I talked hard, whisper-yelling, “You need to stop acting like a baby!” When that didn’t work, I tried talking even meaner. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Mama would be so disappointed in you for doing this to us young’uns.” Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to release them. “So suck it up and get your sorry tail out of this bed.”

Pushing and pulling and shoving at his deadweight, I was finally able to coerce him up and into the bathroom. “And you stink. Like really, really bad. Like that time Boss got sprayed by the skunk and then thought the mud in the pigpen would mask it . . .” I grunted while depositing him onto the closed toilet lid. His big ole form slouched in such a defeated manner that pity tapped my anger on the arm, but I held tight to the fury in order to get through this moment. Pity would do nothing but shove me inside his shadows, and that wouldn’t do either one of us any good. “Yeah. No. You stink worse. So you better use the whole bar of Irish Spring.” I jabbed a finger toward the shower after I set the water to warm and stomped out. I wanted to slam the door for good measure but remembered the babies in time to squelch the notion.

While he washed, I stripped the sour sheets off the bed and collected the stiff bloody ones from the corner. After setting the sour ones to washing and tossing the stained set, I gathered clean clothes for Pa and placed them just inside the bathroom door and waited for him to dress. I stood there and gave him instructions on brushing his teeth as if he’d never done these small tasks once in his life. When I had to open the tube of toothpaste and squeeze some onto his toothbrush for him, I began to wonder.

By the time I had Pa settled at the dining table and was force-feeding him grits, exhaustion hit me hard, but the soft cries coming from my room let me know there was no time to be exhausted. Staring into my father’s hollow, bloodshot eyes that held no acknowledgment of his newborn sons’ cries, another hard truth twisted my insides.

I had become a mother before I’d even become a woman.

Mama’s talk that night before she died came to mind, and I knew for certain she was no fortune-teller. She’d predicted I would have three children, but there was no way that was ever going to happen. I already had seven to take care of, and one of them was a grown man.

Chapter 2: THE WITCH DOCTOR

April 1981