Tarboro Street

The brick walkway leading to the front door of 826 Tarboro Street was uneven in places, a brick or two dislodged from its original location, and grass sprouted in between the crevices. It was beautiful.

826 Tarboro Street, in Rocky Mount, North Carolina, is where Mama Bette (my grandmother) and Granddaddy Kenneth (whom I never met) raised their three daughters, the oldest of which was my mom. Even though Mama Bette died when I was 12, my memories of her and her house are vivid and easy to recall. I thank God for that. Sometimes I wake up in the mornings and I miss her. I don't often recall dreaming about her, but for whatever reason, I sometimes wake up missing Mama Bette.



Melissa, Mama Bette, Susan, Mom

From left to right: Melissa, Mom, and Susan playing in their playhouse
in the backyard of 826 Tarboro.

 

 Her house was two stories and brick, the living room with the piano on the right when you first walked in, the stairwell and dining room to the left. Oriental rugs covered the hardwood floors, and down the back hallway was a bench, where baby dolls and stuffed animals sat, waiting for Drew, Betsy, Anne Rogers, Meg, and me to come play. In the den was Mama Bette's chair, next to a round end table in the corner, always lit up by the lamp on top. Around the corner was the kitchen: the refrigerator (where she always hid a Snickers and a Coke), the old, black rotary-style phone that Drew, the Smyth girls, and I loved to play with, and the oblong kitchen table, which now sits in my house, a piece of my mama's upbringing greeting me every morning when I eat my cereal, the imprint of her grade school homework still visible in the wood.

826 Tarboro Street.
This is a drawing Melissa had made and
gave to Mom and Aunt Susan for Christmas one year.

For the cousins, our visits to Mama Bette's house always included visits to her neighbors: the woman next door, who poured us the sourest lemonade I've ever tasted and served a platter of lady fingers--every time we went. And the sisters who lived in a house along the back alley and who "would just be so tickled to see us". I know it's not true, but in my mind all three women were named Margaret. And on that note, why two sisters--old and both named Margaret--would live together confused me, scared me, and made for eerie visits. But, Drew, the Smyths, and I did it for Mama Bette.

The little things are by far the sweetest memories. A friend of mine, who lost her mother several years ago, always talks about how she misses her mom's hands. I get that. I am so thankful for the little things I remember about Mama Bette, like her jingle every time we pulled into the back alley behind her house: Home again, home again, jiggity jig. The sight of her bathrobe draped over the bathroom door, and her vanity, covered in tubes of makeup and dusty from powder. The hair dryer chair in Melissa and Susan's old room upstairs, that, if I'm honest, I admit kind of scared me. The fact that Mama Bette loved to wear yellow and looked beautiful in it. The McDonalds ice cream sundaes and the trips to the Carlton House, where we obediently ate the first and second courses because we knew the Neapolitan ice cream cake awaited us if we did. The Christmas trip to Richmond to see the "real" Santa Claus.

The little things.

Top: Mama Bette, Susan Pittman, Meg, Mom, Melissa
Bottom: Drew, Betsy, Anne Rogers, me

Mom used to talk a lot about the little things, too. I wish I could recount every last one of her stories about growing up on 826 Tarboro Street. I can hear her talking about Bernice, the housekeeper, who called Dad Mr. Ricks. And about the yard man who helped Kenneth clean out the gutters and said excuse me every time he walked in front of the dog. And about how mom sewed her own clothes for school dances.

This is Bernice. What a treasure this picture is!

I pray the Lord will bring more and more of these little things to my mind over the years, whether they're my own memories, reminders of stories mom used to tell, or stories from the mouths of Aunt Susan and Aunt Melissa, who remember 826 Tarboro Street the way I remember Heartley Drive. Where you grew up will always be home. I am so thankful for my aunts.

I must admit: It's not morning right now, but I sure miss Mama Bette.



Mama Bette (top right) with her sisters-in-law. Dilly is on the bottom right.

Drew (7), Betsy (1), Mama Bette, me (4). Mothers' Day 1986