart.” “Please get out.” The words clawed past her throat. “Someone needs to take care of you.” “That someone definitely isn’t you. You made that clear these past couple days.” I said nothing. She was right. I hadn’t bothered to check on her. Perhaps I’d wished she’d check on me. In truth, she’d already gone beyond any expectations in trying to make whatever it was between us work. Meanwhile, I’d shut her down. Repeatedly. “Shortbread, let me get you some medicine and tea.” “I don’t want you to nurse me to health. Do you hear me?” She must have hated that I’d seen her like this. Weak and ill. “Call Momma and Frankie. It’s them I want by my side.” I swallowed but didn’t argue. I understood she didn’t want to feel humiliated. To be taken care of by the man who ensured she understood her insignificance to him. How did her bullshit meter not fry? How could she think I really felt nothing toward her? “First, I’ll get you medicine, tea, and water. Then I’ll call for Hettie to stay with you. Then I’ll notify your mother.” I tugged her comforter up to her chin. “No arguments.” She tried to wave me out, groaning at the slightest movement. “Whatever. Just go. I don’t want to see your face.” I gave her what she wanted, though as always, not in the way she expected. The sequence of actions didn’t proceed as promised. First, I contacted Cara to dispatch the private jet to Georgia. Then I called my mother-in-law and Franklin—separately—demanding their presence. Only then did I enter the kitchen to grab water, tea, and ibuprofen for Shortbread’s fever. Naturally, like the chronic idler he often proved to be, Oliver still sat at the island, now enjoying an extra-large slice of red velvet cake I was pretty sure was meant to be consumed by Dallas. “What are you still doing here?” I demanded, collecting the things I needed for her. He scratched his temple with the handle of his fork, brows pulled together. “You invited me here. You wanted to watch a soccer game, remember?” I did not remember. I didn’t even remember my own address right now. “Get out.” “What about the—” I snatched the plate from his fingers, admitting to myself that I’d treaded into feral grounds. “This cake wasn’t for you to eat.” “You’ve gone insane in the ten minutes you were gone.” Oliver gawked at me, wide-eyed. “What happened to you? Did Durban not get her hands on the latest Henry Plotkin book and take her anger out on you?” Shit. The Henry Plotkin book. I shoved Oliver out with a fork still clutched in his grimy fist, dialing Hettie with my free hand. She half-yawned, half-spoke. “Yes?” “Dallas is ill. You need to come here and take care of her until my in-laws arrive in about two hours.” “Oh, yeah?” Her energy returned tenfold. “And what the hell are you gonna do during this time?” “Freeze my balls off.”(Chapter 58)

They kept in touch for years and years. Momma believed in the goodness of people and she believed in the prayer of protection, that wherever she was, God was, too. Mom had a way of taking people under her wing and making you feel special when you were talking to her. Your story mattered. And whenever she thought I was getting a little too full of myself, she’d remind me: “Robin, your story is no more important than anybody else’s story. When you strut, you stumble.” Meaning: When you think that you’re all that and a bag of chips, you’re gonna fall flat on your face. Thank you, Momma, for that invaluable lesson. We were overwhelmed with the outpouring of love for our mother. President and Michelle Obama sent a beautiful flower arrangement to our house. It was the first time I had seen Mom’s grandchildren smile in days. It was a proud moment for them. The president of the United States. They asked if they could take pictures of the flowers and Instagram them to their friends. It was painful to make the final arrangements for Mom. The owners of the Bradford-O’Keefe Funeral Home were incredibly kind and gentle. Our families have known each other for decades, and they also handled my father’s homegoing service. Mom had always said she wanted to be laid to rest in a simple pine box. We were discussing what to put on her tombstone. I had been quiet up to that point, just numb. Mom and Dad were both gone. I was left with such an empty feeling. Grandma Sally had passed when Mom was in her seventies, and I remember Mom saying she now felt like an orphan. I thought that was strange. But now I knew exactly what Mom meant. There was a lot of chatter about what words to use on Mom’s tombstone. I whispered it should simply read: A CHILD OF GOD. Everyone agreed.

Kristen- So you know I ran… and he got me. He had his belt in hand ready to whip me, and he did repeatedly until I fell to the ground, with him straddling me, his hand touching me, he started pinching me, and that is when he pierced my nipple with an old rusty nail. ‘Honey hush,’ he said as I screamed, even more, the second time; because I knew the pain was picking and nearing. He laughed- ‘Saying now everything matches!’ I recall him saying this- as he pulled me up dragging me by the hair. ‘Good now your bare ass can rub up on the bark of the tree, and then I can smack it later on tonight. You would like that? Wouldn’t you? My little bitch!’ Kristen- I had to say- ‘Yes, Yes- I would!’ I screamed louder than I have ever had in my entire life! For the reason that I knew what was coming! I could see him coming with the cruel tools in hand! I was thinking to myself. ‘Please God don’t let him have a screwdriver.’’ Because knew what he would do with it, and where it would be shoved in! Just for the hell of it, he drew a target on my tummy with my lipstick and started throwing tools like wrenches, trying to hit the same spot. I thought for sure something of his was going to go deep inside me. He looked at me, flashing scissors, and said in a sick way. ‘Look, baby, these are the same scissors your momma used to slit her wrist. He slapped them in my hand, and said it is your choice; you can do the same thing she had the choice of... What do you say? You know these are the very same scissors, that gave your mother the episiotomy that brought you into this world. Now they can be the same scissors to take you out.’ Gasping for breath in being so appalled, I remember saying- ‘What did I do to you?’ He said- ‘It is not what you did to me, it is what they want, and what I was asked to do, and what they will do to me if I don’t!’ I said- ‘Who are they?’ He whispered in my ear, as well as he bit it- my earlobe with his teeth afterward saying. - ‘You are that stupid? I knew it! Will If I tell you, I will have to kill you.’ He said- (In a very paranoid, yet almost cocky tone of voice.) So, I yelled back- ‘Just do it- you- vain shit-face!’ That is when he did it, one by one. Yes, one toe by toe, all the nails went in and through my fingernails and flesh. This happened to my hand, palm, and wrists one nail at a time. (Bang! Bang! Bang!) Until the point that I was able to suspend from them alone on the tree. The same tree that he carved our names into, saying forever and ever. I have to say at that point I did not want to live, saying get me down! Then he yelled- ‘Not yet- my baby!

Yo momma so poor that when I rang her doorbell, she said "ding-dong.

I filled the vase with water and dropped the aspirin in before arranging the flowers. I turned to show my work to Mimi for approval. “Not Martha Stewart,” I confessed. “But not bad, right?” “Oh, goodness dear,” Momma crooned. “Martha Stewart is a Yankee. Let’s not try to emulate her, shall we?” “She’s a Yankee that went to prison,” Mimi added. “I beg your forgiveness, ladies,” I said, bowing my head with a grin.

You did good, Mistah Jake,” Heaven said with a giggle.  “You gotted Momma purty flowers and me a teddy and a movie.  Momma,” the little girl announced, “We is gonna keep him, ‘kay?

Did you really scream ‘Get fucked, momma’s boy’ and unload a clip into that dead piece of shit, Tobias?” Spence asked. ​“I mean, I don’t remember exactly what I said. I may ha...” ​“Answer the question, Agent. Did you or did you not scream those exact words and proceed to empty an entire clip of ammunition into that rotting undead mother fucker in there?” his voice reached a familiar fever pitch.

Yo momma so stupid that when I saw her yelling into an envelope and asked her what she was doing, she said, "Leaving a voice mail.

Momma always said that a true lady never lets someone know when he’s riled her; otherwise, she’s giving away her power and her crown. My

Momma always said to put the happy thoughts and good memories on a big, open shelf in my mind so I could pull them down whenever I needed them.” “What do you do with the

Hey, Eddie, do me a favor,” Pooch said, grabbing a 3 Musketeers bar off the shelf. “Take this up to Opal for me, will you? Tell her I said it was sweets for the sweet.” He turned back to Woody. “You don’t mind if I send your momma a little present, do you?” “I don’t care what you do,” Woody said, heading for the door. “Don’t worry, Woodrow. If Opal and I get married, I’ll be a good stepdaddy to you. I’ll take you fishing and play baseball with you.” He hooted when Woody slammed the door. “Why don’t you take this candy up there yourself?” I asked. “Don’t tell me how to handle women, Eddie, my boy. Besides. You owe me one. Didn’t I go out in the pouring rain yesterday and get you some clothes? Didn’t I help you out when you were sitting here shivering like a poodle with the mange?” “I’ll do it.” I headed out the door before he got started again.

Cyrus's momma thinks I'm a gift from God. I didn't have the heart to tell her if I was then God was guilty of handing out gag gifts," Joyce said.

Then she turned and walked right to Jonathon. He smiled in surprise at her and swung his arm out for her to pass him in line for breakfast. I peeked at Bish, wondering if he saw. He did. Great. I swiftly bolted to him in as ladylike a way as I could and stopped him from pounding Jonathon into dust. "Bish," I said and put a hand on his chest to stop him. "Think about it. You're just overly upset because your body is mad that she's with him." "You're daggum right it is!" "It's just the imprint. It makes you feel over protective. Jen is just hurting and trying to figure it out. If you make a scene right now, you're going to be moving backward, not forward." He sighed in a grumble. "So I'm supposed to just sit around and watch her do things to piss me off on purpose and pretend it doesn't bother me?" "For now? Yes. Please. I will figure this out for you, but right now we have some seriously messed up stuff going down and that has to be dealt with first." He lifted his hands to the back of his head and closed his eyes. "Fine. I won't touch pretty boy." "Thank you." "I'm going to…uh…" His eyes fastened on Maria. He smiled. I looked over to see, too. Maria was throwing grapes into the air and catching them in her mouth. Then giggling to herself as no one else was at the table with her. Bish left without another word and walked right to her. I watched and could hear their conversation in their mind. "Hey, Maria. You're pretty good at that, kid," he said. "I know," she spouted. "This boy at school taught me. But then he pulled my ponytail on the playground the next day, so I'm not really friends with him anymore." "Why did he pull your ponytail?" "Momma says boys are mean when they like you," she whispered in a disgusted voice. "But I think Momma's been misinformed.

I got some eyes around. Frankie said he saw him walkin’ this way from the Roosevelt Hotel. I don’t know why your momma mess with that man. He’s evil. I can see it in his eyes.

I really like you too,” I said softly. We giggled together, giddy as teenagers. But unlike my teen years, there was zero chance of my momma busting down the door to interrupt.* Nothing stopping me from letting the mouth that was

Men were forever giving Momma special treatment, watching her in that hungry way. I tried to tell her that she shouldn’t be flirting like that, but Momma just said I didn’t understand the way the world worked.

One such instance, when Momma and Britney took me and a friend to the local pet store, ended disastrously.

Her skin looked artificial. ​“Oh, Momma,” she said, putting her hand on Trudy’s head like a blessing. Her heart ran through a cascade of possible reactions---anger, fear, relief, confusion, and joy. The voice who spoke within her said, “Peace, be still.” She took in a deep breath and settled for that.

Momma just got saved. I got saved a while back. Preacher said the story about a wee little man called Zaccheus. Said he climbed up in a tree to see Jesus and Jesus said ”I'm eating at your house.” I think if Jesus came to eat at my house, I'd shit. Anyway, that's how I got saved. You ever been saved?

I’ve said it before in other books, but I think it needs to be repeated here: seasons often seem hard and weighty because we don’t realize how many women we are carrying with us—women who will learn or grow or be healed because we walked the road in front of us, carrying their hope within our own stories, taking notes along the path, and leaving a trail of courage for them to follow.

Are you gonna live in your sadness or are you gonna die in it?” That question punched me in my stomach—the stomach that no longer contained my daughter. Ivy wasn’t giving me a pep-talk. In a lot of ways, it was the opposite. She wasn’t saying I would move past what I was feeling, or that things would get easier. She was telling me this was it—the misery I felt was my new normal. I could either learn to live with it or I could let it consume me. I swallowed and said, “I’m gonna live in it.” Ivy smiled and squeezed my arm. “There you go, Momma.

She called Malcolm Daddy and Paige told her, He’s not your real daddy, emphasis on real. Aaliyah said, He’s going to marry my momma one day, so soon he will be my real daddy. But anyway, his love for me is real, like a daddy’s love should be, so that’s why I call him Daddy now. I don’t have to wait till the wedding.

Yo momma so ugly that when she was born, her mother said, "What a treasure!" And her father said, "Yeah, let's go bury it.

Baby momma tripping, talking ’bout I gave her Chlamydia! I snapped, cuz I don’t even eat no clams!

she spat a single word. A long, guttural, twisting word that evoked frozen Germanic winters. The trigger to the spell she’d been weaving for days. The toxic miasma above our heads exploded with a peal of thunder and her spite-fueled power crashed down on Cesar, one man alone in a torrent of death. The paper cut on his bicep ripped open, as if someone had taken pliers to his skin and given it one brutal, wrenching tug. Blood gushed from the wound as he screamed, flowing faster than it should have, and even faster by the second. He collapsed to his knees, shrieking, and a scarlet torrent blasted from the wound like the spray from a fire hose and splashed across the arcade wall. His skin turned ashen and taut, his fingers and toes curling, crumpling. Bones cracked as his limbs folded in on themselves and the flesh on his skull stretched taut like a mummified corpse. Jennifer’s death curse slowly crushed his body like a juice box, squeezing every drop of blood from every last ragged vein. What collapsed to the floor when the spell was done, gray and bloodless and small as a child, didn’t look human anymore. “That’s what you get for fuckin’ with a witch,” Jennifer said. “My momma taught me that trick.