Cabbage Cooked With Sage

He seldom called me by my given name. He claimed Mama named me Grace as an aspirational goal, a name I’d probably never really deserve. He’d introduce me to his friends as his niece Grace, and called me Gracie in front of them, but when they weren’t around, he called me some version of Loose Lips, I guess because I was the one who reported his various infractions when we were younger, like his smoking (not just cigarettes), his collection of dirty magazines, and his calls to several 1-900 numbers.  “Loose lips sink ships!” he’d  rant,  referring to me as  Lippy Lou, Lipsy, or just plain Lips.   William Joseph Kelly, nine years my senior, had been raised along with me by Sarah, his older sister and my mother. Mama was around 23 when her own mother made her swear a death bed oath that she would always look out for her little  Willie, who turned seven three days after she died.  Mama always made the distinction to  the folks in our little community  that Willie was her little brother, not her child.  So after a time, little Wilie became known as Sarah’s  Little Brother or Lil’ Bro,  then simply Brother as he grew older.  Eventually, he became Uncle Brother to me.  “We’re a package deal,”  Mama advised any young man who expressed a romantic interest in her, often diminishing the better prospects. But eventually,  after several false starts, my father accepted that package deal and 18 months later, I was born.

Our extended family had a tradition of holding New Years dinners with all the trimming of Christmas—turkey, ham, dressing, desserts, with cabbage, blackeye peas and cornbread mixed in,   oftentimes with a  table of at least a dozen or so relatives and friends, many who’ve since passed on or simply moved on, as did my father.   But it’s just  Mama, Uncle Brother, and me sharing  the traditional New Years  dinner at Mama’s modest home.     Uncle Brother’s special friend Jamie said he would try to stop by after his shift at the plant, if he wasn’t too tired, which put Mama off a bit. “He’ll be here,” Uncle Brother assured Mama. 

“Tell him to dress neatly,” Mama replied. “Father Matthews will be here around five  or maybe six. 

 “Or maybe nine,  ten or probably not at all, so don’t hold your breath,” I mused, reflecting on the attitudes toward irregular marriages held by the  majority of clerics and others in our small community, most not nearly as progressive as the current pontiff.  After the Pope’s dictate on the blessings of same-sex relationships,  Mama requested that Father Matthews drop by to bless Uncle Brother’s and Jamie’s relationship, and perhaps share in a bite of our New Years dinner or at least accept a to-go plate.   But all  this hubbub was a smokescreen belying  the real issue which lingered in the air like a cheap cigar.  “You got everything you need for the  cabbage?” Mama asked Uncle Brother, whose contribution was usually one of his specialty cabbage dishes.  “Oh, and I meant to ask how your session went yesterday.” she added, referring to Uncle Brother’s third dialysis treatment.

 “Fine.”   he responded curtly, eyeing me as I measured flour, baking powder and yellow cornmeal for the cornbread. “Lips, won’t you check the pantry to see if there’s any sage for the cabbage.”   he asked.

  “Sage!” I exclaimed, trying to keep the disgust from my voice. “All you need to season cabbage is plain salt and pepper and maybe just a dash of sugar.” I added. 

“Lips, you know I need to watch my salt intake, and how do you know  that cabbage seasoned with sage won’t be delicious!” he said, as though the word delicious were in all caps.  I swallowed my growing resentment as I handed him the small container of McCormick Sage from the spice section of Mama’s neatly organized pantry.   “You need to open your mind!” he added sharply.   “And your heart,” I thought I heard him say under his breath as I added eggs and milk to the cornbread ingredients, or was I just projecting?   Uncle Brother never spoke to me directly regarding his recent health issue.  He tended to brush  over most of the heavy issues of his life, even now in middle age.  He never actually acknowledged he was gay, but as Mama said, it had come to the  point that nobody had to ask and he didn’t to have tell.   But despite their advancing ages, he was still her little brother, and she loved him dearly. Her life was a reflection of the vow she made and thus far kept to her own dying mother that she’d always look out for Little Willie, maybe even at the occasional cost to her own child, me.

 “I don’t know, Mama,” I said shaking my head as she presented me with the Gift of Life literature for kidney donation a few days after Christmas.   

“Just think about it Baby. Pray about it,” Mama beseeched, rubbing my hands as though she could mold her will into me.

“That’s a lot to ask….another whole dimension of asking, not like cosigning for a car.”  I replied. 

“I know baby,” Mama said softly, “I’m just asking that you agree to be tested. I wish I could, but I’m too old.”  she said with a faraway look in her big brown eyes, as though she were thinking of the long-ago vow to her mother.   

“Ya’ll got it smelling good in here!” Mama exclaimed as she walked into the kitchen. I pulled the golden-brown cornbread from the oven as Mama added McCormick’s salt-free seasoning to the simmering chicken fricassee on the stove, a far cry from the turkey and ham of the New Years dinners from yesteryear.   The tension in the kitchen was mounting, at least for me.   I suppose  the  discussion of kidney donation somehow made my thoughts drift to the funeral scene of the movie Steel Magnolias. Maybe the Sally Field character  mourned not only the tragic premature death of her daughter, but also the fact that one of her kidneys was in Shelby’s casket too. 

 “Ya’ll know what,” Mama said abruptly, “I forgot to check on those beautiful poinsettias Jaime sent for Christmas. Sure don’t want to lose them. Be right back.”   Mama thinks she slick, leaving me in here alone with him, the one who thinks my very name is undeserved. Guess I’d live up to my name if  I’d gracefully donate my kidney. But what has he done for me, for Mama, for anybody for that matter.  Damn, he’s probably the reason Daddy got tired and left. Seems Mama always prioritized her little brother and his many needs. 

“Lips, come and take a sample and see what you think?” Uncle Brother asked,  lowering the flame beneath the pot of cabbage. I busied myself with cutting the cornbread into precise squares, ignoring his request. “Lips,” Uncle Brother repeated. “Tell me what you thi…” Before he could finish saying the word think,  something shifted within me releasing an almost uncontrollable torrent of just  what I thought, and not just about the cabbage.

 “First of all, I’m not tasting that nasty mess because it smells terrible!” I lied, as it actually smelled rather appetizing.  “It’s just like you to come in here in try to change things we’re been doing for years just to suit you. You insist on dumping your so-called lifestyle on us and then dare us to say anything. Hell, a man your age should have had his own family to dump on instead of always Mama, who then dumps your shit onto me!”   I immediately placed by hand over my mouth to mute any more of the  venomous  flow of what I thought.   I’d gone too far.  Way too far. The stillness in the kitchen was deafening. I knew Mama heard me from the other room, and I wondered why  she didn’t immediately scold me for my outburst, and remind me about the value of family sticking together.  I couldn’t look at Uncle Brother, or speak another word, so I opened Mama’s pantry for a roll of aluminum foil.  

After what seemed an eternity, Uncle Brother finally responded. “Well Lips, why don’t you tell me what you really think!” he chuckled. I still could not look at him. “You’re  one of the smartest people I know” he continued.  “I know you don’t think my lifestyle  has anything to do with my illness… Do you?”  I shook my head, blinking back shameful tears.

 “I’m sorry,” I said meekly,  “But I don’t want to be tested. I don’t want to think about it and I don’t want to pray about it either. I just can’t do it. I’m sorry.”  I repeated sheepishly, wishing I could be anywhere but Mama’s kitchen. The protracted silence was broken when I tore off a sheet of aluminum foil.  My nostrils were suddenly inundated by Uncle Brother’s Versace cologne, of which he always wore too much. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, gently patting my forearm.  I looked away, still unable to look at him, but for some reason, unable to move away from him.

“Did I ever tell you about the first time I fell in love?” he asked softly. 

 “Yeah,” I  replied brusquely  “When you saw Jaime in the produce section of the Whole Foods, and your eyes met….Yeah, I heard about that already.” I scoffed.  

 “No, Lips, that’s not the first time I fell in love.”  he said soothingly. “The first time was when you were just a few days old, and your Mama let me hold you. I felt so grown up, and I told you and Sarah that nobody better not ever hurt you, cause I would get them if they did. I promised right then and there that I would protect you, even though you were about the ugliest baby I’d ever seen.” he chuckled. “I didn’t protect you,”   he added, his voice almost a whisper. “If I did, you would have been able to talk to me and trust me with your feelings. You wouldn’t have bottled them up all this time.”   I continued to avoid looking at him as he spoke, even when he pulled me in closer.  “My fate with all this is not up to  you, Sarah or anyone else for that matter.”    he continued. “I’ve given over my life to my Destiny.   So whatever happens or doesn’t happen is already in the plan. Of course, I’m hoping for the best outcome, but I’m prepared either way, one day at a time. Besides, I noticed you knocking back all that gin this past Christmas, so I’m not sure I’d want your kidney anyway,” he snickered, and I felt myself relaxing. “We’re good now?” he asked.  I nodded meekly, finally looking up into his big brown eyes, so much like Mama’s.  

“Yup,”  I answered with relief and residual embarrassment, a weight somewhat lifted.

 “Happy New Year, Grace!” he said then, grazing my forehead with a comforting kiss.