MIMA

Though Alladin was still a toddler, he had a clear memory of a promise. What he took to be a promise. This life was a breast full of joy.

His Mother, Aleja, said, "Ladi, your father and I are going out for the evening. Be a good boy and listen to Mima. Bye-bye."

Bye-bye.
Mima looked at him and shook her taught face.
"Oh, Sugah! Ah knows what yo wan. But I caint gib yo none."

Alladin stood beneath the white coved entryway ceiling, staring at the brass door knob, muffling sobs. Like smoke signals. Why was his mother from him going away? Again, Aleja was leaving.

Once in a while Mima would pull him on to her lap and lay his small head against her unsuckled breast. If Ladi felt Mima wasn't paying attention, he would touch her other breast with his other hand. And with pursed lips make small nursing movements and noises.

Then could he sleep.
Alladin was wishful. But not hopeful.
In the morning there was a great deal of clamor. His father, Amien,

was shaving and dressing and carefully eyeing the mirror. He drank small glasses of strong, burnt sienna, sweet tea. Two thick coffees for Aleja. Or else her head ached all morning. They talked fast and nervously.

Alladin and his older sister, Ayshia, could sleep as late as ever. So young, children.

Each work day Aleja went with her husband to the Central Court Building. Then returned home, to await the arrival of Mima. Before departing herself. She hoped that the children, especially the little boy, would not awaken.

But Alladin felt her every movement. Even as she yawned, he awoke. By himself he lay in his warm flat bed with its straw-filled mattress. And wished his mother to come in.

To come in and hold him.

When his mother left with Amien, Alladin kept count of the passage of time, by pulling his fingers one by one, until her return. And while Ayshia slept, he climbed up on the stone ledge to watch out the window. While his mother stole away from the house. From him.

To him she was as heaven. He watched her. Her long even steps. Beneath her full length camel hair coat, he imagined her tender bosom, comforting even inside the cup of her brassiere.

One year later, his sister Ayshia started in at school. Five days per week.

Mima says:
"Dat be fine, Ladi. Yo jes let dem tears fall. We is in a worl' of woe." "How's bout us homefolk bakin up us some dak fudge brownies. Wid

pecans. And extra choc'late on de side."
Ladi's mama had a favorite lapis-colored throw. One day, the boy

made a small hole in its center. Through which he put his thumb. And sucked it. Wherever he went, from that day on, also, the throw did. Being dragged. Or draped, like a closed umbrella, over his arm.

"Lawd ha Mercy, Chil'! Yo keep suckin dat thumb, yo nevah is gonna grow up!"

Alladin closed his eyes. And licked his thumb the while he sucked. To me. This feels good.
Milk and dark fudge brownies helped. And battered, deep-fried

chicken drum sticks.

Ayshia began to tease her little brother. Constantly.
"Oh, Ladi baby. You have such a pretty lapis diaper."
Amien talked to him some times. About adult things. From a

distance.
His beloved mother offered only sweet things to eat.
It all made Mima's heart tremble and weep.
Years rolled by. Alladin himself went off to school. His mother's body

changed and became larger. A new baby arrived: Adirek. Aleja's breasts became all the more abundant and desirable. And further, even, from his fingers.

In time he became as big as his father. Who now had time to pass with his son.

Ayshia married and moved to the opposite side of the earth.

Alladin went out to seek his fortune, first, as older brother. Often, he looked longingly and wishfully at the lovely breasts of females. Wondering, if he could ask to touch them. Or better, yet, to take a bare one in his lips.