Transcript
Glenn Washington (0:02)
Snap Studios.
Tim Washington (0:07)
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Michael Thompson (1:17)
When.
Glenn Washington (1:17)
I was a kid, five years old, we lived in what they called a transitional neighborhood. And in our transitional neighborhood, people kept getting their batteries transitioned right out of their cars. And my father says he ain't about to be no Mark. So every evening he starts carrying a battery out of our Chevy Nova and inside the house. And one evening, my mama's making my favorite fried chicken, mashed potatoes and red bean gravy. My mama makes the best mashed potatoes and red bean gravy. Pops grins over at me. You ready to tuck in boy? Yes sir. Pops walks out of the front door. Sis will be right back. Just gotta get the battery first, okay? Mama sets the plate down. I can see the heat wafting off the crispity chicken. And I'm waiting. Waitin. Waitin'everybody. Knows mashed potatoes only taste good when they're hot. But I don't say nothing. Still he doesn't come back from outside. I'm staring at the food, stomach rumbling. My mama tells me to go ahead and eat baby, but I don't want to go ahead and eat. Through the window I see our car hood popped open. My mother opens our front door. Bill. Bill. She sits back down, gets up, sits down again. Then slightly higher pitch. Bill. Bill. We wait. Wait a half an hour, an hour. Two hours later she calls my uncles, the neighbors, the church folk. People start filling the house and telling me it's gon be all right. My auntie wraps our untouched dinner plates in Saran Wrap. We'll Save this for later, baby. In the morning, the hood of our car is still popped open. My mother sits next to my auntie, red faced from the crying. My uncles have taken to knocking on doors. Church ladies moan in the living room, gathered in a prayer circle. Pops doesn't show up that afternoon, doesn't show up later that evening. Finally wailing, the mother picks up the phone to actually call the police. My father walks into the house. Bill. He looks angry and dirty even as we hug him, me crying, my mama praising Jesus. Lord, Lord, Lord. A scowl stays etched on his face. Where you been? One of my uncles asks. What happened? What happened? 5O locked me up. Said I stole my own damn battery out my own damn car. That's what happened. A heavy quiet freezes everyone in place as my uncles take several moments to digest the words. The silence stretches, twists, expands, and finally looking first to each other, then back at my father. My uncles howl, sighs, splitting guffaws, tears streaming down, eyes slapping each other on the back, laughing, laughing, laughing, laughing, then growing still only to erupt laughing again at full strength. Dummy, says Uncle Eldis. How you gonna get arrested for stealing your own battery? Get out. They can't stop laughing. Get out. My uncle shuffle away, cackling, leaning on each other for support. House empty, me still clinging to my father's leg. My mother retrieves the plates. Dinner first, places them in the oven, then sets the reheated food on the table. Then, as a family, we sit down to eat my favorite fried chicken, mashed potatoes and red bean gravy. Today, in Snap Judgment, we proudly present the feast. My name is Tim Washington. Dig in because you're listening to Snap Judgment.