1998

My family has lived on this very swamp for over a century. Our identity is defined by nature—the brackish water flowing in our blood and our muscle sculpted from the mud on the edges of the bayou. All along the coast of the Mississippi Delta, we shrimp; it is who we are.

In the midst of waking up, my throat still dry and eyes closed shut, I could hear a knock on my door. Who could it be? Most likely it was either my mom or my sister. It couldn’t be my dad. He’s long gone. 

My little sister, her ears perked and her eyes filled with worry, walks towards me, leaving the door ajar behind her. She signals her wish to sit on my bed by pointing with her index finger, a cork screw scar at its distal joint. At first, I am skeptical…but I decide to allow it. She cranes her head towards my elvish right ear, holds up her little, soft hand and whispers to me. My eyes widen and I look back at her expecting a sudden laugh. Nothing. She leans her head on my boney shoulder and cries. I rub my hands through her springy hair as I sit crying alongside her. Moments later, we fall asleep in a warm embrace—my thin, itchy, blue blanket wet with tears.

The next morning, we both wake up to the faint sound of seagulls. How I want a window for my bedroom. Each day, I could wake up to a gorgeous sunrise, the ball of light rising from beyond the blanket of grass on the dune. Unfortunately, there is not much to see this morning other than the dull, grey sky that resembles my own peeling, faded, ceiling. My sister and I stretch our legs out of the bed.

What the hell? Why are my feet soaked? I look down to find a sea of warm, briney water covering my entire bedroom floor. One time, years ago, when I was first learning how to shrimp, my momma and I caught a few just ‘cause they floated into our kitchen during a bad thunderstorm. After touching the water's surface, my sister jolts her foot back onto the comfort of my old mattress, bringing drops of river-water with her. Seriously, Anele.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

“What’s that?” my sister exclaims as she wraps her arms around me, squeezing my stomach like she would her deadbeat stuffed animal. I, of course, have little to no idea myself but I put on a strong face for her. With my mother out shrimping early morning ‘till dusk, Anele often remained my responsibility.

“Open Up!” yells a man from outside our little baby blue painted cabin. 

With hesitation, I step out of my bed, still barefoot, and waddle over silently to the door, closing it behind me as I exit my room. Slowly, I turn the rusty knob, my sweaty hands clenching the brass tight. Three young men, dressed in yellow suits and red hats rush in.

“We’ve got one!” shrieks the tall lanky one as he stared deep into my innocent, brown eyes. “Search the rest of the shack!” calls the other in an urgent tone. These guys seem to think we cannot take care of ourselves. Sometimes, I wish not for myself, but for my sister, that my dad stopped to think that as well.

“Hey! What are you doing! Lauren!” my sister squeals as one of the yellow suits carries her out of the house on their shoulder.

“What are you doing! That’s my sister!” I scream, my eyes tearing and face sizzling—it must have been as red as an overripe strawberry. My ears are ringing, and I swear I can hear a train bustling down a railroad track; but that cannot be.

“I’ve got this one,” yells a mustached yellow suit in a deep, growling voice. He grabs me by my wet feet and lifts me into the air, throwing me over his shoulder as he jogs out of the house.They place us into a tin riverboat and one of the guys asks, “You girls alright?”

“Where’s my momma?” I ask with a stern tone while staring at my shaking sister. All the yellow suits look at each other. Clearly, they are void of any response.

“Where. Is. My. Momma!?” I inquire again—this time, my question is riddled with both anger and fear.

My eyes give off a reflective glow while I tear up, and I rest my head into the palm of my cupped hands. Anele runs across the little boat, rocking it back and forth on the deep green water. She crawls up on my lap. “Momma’s gone! Momma’s gone!” she screamed. I look towards the yellow suits, their faces, pale white and blank with a tinge of affirmation. I realized at that moment that Anele’s right. Momma’s gone.

My heart beats at the speed an alligator swims. My stomach feels as if it has folded onto itself. My forehead grows as warm as the sun’s rays in the middle of a hot, humid day in August. I tell myself that I am on a cruise through the bayou. I see the shimmer of the delta and the rough, grey skin on the backs of cruising gators. Not even the clumps of mud wedging between my toes help to take my mind off my mom. 

“Where are we going?” I ask the leader of the yellow suited squadron.

He looks down onto me, not saying a word. Frustrated that all of the yellow suits refuse to say anything to me or my sister, I sit back down, arms crossed, and begin to ponder what life will be like without a mother. My sister sits across from me staring into my soul, and I realize the truth behind what she had told me last night. Momma left….and she left for good.