momme weight

EATAYLOR's Statement

Often, life's burdens are lifted when relationships are restored or when something so precious as pearls and things of comparable value are removed. As a unit of measurement, momme weight generally applies to the pearl and silk industry (silk momme); however, it is with good measure that the title of this novella implies a far greater meaning, i.e., recognizing relationships as a matter of self-realization and justice and ultimately, the ethical dilemma of perfecting the balance between  expected duties and personal desires. Only when the load is lifted can we truly take flight. Momme Weight is set in the woods of Redvine, a fictitous town located approximately sixty miles from Fort Gordon, Georgia, previously known as Camp Gordon. Completed with the aid of corrective lenses, this novella is far from hindsight.


Synopsis

Awakening to a new life is not always a ball of joy. . . . From silly jokes to sultry secrets, Hawaiian childhood friends, Alamea Kaapa and Pearlie Mae de Gaulle, share nearly everything. Having inherited one million dollars after the disappearance of mysterious Margery Maude, the young ladies split the stash and opt for a faraway adventure. A new life awaits, but the quest to fulfill lifelong dreams of three-m happiness: marriage, motherhood and a magnificent homelife on the mainland may be more than they can bear. Caught in the crossfire of Redvine, an obscure Georgian town heavily populated with lunatics and military mavens, a valuable lesson is learned: some things in life are never meant to be shared. For some it may be millions and for others macabre memories, mistresses and men; yet for Alamea and Pearlie, it all  boils down to pearls. Momme Weight is a satirical story of twisted talebearers. Written in various narrative forms, it reflects upon life's unsavory characters, prompting one to think twice about kinsmen kept and saying, "I do."


Momme Weight Chapter 1 Excerpt

          Pearlie Mae de Gaulle and Alamea Kaapa were convinced: the woman in their presence was once a professional ballerina, a delicate creature with exquisite beauty and a golden heart, but she always refuted both criticisms and compliments with little success and a slight display of annoyance. Weighing no more than ninety-nine pounds, and wearing red ribbons taped to her narrow wrist, Margery Maude was frail, friendly, and flexible in conversation, but often spoke life with a sense of authenticity, humility and purpose.

           ""It was perhaps the loneliest time in my life," Ms. Maude explained to her newfound friends, as she generously poured the girls sparkling cider, "Mother's moonshine was a bit too strong for my liking, so every now and then, oh I'd pour myself a cup of coffee, pretend it was hot chocolate and sneak outside. With adult portions, I felt like I deserved every swallow because by the age of fourteen, the first time I'd tasted the black crude, I felt like an adult, thought like an adult, and almost looked like an adult. An over the years, drowning my soul in sorrows, just as my mother had, drinking became routine much like tedious housework. When I wasn't doing chores in our little shabby shotgun house, my days were filled with a cup of coffee in one hand and paper and ink in the other, and as the days passed, I became as bitter as the grinds in the bottom of my cup. Surely, the brackish waters I'd consumed flooded every square inch of my body. I wanted to expose every evil thing under the sun, in writing and by mouth. But friends and family, stale and cold, lied on me, manipulating, concealing and distorting what I said and wrote for their own devices. My soul longed to confide in others, but I had no one. No one to share my deepest feelings and most tender thoughts. No, not one. Not even in Lichen, a quaint town nearby Iberia, Louisiana - its most notorious philander wasn't interested in me or my stories."

           "I find that hard to imagine. You're elegant, thoughtful and entertaining, Ms. Maude," Pearlie interrupted, hoping that would lift the woman's contrite spirit. "We love your company. We adore you. And you make the best pastries, especially almond tuiles," Pearlie ended with a twinkle.

           Dismissing admirations, Maude was determined to report, "I was also underaged, and certainly a man's quick ticket to county jail. Nevertheless, I was said to be tainted. Cursed. Infectiously cancerous. I was blamed for spreading a viral wick of unpleasantries upon close companions and those that trampled into my path, a poisoned dry well thirsting for common ground. Like a lonely, parched desert, at times I prayed for a monsoon to quell an overzealous soul wanting to expose the unsavory, but allegedly, my demons were too strong. I demanded an audience and received none. I had amazing stories to tell, almost unbelievable, but again, no would listen. Not even the lonely brute by the bayou. And back then, all eight of my half-sibling had very little to do with me. Routinely, we competed for Mother's love she issued so sparingly."

           "That's unfortunate. Very unfortunate," Alamea empathized, "but we love you. We love your company."

           "Unlike your kind, I was the one weight Mother wanted to rid."

           "Did your mother always feel that way?" Pearlie asked.

           "Not in the beginning, but eventually she learned to hate. She learned to emotionally split me and not only amongst my siblings but wedged a gap between me and my childhood friends."

           Pearlie stuttered, as she witnessed Ms. Maude's iridescent tear welt full bloom. "Why would she do that? Di-did your father do the same?"

           "She desired control, but in reality, she had little control of anything besides maintaining her girly figure and weight."

           "What do you mean?" Alamea pried.

           Ms. Maude mockingly puffed before she replied. "I mean she had everyone in the house over five years of age, excluding her lovers, get up before the crack of dawn to do two hundred jumping jacks. If refused, we were punished. That meant no food for two days - just water."

           Pearlie asked again, "What about your biological dad? Did he treat you the same?"

           "None of us really knew our fathers. The only thing we knew was our common denominator: Mother. And although we shared a pool of genes from Mother, we all looked strikingly different. One would have blue eyes, curly light brown hair and fair skin. Another would have straight dark brown hair, hazel eyes and olive skin. Another, strawberry blonde hair, green eyes and alabaster skin. And no wonder, every week there was a different man in the house and almost every year, Mother was bloated and pregnant. Male visitors, so fastidiously dressed and doused in pungent colognes always followed Mother to the only red door with lock and key and furthest to the back. As soon as Mother approached the flaming door, she'll turn around with a menacing look, slam it shut, and blast music. The music was so loud that neighbors complained, but Mother didn't care about her infringing on anyone's right to peaceful enjoyment, but her own. Ignoring  neighbors, she carried on as a conductor. Ragtime music was our cue to go outside and play cowboys and Indians for one hour; whereas, swing meant for at least two. After weeks, months and years of the same old routine, on the eighth day of November 1960, the same day JFK defeated Nixon in the presidential elections, Mother wholeheartedly believed that she and the electoral tallies finally got it right. And so it was, she married the town's esteemed public defender right before my eighteenth birthday."

           "Somewhat, " Ms. Maude answered drily. "First, we had to be inducted into his judicial system. He claimed that the boys, by birthright, were already bailiffs, so nothing more was required, but all the girls, when they reached the age of eighteen eventually had to be sworn in as deputies before we spread our wings and fly, as he promised to pay for an affordable education anywhere below the Mason Dixon Line. Back then, he offered a remarkable promise, knowing that many young women weren't always encouraged to pursue higher forms of education. With that said and my being the eldest, I was first in line and quite ecstatic. On November 12th, the day Mother and my siblings completed our move into our new daddy's charming chateau, life appeared majestic. With Daddy having inherited a mini mansion from a wealthy kinsman, he held my surprise birthday at the chateau's grand library. Certainly, all of our lives had changed. Giddy with her newly acquired fortunes, including her ideal mate, a tall and doting dark haired husband with connections to the creme de la creme Mother was happy, and when she was happy, we were all usually happy. But on my birthday, I exceedingly ecstatic because Mother presented me with my favorite - a fraiser, the most decadent French strawberry cake and an assortment of petite confectionaries. After hours of eating, playing board games and discussing endeavors, everyone retired early except me and Daddy. That fateful night, I believed I was the luckiest girl alive, and although sleepy, I stayed up and marveled at my gifts, most of which consisted of imported Parisian dresses made of the finest duchess silk satins and jewelry. Sitting in a rocking chair situated in the corner, Daddy read the Bible. He noticed I struggled securing the gift I admired most - a pearl necklace. Without delay, Daddy folded his book and offered to secure the pearls around my neck. Naturally, I obliged."

           "Costume or real?" Pearlie asked.

           "The Tahitian cultured pearls were grown in French Polynesia. They were real alright - maybe too real. Remember, there's always a price for treasure. As Daddy graciously stood behind me, I eagerly lifted my locks and titled my head. With the strand firmly locked around my nape, the stones' soft luster glowed before my eyes, and then Daddy unveiled another surprise. He forced my head toward my knees, lifted my scarlet silk dress and shoved his penis into my backside. Speechless, I believed he nearly penetrated me, as he clutched his hand over my mouth with one hand and held my backside with the other. Then I understood: that was Daddy's way of swearing me to be his little deputy."

           "Did you tell your mother?" Alamea, apprehensively asked as she bit into her buttered baguette. "And what became of the necklace?"

           Maude's umber eyes pierced through the girls as if she was talking through them. Her voice crackled as if she instantly aged another ten years. "I hid them underneath a yaupon holly and eventually offered it to a trucker for one of the longest rides I'd ever taken. I was more than glad to remove the pearls from my neck. They were an ugly reminder of something that was meant to be beautiful."

           "Did you tell your mother?" Alamea repeated.

           "For days, my mind was in a haze. I felt - I felt like something wasn't quite right, and then I remembered. I remembered what had happened to me, and so I told what I could. What I could remember. Mother was completely mesmerized by Daddy, so my complaints were met with scorn. She didn't want to believe me, screamed I was possessed with the devil and that I was a troublemaker. When she confronted Daddy, in her broken Louisiana Creole French, Daddy denied everything. He said I was depressed, wanted to cause harm and a child stricken with delusions. Predictably Mother, perhaps attempting to squash my testimony, hurriedly prepared ham and Swiss cheese filled croissants to share and convinced everyone, including our new neighbors, that I was jealous of her newfound love. Eventually, friends and family took Mother's side and Daddy gave Mother an ultimatum: either I permanently leave his house or be institutionalized indefinitely. So the next day Mother sent me away for an evaluation." Pearlie and Alamea cringed, as Ms. Maude continued. "Admitted, institutionalized and heavily drugged with chlorpromazine and an experimental drug at the state's psychiatric hospital, I wanted out. Within nine or ten weeks, I devised my escape and the odorous memories of Lichen, Louisiana, a town on the fringe of New Iberia, and with the help of Lardy, the institution's canteen supplier, I left."

           "Why wouldn't your mother believe you?" Alamea gasped. "You're her flesh and blood."

           "Because Daddy paid the bills. Essentially, he became her best customer, and the marriage certificate was proof of receipt. Mother, being naive and uneducated was his puppet and he pulled the strings."

           Pearlie wanted to change the subject. The thought of a young girl's mother betraying her own daughter was much too bothersome. "You gave your necklace to Lardy?" Pearlie asked.

           Ms. Maude issued a weak simpler. "Yes. Thank goodness Lardy was able to drive the refrigerator truck with its constant clickety-clack. I was thankful though because the rough ride was my ticket out of town. After two weeks and two days on the road, traveling from place to place, I had enough of a gypsy's life and planted my heels in Fairburn, Georgia. Desperate, destitute, and perhaps slightly delirious, I crawled out of one cramped space and into another - a small pine log cabin nestled along Duck Pond. And there he stood, as if he were waiting on me all along, only to whisk me away inside his humble abode."

           Pearlie was captivated with stories of romance. "Who? Who was he?" She pressed with unwavering curiosity.

           Released from her trance, Ms. Maude's eyes shimmered, and voice lifted. "A man that believed in the land of the law."

           "Was he handsome?" Alamea questioned, "And what was his name?"

           "Till this day, I vaguely remember the man's face, only his smell of lavender and leather. I don't even remember his name, but I believe it to be Lincoln, a man much older than me and without a presidential presence, but that didn't matter. I needed money, and he was willing to pay - pay me to be his wife, or to be forthright in speech, his domesticated whore. The very instant I pocketed Lincoln's five five-dollar bills I was forever changed. And despite Lincoln's chivalry, I felt like what took place in the cabin echoed Daddy's pistol in the chateau. I was shot with at least eighty bullet holes below the pelvis, maybe more. I lost count. Every bullet equated to two or three seconds. There was no obvious bleeding, and as such, Lincoln was seconds short of questioning my chastity, but like a true Southern gentleman, he refrained; nevertheless, I felt cheap. I felt like the incarnation of Mother. I felt like the only way to rid Mother's spirit from my body was to leave Fairburn, so while Lincoln slept, I was on the run again. At sunup, I hitched a ride with some Freedom Riders set for Jackson, Mississippi and convinced them to take me to Atlanta. I figured a bustling city I could make it - make my way for a better life, but oh boy was I disillusioned. Drenched in sweat and discouraged, I carried my weighty heart from place to place, begging for a job. With $25 dollars in my pocket and a pocket full of dreams, I knew what it meant to be hungry, homeless and without a pot to piss. I can never forget: June 1961. Atlanta was blistering hot and humid, and in my endeavors, I quickly succumbed to a fainting spell. Luckily, an affable couple who apparently thought I was white took me to a nearby hospital."

           Alamea's eyes widened, questioning the sordid soul, "You're not haole (Caucasian / white)?

           "Baby, I'm black all the way. Believe me, if I didn't look the way I did, that couple would have never taken me to a 'whites only hospital.' It was a different time back then. Nevertheless, at the hospital, doctors said I was about three months pregnant and advised bedrest."

           Far from diffident, Alamea spurted, "How could you be three months pregnant if the stranger was your first?"

           "My thoughts exactly, but considering the doctor's reveal, it hit me: my stepfather didn't try to rape me - he did. That's what Daddy meant when he said he was willing to pay for my education anywhere below the Mason Dixon Line. For years I was in denial; yet at the hospital, I quickly realized that the only thing that stood between me and my will to survive was myself. The notion of ever reconciling with Mother or rekindling familial ties became further and further farfetched. I became consumed with establishing my career as a writer - an ailing storyteller intoxicated with grief and despair. Months later and after having been notified of my pregnancy, the same affluent couple that rescued asked that I stay with them until the baby's delivery. In return for their kindness, I allowed them to adopt what was mine."


About:  As a child, Taylor never dreamt of becoming a writer and as an adult life is bittersweet.

In 2024, Taylor expects to release her third novel:  Rencontrez-moi


Momme Weight

Genre:  Psychological Thriller, Neo-Noir

 Taylor's novels are listed on Amazon Kindle for purchase.  Taylor is also the author of In Parts Per Million.  Highlighted titles are links to Amazon. Click.

Commercial Contact:   P.O. Box 103 Augusta, Georgia 30903 U.S.A


2016 copyright


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