Starch Mango by Thais Francis.
As I laid curled on her chest, I looked up at her for a sign. Maybe if I stared long enough her eye lid would flutter? Her nostril would flare? She’d slowly open her eyes and look down at me, looking at her, and know that I wanted to play, and not nap?
Her lips parted, a soft snore escaped. This was proving to be harder than I anticipated. So I squirmed. Instinctively, she pressed my ear into the dip where her collar bone met her neck.
She smelled like air condition.
“Doudou” she muttered as she rhythmically shook her leg to lull me to sleep. Normally laying on my mummy’s chest was one of my favorite things to do, but today, I had another favorite thing I wanted to do.
My eyes traveled just past her shoulder to the opened glass louvers, where I could see it. Under the sun, hanging from our tree. Yellow with black speckles, ripe and waiting to be rescued. They didn’t know they needed rescuing, but my belly knew. Already my fingers could feel the soft flesh when I peeled back the skin, my tongue could taste the juice, my teeth could feel the hairs stuck between them. As I watched the mango swaying in the breeze, I heard it say... “save me.” I had no choice, I had to fulfill my obligation to it, and to the world.
I needed an accomplice, not my dad, he would yell at me just for asking, so I slinked off mummy and tip toed into my room. I looked around, there was Papa Smurf, Mrs. Ibis and Mr. Teddy amongst the others. I knew they wanted to help, but if my dad found them outside, I’d get licks for sure. Is there another way? There must be. I could ask my neighbor best friend but we weren’t on very good terms, ever since I said her mummy was a prostitute. Honestly, I don’t know what a prostitute is, but me and granny were watching “Murder She Wrote,” and I heard them say it. I don’t think my neighbor best friend knew what it meant either, but then her mummy came into the yard and told me it was time to go home. That was yesterday, and today is a new day, but still…I don’t know.
I looked out the window at the tree one last time. The mango looked lonely, sad even, it needed a place to call home, and that home was within me. I found myself with no choice; I must perform this task on my own. And that’s when I remembered. My special shoes!
Last month, mummy and dad took me to America, so we could go to Disneyworld. They said it was a present because Ms. Grey said I started to raise my hand before speaking in class. How nice of them. Ms. Grey must not know that I told everyone she wears a wig, because then I don’t think they would have taken me. Anyway, mummy, dad and me stood in the store, surrounded by Mickey Mouse, and a lot of people with yellow hair, and that’s when I saw them. Pocahontas shoes. When I put them on I felt something, those are my good luck shoes.
Standing outside in my lucky shoes, I surveyed the land, just like Pocahontas did. It smelled like yesterday’s rain – a little bit sweet, a little bit warm, a little bit new. The grass would be wet, which meant I had to be extra safe in my special shoes. I checked every patch of grass to map out my steps. As I stepped from patch to patch, I saw the tree get closer and the mango get bigger. I could see that it was heavy and ready to be plucked. I was staring so hard that I didn’t realize what happened until it was too late. Until my foot felt wet and submerged in the brown pulpy soil. I felt my belly drop – what if dad saw me? Would I get licks? How would I clean my shoe? I looked back at the house. Then at the tree. Then back at the house. I was closer to the tree than the house. I looked down at my one good Pocahontas foot, she didn’t let the people with the yellow hair win, so I wouldn’t let this mud win either. The deed had to be done. So I hopped.
The lowest. Ripest. Speckliest yellow mango of them all. For a moment I couldn’t see it. The sun shone directly above it, blocking it from my view. I closed my eyes, and saw the speckles behind my eyelids. I opened them again, and shaded my eyes. Finally, it reappeared. Eagerly wanting to fulfill its destiny of making me happy. I reached up. The tip of my longest finger could almost touch it, but not quite. I reached again.
A bead of sweat tickled as it rolled down my spine. My arm trembled as my toes gripped the softness beneath me. My fingers almost grasped but it only grazed the bottom. Swaying quickly back and forth… back and forth, then stopped.
Maybe I could climb the tree? I looked for a place to put my foot and that’s when I saw them. Circling around the branch and marching down the bark in a straight line. They looked like an army, big and red with their eyes bulging out of the sides of their heads. My gaze followed them, down the tree, as they made their way to the ground. Then…
I looked down and saw a pool of red bachac ants running wildly and bumping into each other at my Pocahontas feet. I began to jump and slap at my feet. I bit my lip, so I wouldn’t cry, because if my dad found me like this, I’d REALLY have something to cry about.
I ran to the side of the house and pulled my shoes off quickly and shook them off. I felt the stinging at the sole, and the pulsing of the bites at the top of my feet. The tears felt hot as they ran down my cheeks. I could not stop the hiccups even though I held my breath. The tears kept falling, my feet kept stinging and the hiccups kept racking my chest. I crouched to the ground, knees to chest, head to knees.
“Big-girls-doh-cry…big-girls-doh-cry” I repeated between hiccups, then I thought for a second…who made up that stupid rule? Big girls can cry if they want. So I let my tears fall. I put my foot in a bucket of rainwater next to me, it helped with the throbbing. Then from the corner of my eye I saw something brown. I turned my head and saw tracks of mud trailing towards… me.
I looked at my parent’s window. They’re definitely going to know now. They’ll know that I wore my new fancy Disneyworld shoes, and daddy will get mad at me, and then mummy would get angry at him for getting mad at me, and I would feel bad. I didn’t want to feel bad, I wanted to feel triumphant (Ms. Grey taught us that word). All I wanted was a mango. I squeezed my eyes shut and sighed. When I opened my eyes again, I saw the tree and the mango. Still needing a place to call home. I then saw a pile of rocks, from the pretend moat that I built yesterday. I grabbed some and put them in my pocket. Me and Pocahontas didn’t come this far to give up now. Plus, if I got in trouble, then at least I’d have a full mango belly.
So, I marched over to Mr. Mango tree, but I stood far this time. My feet planted on the concrete, I threw a rock- it bounced off the bark. I threw another, it caught a leaf. I looked back at my house, down at my feet, up at the sun, then to the tree, it was now or never.
I squinted my eyes and aimed…
Now, I’m back in my spot at the side of the house, sitting next to my used to be moat. My feet are soaking in the puddle of water which also washed off the mud from my shoes. The mango juice is running down my elbow as I bite into it, again and again. Mr. Mango is making its way to my belly and I am happy. Mr. Mango is also happy, happy to have been rescued, rescued by me.
That’s when I hear a voice: “Ms. Lady? What yuh doing?” I look up, and there’s mummy, hair rumpled, wrapped in a sheet, watching me from out the window. Caught. I look at the yellow mango then back at my mummy. I try to find my voice, but it’s buried under mango juice. She smiles at me.
“Come inside when yuh finish so I could clean yuh up before yuh daddy sees you” She then closes the louvers and lays back down in bed. I smile to myself, I can’t possibly get in trouble if mummy is on my side.
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