PROLOGUE
SOME SWEET DAY
PROLOGUE: 1992
I was trying to focus on Mother’s lips as she dabbed at them with the red paint stick. Her lips were perfect, big, and puffy. I could see every little line, every tiny crease in the bright red smear. Watching her getting dressed every night for work, I always thought she was beautiful. The two of us sat in her and Larry’s room, where her scented candles glowed, and the lace-covered vanity was messy with her lipsticks and eye pencils and brushes and perfumes. She had a lot of bling too--necklaces, bracelets, earrings--all made from colored glass, silver metal, or white shell. Sometimes we’d play dress-up; she’d put stuff on me like I was a doll. We’d both just laugh and giggle those times. But mostly, I just sat there watching her, inhaling the sweet, exotic smells coming from the candles and her perfumes. It was my favorite part of the day, just sitting there and being that close to my mother.
‘Will my hair ever be that color?’ I asked. Her hair was long and electric, silky and smooth, almost yellow. Sometimes she’d let me run my hands through it when I had trouble sleeping. Sometimes she’d lean over me when I was in bed, let her hair fall, and brush against my face--and that always put me to sleep. I wanted hair like hers because my hair was short and dirty brown, the color of cold dishwater.
Mother smiled. ‘No, baby,’ she said and dabbed the tip of my nose with the paint stick. My eyes crossed looking at the tiny red blotch on the end of my nose.
‘My hair is the same color as yours. I just put stuff in it to make it this color.’
‘Why?’ I asked, wiping the lipstick from my nose.
‘Well, because people like it.’
‘Can I put it in my hair?’ I was looking at her reflection in the vanity mirror, studying her as she concentrated on putting on her makeup, her green eyes glowing. I wanted green eyes too; my eyes were just shit-brown ordinary.
‘Not now. Maybe when you’re older.’ She reached out, running her fingers through my short coarse hair.
‘See, it’s not as soft as yours,’ I whined.
She put a finger under my chin, turning my face toward hers. ‘It will be. Just give it time, baby.’ She always called me baby. My real name was Julia Louise Johnson, but everybody called me Pepper. But I was baby to Mother, always baby. And she was Mother to me, not Mommy or Mom or anything like that. Just Mother.
I realized her face wasn’t like it used to be. It was as if she’d transformed overnight. She had long, crooked lines at the corners of her mouth, and dark patches of skin under her eyes that seemed bruised to me. But she was still the most beautiful person I knew. I reached down, tugging at the hem of her dress. It was red, covered with gold flowers. It was little, too, barely coming down over her skinny bottom, a tight fit. I wondered how she could breathe in it. The candle’s soft white glow made the gold flowers sparkle. All the dresses she wore were alike; only the colors and types of flowers were different: red with the gold flowers, green with gold flowers, blue with bright green flowers, gold with red flowers. I always thought it would be fun to work at a place like the one Mother worked at, a place that would let me wear pretty clothes. Most of the time, I just wore t-shirts, pants, or overalls.
‘You know what?’ I said as she turned back to the mirror and started brushing her eyelashes with a tiny comb.
‘What, baby?’ she said, eyes wide and her chin up and she brushed at her long fake eyelashes in the mirror.
’When I get older, I want to be just like you. I want to work at the same place so I can wear pretty dresses with flowers on them and I want to make up my face just like you. Maybe we can work there together. That would be fun, wouldn’t it?
She didn’t look at me. She just stared at herself in the mirror, saying nothing.
‘Mother?’
She remained quiet and still like she was trying to listen to some distant song that was playing somewhere. She took my hand and placed it gently on her knee.
‘What’s wrong?’ I said softly.
‘You just don’t understand the way things are, baby. Someday you will. But don’t ever say that again! Kay, baby?’ Her eyes were wet for a different reason now, I think she was crying. She ran her hand through my hair again, kissed me on the forehead. ‘Kay, baby,’ she whispered.
I just nodded. I mean, I didn’t know what else to do.
