Going Home
 

        It was the kind of sick feeling you get in your stomach when you see
someone on the highway drive over roadkill that isn't quite flat yet.
Norrie grimaced and crossed her arms over her stomach, wondering if it was
just the motion of the plane descending or the knowledge of what was coming
when it landed.
        She could see the city of Atlanta growing under the plane, all the little
houses and businesses getting larger, casting long shadows in the morning
sun's rays. The cars on the roads were becoming distinguishable, and the
plane's shadow cruised by them all, giving away the pretense of moving so
slowly. A cloud whisked by, startling her slightly. Suddenly, they were
very low to the ground, and a runway was right beneath them. Before she
could steel herself against the impact, the wheels contacted the earth with
a sharp bump. The nausea in Norrie's stomach rose to epic proportions and
she began eyeing the emergency bag in the seat pocket in front of her.
Fortunately, though, the feeling subsided just enough that she thought she
could live, so she tried to further distract herself by looking out the
window at the airport.
        This did not help. She could see the terminal she was supposed to arrive
at, and could imagine Maggie watching for the plane out of one of the
darkly tinted windows.
        Stop the plane, she wanted to say, let me get off here so I can walk to
another door. But what's done is done, and she knew she had no choice now
but to go through with it.
        It had been 17 years since she had seen her mother, or even heard from
her. It was only three days ago that she had gotten the letter containing
the plane tickets. The letter only said, "Please come home."
 
        It was only two months after her 20th birthday that Stella Mae Ingraham
broke the news to her mother.
        "Momma, I'm moving out," she said. She had her suitcase packed and was
gripping it with a deathlike grip. Her knuckles were white, almost as white
as her face.
        Her mother only looked at her for a moment, then said, "And just where do
you think you're going, young woman?" The tone suggested that Margaret
Ingraham wasn't taking her daughter seriously.
        But Stella Mae wasn't backing down this time. She had backed down too much
already. For 20 years she retreated and acted the part of the good
daughter, even to breaking off relations with the woman she was convinced
was the love of her life. Well, at least as far as her momma knew.
        "I'm going to Texas to live with Dunee," she said, surprising herself with
her calmness. She really was going, and she knew it. The plane tickets were
burning a hole in her back pocket, and she was scheduled to leave in two
hours. She had planned it this way so as to get around as much argument
with her momma as possible. If nothing else, she would just walk to the bus
stop and wait, her momma wasn't physically strong enough to hold her back
if she wanted to go.
        Maggie's hazel eyes grew cold and distant. She leaned back in her worn
brown easy chair, crossed her legs and put her hands on her knees, southern
style. Her Georgian accent was strong in her anger as she said, "You're
going to go off and live with that woman," she spat the word in distaste,
like a rotten berry, "after I expressly forbid you to see her. You've been
having dealings with her behind my back, Stella Mae."
        The accusation was matter-of-fact, and the girl saw no reason to argue,
but shrugged her shoulders instead and replied, "Don't call me that, Momma.
All my friends, including Dunee," she enjoyed the impact her lover's name
had on her mother, "call me Norrie. Nobody but you calls me Stella Mae."
        Her mother's mouth puckered slightly in her polite rage. "All right then,"
she said, seeming to come to a decision, "I won't call you Stella Mae, but
then no longer are you to call me Momma. If you aren't going to live by my
rules and by your given Christian name, then you are no longer my daughter.
Go live in sin with that dirty woman in Texas, and may you and all your
lesbian friends burn in hell. I don't ever want to see you again."
        Norrie looked at her mother blankly, unbelieving. She did not, however,
change her mind. She was going to Texas to be with Dunee, and her mother
could think what she wanted. Maggie hadn't said anything else, or even
looked at Norrie again, so she took this as her cue to leave.
        When she opened the front door, her mother's voice came after her, "Your
father is spinning in his grave right now because of the grief you're
causing me." Norrie laughed to herself at the ploy her mother was trying to
use. Maggie had never given her father anything but grief in his lifetime .
. . why else would he have drunk himself to death?
        "Mother–Margaret--, you're such a hypocrite." Those were the last words
Norrie had spoken to her mother. Words she had been dying to say for years
and years.

        Since Norrie was in the back of the plane, she was one of the last to get
off. She clutched her duffle bag tightly in her hand, knuckles white.
Impatiently, she waited for the people ahead of her to depart the aircraft.
Part of her, though, hoped that they would take all day. Finally, it was
her turn, and she started down the aisle, taking shuffling steps, dragging
her feet against the inevitable.
        No sooner had she begun to formulate a plan to ask the stewardess to hide
her among the baggage, than was she already on the walkway to the terminal.
Her heart was pounding and her grip on the duffle bag was loosening due to
her sweating palms. The heat of the walkway, which had been basking in a
Georgia summer morning, seemed oppressive and made her nausea grow worse
again. She felt as if her eyes were staring out of her head, and her jaw
was clenched. With the first breath of cool, airport air she stopped and
got control of herself. She took a deep breath, and smoothed back her
auburn hair, careful to make certain the few grey ones showed plainly. She
tried not to feel like that 20-year-old who left her mother's home with
$200 bucks in her wallet and a suitcase full of books and clothes. She was
an established woman, with a professional career and a life partner, for
she and Dunee had remained together. She had nothing to fear, it was Maggie
who had begged . . . okay, well, requested her to come home.
        She stepped out of the walkway, looking more confident than she felt, but
feeling more confident than she had moments before. A sea of faces greeted
her, along with that airport smell of plastic and faint exhaust fumes. The
humidity was high outside already, and the air conditioning was causing it
to be annoyingly damp inside. Rows and rows of cheap banks of chairs filled
the room, and rows and rows of people filled the banks of chairs. All of
them seemed to be looking at her, through her, for she was not the person
they wanted to see. The tv screens posted arrivals and departures in neon
blue, little "delayed" posts blinking incessantly. And everywhere were
people, of all shapes and sizes, ages and colors. All were waiting for
someone to get off the plane. To her right, someone shouted, "Ray! Over
hear! Look everyone!" and a great cheer went up for Ray, who was looking a
bit shocked at the surprise.
        Norrie grinned at Ray's reception, and when she looked forward again to
try and spot her mother– how was she going to recognize her after so many
years?-- she came face to face with a woman she knew she should know.
        "Hello Stella Mae," the woman said.
        Norrie fought the urge to look around. Stella Mae was the name on her
birth certificate and driver's licence, but nobody she encountered called
her that. Nobody. She refrained from pointing this out to Maggie, but
resolved to do it if the older woman persisted.
        Maggie had aged considerably. The lines around her eyes and mouth were
testimony to the hardships she had endured in Norrie's absence. Her hair
was mostly steel grey, the color all Ingraham matrons achieved at
60-something. Her back was bent slightly, and her fingers, swollen with
arthritis, gripped a cane. The knuckles were white, Norrie noticed with
some interest.
        "Hello Maggie," Norrie said. Her voice wasn't trembling nearly as much as
she thought it should.
        Maggie's hazel eyes, blurry with rheumatism, searched Norrie's face, but
she gave away nothing, and wouldn't until she was sure of her mother's
motives.
        The crowd in the airport had thinned somewhat, but Norrie didn't really
notice. She did see, however, a young man in a chauffeur's uniform watching
them with some interest.
        Ah, she thought, the old Southern blood that still travels around in their
gilded carriages. How funny that I don't miss it at all.
        "Why did you want me to come?" She really didn't see any reason to put it
off any longer.
        Maggie sighed, the sigh of an old person, heavy and heartsore. It made
Norrie just a little sad to hear.
        "I haven't seen you in nigh unto 18 years and you have to ask me that?"
        "Yes, I do, because the day I left you said you didn't want to ever see me
again. Then I get this letter..."
        "Stella Mae– Norrie," she amended, after seeing the threatening look on
her daughter's face, "I'm old, and wanted to make peace with you before the
end."
        Don't be ridiculous, Momma, Norrie wanted to say, you're not very old at
all. Why, you're only . . .  My God, Momma, you're old . . . you're so old
. . .
        "I've got cancer, Norrie. The doctors told me I'm dying, and I wanted to
know . . .  I– I wanted to hear–"
        "What, Momma?" Norrie was on the verge of tears, and her arms ached to
hold her fragile mother.
        "I needed to hear–" Maggie looked very uncomfortable, and Norrie's heart
went out to her.
        Did she need to hear her say that she loved her? That Norrie had missed
her all these years? That it was constant pain to not be able to talk to
her like others, like Dunee, talked to their mother's?
        Norrie was prepared to answer yes, to confess all these deep things in her
soul that had tormented her for so long.
        "I needed to hear that you left that sinful woman and lead a decent,
Christian life. I needed to know that you repented from your wicked ways
and became a whole woman, with a good husband, and my grandchildren. I
needed to hear that, Stella Mae, " Maggie looked at Norrie with hazel eyes,
piercing for all their sorrow and forming cataracts.
        Norrie felt tears in her own eyes, warm wetness contacting the cool
humidity in the air. Her knuckles tightened on the handle of her duffle bag.
        "Maggie, I–"
        Just then, the ticket taker at the terminal across from them said over the
intercom, "Now boarding United Airlines flight 1066, nonstop to Dallas."
        Norrie kissed her mother's cheek and looked her in the eye, hazel to
hazel. "I love you, Momma, and I've missed you. And I will be very sorry
when you are gone. God alone knows how very sorry I will be." Then Norrie
walked past the young chauffeur and to the ticket counter to see about
getting on that flight home.
 

Copyright 1997
 
 
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