Momma, Where Do Ugly People Come From?

By Jacenta E. Cobb

In her debut novel, author Jacenta Cobb explores the complexities of relationships through the simplicity of reflecting God's character. Momma, Where Do Ugly People Come From? discusses the timely and universal ramifications of social bullying while placing an emphasis on how faith and family can create the foundation of a perso

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jacenta E. Cobb
• Release date: Mar 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781734414806

Book preview

1

Business As Usual

Ugh! Why is there always so much to do? Every week starts the same way. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Mondays were created with the sole purpose of irritating me. I’m sure if I started an online survey dozens of others would agree! But Monday is here again, and there’s not much I can do about it.

Deep down in my spirit, I feel guilty for even having these thoughts. Who am I to complain about living to see another day? After all, I’m sure someone didn’t wake up at all. My life could definitely be worse, but today I feel particularly fragile.

Sighing deeply, I say, Okay, Lord. I’m listening. Looking up toward the ceiling, I pray God will grant me grace and guidance to appreciate all of His many blessings—big and small. I’m sorry for waking up in such a negative mood. I AM truly grateful for this day. Thank you for allowing me to live to see it and for giving me another chance to get right with you, I say aloud.

Take a deep breath, Lisa. I inhale and exhale slowly. The tension immediately releases from my body, and I feel a bit more at ease. I walk out of my bedroom, stopping in the hallway beside the bathroom. I raise my hand and tap lightly on the door. KNOCK-KNOCK.

Yes? Mia replies.

Honey, do you need help getting dressed?

She hesitates for a moment, and I can already see her frowning on the other side of the door. I smile when she tells me, No, Momma. Big girls don’t need help getting dressed.

I chuckle softly. Okay. Well hurry up and come on downstairs to eat your breakfast, I say.

Mia opens the door and sticks her head out. Her eyes are bright and alert, almost happy, if eyes could take on a human characteristic.

Mom, can I have my favorite cereal? she asks.

I smile warmly, cupping her chin in my hand. Of course, honey. Go ahead and get dressed. Come on downstairs when you finish. You don’t want to be late on your first day of school.

Okay, she says before closing the door again.

I fight back tears as I make my way down the stairs to prepare a quick breakfast. My baby is growing up so fast! It seems like only yesterday I was changing her diapers, and now she’s in first grade.

Where does the time go? I mumble lowly. Lost in my thoughts, I walk into the kitchen, find the tea kettle, and fill it with tap water from the faucet. Then, turning on the stove, I place the full kettle on top.

Where to start? Hmm, making a to-do list would help me remember all the things I need to get done today. I step over to the refrigerator, where I always keep a writing pad and a pen, then start jotting down a brief list of tasks: 1. Pick up laundry from the cleaners 2. Stop by the bank to make a deposit 3. Go by the post office to buy a book of stamps and mail off bill payments.

I stop writing and look up. Oh yeah, I need to take the chicken out of the freezer for dinner tonight. I open the freezer and remove a pack of boneless chicken strips. After placing it in the sink to defrost, I glance at the clock: 6:45 a.m.

Mia Dell Phillips, I yell. Come on, baby girl. Your bus should be here in about twenty minutes. I grab a bowl out of the cabinet and an unopened box of cereal from the pantry.

I sit down at the table with notepad in hand. Coincidentally, I look up just as Mia walks into the kitchen doorway. I can’t help but smile. The sight of her is enough to cheer me up. She looks beautiful in her purple dress. Her short, curly pigtail is pulled back and held in place by a matching purple bow. I smile and reach over to hug her when she gets close enough. Hey, baby girl, you look so pretty.

Mia smiles and wrinkles her nose. Thanks, Momma, she replies sheepishly.

Go ahead and grab a spoon, and then have a seat. I’ll pour the milk for you, I tell her. I stand up and walk over to the refrigerator. I open the door and remove a milk carton. By the time I get back over to the table, Mia’s already seated. I pour just enough into her bowl of cereal.

Thanks, Mom, she says.

You’re welcome, honey. Make sure to use those good manners when you’re at school too, I instruct her. After returning the milk carton to the refrigerator, I head back to the table and reach for my list and pen. Mia noisily chomps on her cereal. Instead of finishing my list, I watch Mia fish for the oat wheels in her bowl.

So today’s a big day, huh? Are you nervous?

Nope, she responds confidently. Mia shakes her head without shifting her eyes away from her breakfast. I already met my teacher, and she seems nice. Too bad I don’t have an apple to take to her today. Aw, man. I bet everyone’s gonna bring her an apple, she whines.

Her mouth contorts into a pout and a disappointed look spreads across her face. Before I have a chance to respond, a hint of hope fills her eyes. She gasps and shares her bright idea.

Maybe I can take Ms. Hammby something tomorrow? Can I? Can I? Can I? Mia asks anxiously.

I can’t find it in my heart to turn her down. So, I do like every other responsible parent who doesn’t want a temper tantrum before their child’s first day of school—I evade the question.

We’ll see, sweetheart. I smile softly, quickly changing the subject. Right now, I just want you to concentrate on having a great day at school today. Is that agreed?

Agreed, Mia says, then refocuses her attention to fishing cereal out of her bowl.

Waving my pen between my thumb and pointer finger, I look back down at my to-do list and try to figure out what I haven’t written down yet, and then it occurs to me. How could I have almost forgotten to ask for a deadline extension on my proposal at work? Just then the tea kettle sounds, startling me in my seat. I pull myself together and exhale deeply. Mia has just shoveled a spoonful of cereal into her mouth, but I feel her staring at me, clearly uncertain about what to do. Then she breaks out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. I join in too.

A couple of seconds later, I conjure up a pretend look of hurt and say, That wasn’t funny. Folding my arms across my chest, I bow my head pouting, similar to the way Mia does when she doesn’t get her way. She starts nodding her head and her giggles get even louder. She quickly puts her hand up to her mouth to stop the chewed-up cereal bits from flying across the table.

I quit my charade and demand that she stop laughing and chew her food. I cannot have you in here choking! I tell her in a very serious tone.

She nods and starts to chew. I stand up and remove the screaming kettle off the stove.

I know I’m a little anxious about work today, but I didn’t realize I was really that jumpy, I say, attempting to rationalize why the tea kettle scared me so.

I turn back to make sure Mia is fine, and it is not necessary for me to perform the Heimlich maneuver. That would’ve been horrible—my daughter choking on the first day of first grade. Seriously, honey. Don’t choke on your cereal, I caution her.

Once Mia finally chews the remaining cereal that had been in her mouth, she exclaims, That was funny!

Turning back to the stove, I jokingly tell her that nice little girls don’t tease their mothers.

Yes, they do, she insists, still giggling.

Okay, I must admit—it was pretty funny. I carefully pour the steaming, hot water into a mug and place a tea bag inside. The clock reads 7:00 a.m.

Mia, sweetie, eat that last bite of cereal, then go brush your teeth. The bus will be here in five minutes, I say emphatically.

Yes, Momma. It’s your fault! I would’ve been done before now, but you were making me laugh, she responds, getting up from the table to run upstairs.

And don’t forget your book bag. It’s in the chair in your room, I yell after her.

Two minutes later, Mia comes clomping back down the stairs toward me. I stand waiting at the foot of the stairs ready to walk her to the bus stop. Once she reaches the last few steps, I lean forward and give her a big hug. Then I tug at her hair bow even though it’s perfectly straight. And it should be! I tied it exactly nine times last night and made her sleep in a satin bonnet. My heart swells with a combination of joy and sadness.

Fighting back the urge to cry, I ask, Are you ready? Truthfully, I’m not sure whether I’m questioning Mia or myself.

Yes, Momma, Mia answers.

Strapping her brand-new book bag onto her back, Mia takes a few steps toward the front door. I can’t wait to make some new friends and learn some cool new stuff. Who knows? Maybe I can teach you something too. I wonder if we get to watch cartoons at school like we do at Ms. Maurice’s? she mused.

Silently reprimanding myself for wanting to fuss with her hair bow again, I look down at my six-year-old’s wondering face. I’m sure you’ll learn some cool things and make lots of friends, but I don’t think you’ll be watching T.V. at school. Plus, you can do that when you go to Ms. Maurice’s after school. You’ll probably want to play with the other kids instead of watch T.V., I tell her.

I unzip her bag, slipping her lunch box inside. Remember to get your lunch box out when it’s time for your class to go to the cafeteria.

Okay, Mia replies.

Just then I hear the faint hum of a school bus engine in the distance. It must be on the next street. We exit the house and walk about fifty yards to Mia’s assigned stop. As we approach the bus stop, I turn and see Sara and her son Jimmie walking a short distance behind us.

Good morning, I greet them with a chipper tone.

Sara smiles and says the same. Once she’s close enough, I can hear her quietly chastising Jimmie to behave in school this year or there will be some serious consequences. Before long, the yellow school bus comes screeching to a halt in front of us.

I bend down and hug Mia once more. This time a little harder than before and whisper I love you into her curly pigtail.

I love you too, Momma, but I have to go to school now. Don’t worry, I’ll see you later, she says excitedly. She flashes a careless, innocent smile at me and pats my arm reassuringly before grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the bus.

Mia ushers me toward the bus with her, then climbs up the steps.

Hi, she says, waving at the bus driver. Following her lead, I climb onto the first step and say good morning to Mr. Frasier, the driver. I watch Mia as she finds a window seat near the front, then wish Mr. Frasier safe travels before stepping back off the bus so Jimmie can board. I feel a little nauseated as I stand there on the sidewalk waving to my little girl. I watch the bus pull off. I’m still standing there even after the bus reaches the end of the street preparing to turn the corner. I blink hard, sighing even deeper.

My neighbor, Sara, catches my hesitation and places her arm around my shoulders. Up until this point, I forgot she was even there.

Hey, they’re our kids, she says gently. We knew they couldn’t stay babies forever. But we have to learn to embrace the growth stages in their life too. Jimmie’s in third grade now, but it is still hard to watch them grow up so fast.

Yeah, you’d think I would’ve gotten over this last year, when Mia went to kindergarten. I dropped her off every day, but this is her first time catching the bus, I say, fighting back a sniffle and watery eyes.

We both stop talking long enough to wave at the bus as it turns the corner. I breathe deeply, and force a smile. Thanks, Sara. What would I do without your kind words and insightful perspective about parenting?

Lisa, I’m here for you anytime, she replies. Sara gives my shoulder a squeeze before letting go.

As we walk back to our houses, I look up, noticing the fluffy white clouds above. I stare in awe at the day that God has made.

~~~

HONK! Suddenly shaken back to reality, I release my foot from the brake. God only knows how long I’ve been sitting at this green light, absorbed in my own thoughts. I throw my hand up and offer a verbal apology to the driver behind me as if he can actually hear me.

My foot pounds the gas pedal. Even though I haven’t made it to work yet, my mind is already racing at warp speed. Mentally, I’ve already rushed through the door, retrieved my mail, and spoken to Ralph, the mail guy. Once inside our office suite, I’ve also checked in with Mr. Leibert to beg for an extension on my most recent project.

As I pull into the parking lot of Leibert & Wilson Marketing, my thoughts are interrupted by the image of Mia waving to me from the window of the school bus. I release a big sigh. My child’s gonna be heading to college before I know it.

I might as well enjoy every moment of her growing up, I say to myself.

I find the closest parking space to the front of the office, turn off the ignition, and grab my briefcase. I walk quickly toward the building.

*******

Mia sat quietly staring out the window. She silently hoped that no one else would bring Ms. Hammby a gift today. The brakes on the bus screeched as it stopped to pick up more children on their way to school. The seats began to fill up quickly. Mia, however, didn’t even notice.

She wondered what they’d do at school today and how many new friends she’d make. Mia began to ponder, quietly smoothing her dress as she thought about all the things that could go wrong today: What if the other kids were mean and called her names? That’s what some of the older kids in her neighborhood did to their younger siblings. What if she had to be sent to the principal’s office on the first day, for crying on the playground?

Mia pushed the thoughts out of her mind and stared at the green, freshly mowed lawns as the bus rolled on. She felt the air squish out of the seat as a boy sat down next to her. Mia looked him over. He had red hair and freckles. He stared back at her through a pair of glasses.

Hi, she said as she stuck out her hand and smiled.

The boy had a quizzical look on his face. He used his index finger to push his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. Then he copied her, thrusting his hand out to shake hers.

Hello, my name is Thomas, he said. The little boy continued to pump Mia’s arm up and down until she started to giggle.

I’m Mia. Good to meet you, Thomas, said Mia. She thought a moment, then continued. I don’t know why grown-ups shake hands when they first meet, but my mom does it. So, I guess that’s what we’re supposed to do too. She shrugged.

Thomas shriveled up his nose. He said, Yeah, my dad does it all the time, except he always has this funny look on his face. He’s a used car salesman.

The little boy let go of her hand and started to imitate the facial expressions his father always made. Mia watched him and laughed a little louder this time. When she caught her breath, Mia said, You and I are going to be good friends, Thomas.

That’s when she felt her stomach start to knot up. Thomas had only distracted her for a moment. Swallowing hard, she turned to him and confessed her worst fears. I’m nervous about my first day. Are you? she asked.

Thomas pushed his glasses up on his nose again and replied, Nah. What’s there to be scared of?

Mia looked down at her lap. Sitting quietly, she started to replay all the horrible things that could go wrong.

*******

As I walk up to the building, I see Bernadette making her way to the sidewalk. My lower back tightens from anxiety. I roll my eyes and pout my lips. Oh great, just what I need this morning. Loudmouth Bernadette asking me about my business as an icebreaker right before she proceeds to tell me about everyone else’s. As if I’d EVER tell that two-faced hussy anything! I quicken my steps, with hopes of avoiding an encounter with her altogether.

Heeyyy, Lisa! she shouts from across the parking lot. I clench my shoulders, freezing dead in my tracks, close my eyes, and say a quick prayer for a cloak of invisibility. Maybe she didn’t see me. Maybe she was talking to someone else. Standing with my hand poised on the door, I hear her heels clippety-clopping against the concrete as she engages in a speedy trot toward me.

Hold that door open, Lisa. I got my hands full this morning, Bernadette blares from down the sidewalk.

Dang! It’s too late! She did see me, and since God didn’t bless me with the ability to spontaneously become invisible, I now have to employ my own defense mechanism. Grimacing slightly, I look up toward heaven. You really do have a sense of humor. It’s times like these that make me feel like the butt of the joke, I say out loud.

Bernadette is completely out of breath when she finally makes it to the door that I’ve been holding for what now seems like an eternity. Before she gets halfway through, she asks, Girl, who you talking to? Her eyes twinkle with a hint of curiosity. I blush, immediately embarrassed that my tongue-lashing at God was actually heard by a human.

Ah, I . . . was just thinking out loud, I explain, immediately looking the other way as we start walking through the lobby area. After the first few steps, Bernadette stops walking and throws me a doubtful look.

Uhhh, if you say so, she says, then shakes her head in disbelief. Brushing off my brash behavior, she continues the conversation.

Well, anyway, thanks for holding the door. Girl, your car turned on two wheels when you entered the parking lot! I watched you pull into a parking space and hop out of your car. I almost didn’t think I was gonna catch you.

Bernadette starts to walk slowly, and then acts as though she just remembered something. Purposefully ignoring the lull in her pace, I continue walking my normal quick speed. I desperately hope to leave her in the dust as my heels echo against the marble floor. My luck just ain’t that good, though. Bernadette pumps her short, stubby legs to catch up with me again. Even though she’s juggling an oversized load of papers and folders, she still manages to tap me on the arm.

She gasps. Girl, she starts, then smacks her tongue against her teeth before spewing the latest gossip. Guess what I heard about Mr. Wilson. Mmhmm. He’s got a new office bimbo, and you’ll never guess who it is! I know cuz when I heard about it, I almost fell outta my chair, she exclaims.

I press the elevator button and decide to shut Bernadette up before she really gets started.

Ya know, I hate to interrupt you, Bernadette, but I almost forgot. I need to get my mail. I didn’t give her another second to continue on with her meddling. She couldn’t talk that fast even if she wanted to; I was moving like a track star, agile and graceful in my five-inch stilettos.

See ya later. I readily dismiss myself, making a quick getaway. I listen proudly to the steady staccato of my pumps against the marble flooring. Halfway across the floor, I pass the receptionist’s desk. Good morning, Cheryl.

She looks up as I pass by her desk. Good morning, she replies smugly.

I’m not sure which staffing agency placed her in this building, but she was definitely a bad business decision. Cheryl always has a bad attitude, and she rarely ever smiles. The whole time she’s been here, I’ve never had a single interaction when she was even the slightest bit pleasant. Even now, she presses her lips into a visibly inauthentic smile just before raising a coffee mug up to her blood-red stained lips. At least I’ll be greeted by a pleasant face in the mailroom.

Exiting the lobby, I turn the corner and enter the room.

Mornin’ Mr. Ralph, I say as I enter the mailroom and stop just beyond the door.

Mr. Ralph is a hardworking, darker-skinned man in his late sixties. He has a head full of wiry, gray hair and a moustache to match. Brown-framed bifocals adorn his face. The straps of his unfastened back brace are placed securely on his shoulders. The black protective garment is practically a permanent piece of his company uniform. Mr. Ralph stops working and looks up from the delivery bin.

"Now, there’s my angel. You’d think with all that money you make, you could afford