What was your first memory? Does it begin with the warm feeling of your caretaker, telling you the whole world belongs to you? Or perhaps with the taste of a freshly baked pie, sliding smoothly down your throat while it sends an automatic jolt of excitement throughout your young body? Or maybe, if you were a slave like I am, it was the roars of the animalistic overseer, each insult, with every beating strike with not an iota of feeling, but only the disgust that he bore for you.
Mine came before all of that. It was a dark void, wet and slimy, endless and silent, as the walls of my prison pressed in, trying to force me out. Then I heard two voices. One was an angel crying out to the Lord itself, as the other voice I would come to recognize, screaming, "PUSH!" — with a stern, commanding, impossible-to-ignore command. The commands grew louder and louder, merging with the screams of the weeping angel, echoing in the darkness around me.
"I don't think I'm going to make it, Big Mama," I heard suddenly from the angel, her voice trembling, a mixture of fear and pain
"Listen here now, Betty!" replied the commanding voice, firm but warm. "Ya are not going to die here, ya hear me? All you need to do is focus on giving birth to that strong baby! Now push with all your might!"
The walls of my prison pressed tighter, forcing me away from the only place I had ever known.
"Push, push! I see his head! You can do it. Now push, you hear?"
"I... I can't, Big Mama. I can't. I'm losing strength."
And as the angel's voice began to fade, I saw a small flicker of light, faint but insistent. An urgent pulse surged through me, driving me forward. My head felt like it was emerging from a dark cave, drawn toward the flickers that promised warmth and life.
"Push! Push!" Big Mama's voice rang in my ears, fierce and unwavering.
But my creator—my angel, my mother—grew quieter, her answers fading, slower and slower, as more of me forced its way into the world. Every ounce of strength inside me burned with urgency, as if the light itself was guiding me out of the dark prison.
Then I felt a warm touch as I began to emerge from my cocoon, drawn into life. When my eyes opened, the world was drenched in an orangish-red glow — candles flickering in every corner of the little cabin, their flames trembling like they too feared what was coming.
"Betty, you better not give up on me now! He's almost out, you hear? Now push!" Big Mama's voice cracked, urgent but still carrying hope.
"Big... Mama... I have little left to give..." My mother's words grew softer with each
breath, her strength slipping away as more of me came into the world.
Soon her voice faded entirely. The only sounds left were Big Mama's desperate cries for her to push — and my own shrill wail as I finally emerged.
I was placed onto her arms, and I looked up and glared at the woman who pulled me into this world. Big Mama was beautiful in a way that bypassed the limitations of age. Her hair, a cascade of black with hints of grey, curled wildly around her face with splashes of sweat and blood on her face. Her skin, dark and worn, while her face glowed with the fire from the candles, every line of every wrinkle on her face telling a hardship yet refusing to surrender. She wore scraps of cloth, fabric barely worth being called a dress but on her it seemed like the robes of a queen.
Big Mama held me tightly with one arm while reaching for the scissors with the other. With quick, practiced hands, she cut my umbilical cord. When it was done, she began wiping my face, clearing away the blood and tears that clung to me.
But the room had gone quiet. Too quiet. My mother's silence made Big Mama falter, and for the first time in my life — and perhaps the last — I saw fear in her eyes. Her voice shook as she leaned closer.
"Betty," she whispered, her tone trembling. "Please... say somethin', now, ya hear? You did it. You gave birth to a strong baby boy."
She bent toward my mother, holding me in her hands like proof that all the pain had been worth it.
"My... my... baby..." My mother's voice was faint, no stronger than a breath. Big Mama gripped her shoulders, shaking her gently.
"Lord, please help us," Big Mama cried into the room, while heavy footsteps above us rattled the ceiling.
"Big Mama... give me my baby... let me hold him once, at least." Even as a newborn, I felt the weight of them words—the last wish of a weeping angel.
Big Mama understood. She wiped her tears and steadied herself, then placed me into my mother's arms. For the first time, I turned my head to her. She was nothing less than perfect. Smooth, dark skin. Beautiful hazel eyes that seemed to glow, even in that dim light. When her gaze met mine, I was caught—trapped in such a spell I couldn't muster a single cry.
"He's beautiful," she whispered with a faint smile, before glancing up at Big Mama.
"He looks just like you... and his daddy," she added, with a weak chuckle before sinking back against the bed.
"Big Mama... can you please make sure my son's alright, when I'm gone?" Her words were a plea, a thread tying her fading spirit to me.
"Betty, stop all that now. You're just tired, that's all, and—"
Before she could finish, my mother's hand shot out, gripping her wrist tight.
"Promise me, Judy... Promise me..." Her voice broke, begging, desperate.
Big Mama's eyes filled again, but her voice held steady. "I will. Now hush with all this crazy talk. Ya gon' make it, ya hear? Now... what you gon' name this baby, Betty?"
After a short while and the thumbing sounds from earlier evolve into a sound closer to the sound of restless hands on a drum beating away without a care for the world.
"Isiah will be his name... isn't that cute" she gently said.
My mother struggles to pull me closer but does it anyway kissing my forehead with a soft embrace.
"That's a beautiful name and a strong name at that" She puts a rag on top of my mother's forehead.
"Isiah listen now keep these words in your heart-" looks at me with a great intensity even with her weakened state.
"You are strong do not ever let them tell you different. You are beautiful do not ever let them tell you different. Even if nobody on earth, heaven, or hell loves you; I will love you. You have to live. You will live. You won't die a slave like me. You will become great."
She kisses my forehead one more time looking down at me smiles the biggest smile.
"Isiah, I love you." Then my mother closed her eyes with echoes of Big Mama's plea for my mother to wake up. As my cries started to match the heavy rain that poured on our roof in that little cabin. An angel has fallen. The angel has died.