It won’t let me hold my peace

Wigs were normal
even though I was five
I understood a woman and her beauty
Mama had a black curly wig that she only wore to church
she wore her real hair the other days

she would keep bobby pins on the bedroom dresser
one pin on the left
one on the right
one in the front and
one in the back
she said this would keep her
wig in place

my second memory of church
was in a storefront building with cold metal chairs
my legs were too short to touch the cross bar
I concentrated real hard on trying to reach them
there was loud screeching from the speakers
I could not tell who it was
Mama was swaying from side to side in front of me
echoing back at the sounds

the organ music sounded nothing like Papas in his basement
I wanted to fall asleep but
Mama said no
she would nudge me awake every time I would doze off people were jumping and speaking jibber jabber In the aisles

I wasn’t scared
because I saw Mama was ok
until her swaying turned to jumping and her echo changed to screeching and her wig went to flying
curls and all across the room
my eyes shifted from the curls on the floor back to Mamas head
no bobby pins remained

I wondered if I should pick it up but
a lady who was dressed like a hospital nurse
grabbed it up shook it out and handed it back to Mama when she sat down
I don’t remember her being embarrassed at all
she just patted her face with a tissue
trying to catch her breath as she shouted out

“It just won’t let me hold my peace”
probably because almost all the mamas wigs flew off every Sunday
I guess because wigs were normal

Next Blog: the porch does not mean the bottom step

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