The Mammy Whisperer

Charms adorned the clogs next to her bed. The bonnet already topped her head, and after her slumber, Kalisha Himmers did not remove it. Her skin looked like shea butter. At five foot even, two hundred forty pounds, she had donned a black Makaveli T-shirt size three X. Blue, gray, and white pajama bottoms with dolphins wrapped her backside. She peered in the mirror and shrugged. Kalisha then put on her clogs.

She owned a townhouse and a midnight blue Japanese economy car. The payments for such items stemmed from her work as a manager at the nearest burger joint. Between shifts, she studied cosmetology at FIrst State Community College. Today, she remained away from her academic and employment responsibilities. In moments, she would meet a specialist…a man of skill. As she bounded downstairs to the kitchen, she found eight frozen chicken fingers and placed four frozen waffles in the toaster.

“Turn on Music Channel,” she commanded as she looked to the table for butter and the pantry for syrup and the refrigerator for hot sauce. Hip hop music blared out from the speakers covering the portions of her walls. Black leather seating and white fluffy floors gave her place a sense of unity. The waffles popped up and the chicken fingers dinged in the air fryer. She looked at her watch and thought about meeting this man at the park. As she chomped on a syrupy piece of waffle, she contemplated the meetup. On social media, she had discovered someone not to date or even get to know as a friend, but to rearrange her weight, her perspective, her life. She finished up her breakfast and journeyed to Glasgow Park in Newark, Delaware.

Once she parked her car, she walked over to the place where benches had been constructed. It was seven o’clock in the morning. They had agreed to catch up at seven fifteen. She sat down and crossed her legs and looked at her phone. By scrolling, she got the rush that was like sugar sent straight to the brain. On various platforms, she looked at funny videos, chatted with complete strangers, and posted everything but this so far phantom encounter. Until a man ambled up to her.

“You’re Kalisha.”

“Mr. Brenner St. Vincent.”

“Call me Brenner.”

“Okay.”

“May I?” He motioned towards the bench.

“Yes, yes,” she said.

“I wanted to meet you somewhere open and public. I wish to get right to the crux of the matter, if you don’t mind….”

“No. Let’s go.”

“You're a Foundational Black American. You’re a woman. You are overweight. You’re wearing a bonnet and house wear to this meeting. I know you’re about your business and I thank you for the DollarTake deposit.”

“You’re welcome.”

“But I, like many people, saw the video of you throwing that cheeseburger at that patron.”

Kalisha’s face lowered a bit. Then she brought it up. “They had it coming. They called me out of my name.”

“That’s nothing. You’re fortunate your boss didn’t terminate you or downgrade your position. Your argument may fare well with the franchise owner, but not with me.” St. Vincent spoke with a sternness that almost unnerved himself.

“What do I need to do to improve?”

“You can start by eating leaner meats and vegetables, acquiring a wardrobe that befits a young business lady like yourself, and not flying off of the handle.” Kalisha breathed in sharply and placed her feet squarely on the ground.

“You’ve got skills. You’re not the traditional or historical mammy, but you’re mammy 2.0. You’re belligerent, incorrigible right now, and you have saving graces. You were on time, you go to school, maintain a household, and you’re courteous. Unless challenged, you’re on the path to sophistication and class. If you’re going to be a prim and proper lady, you’ve got to stop fighting the stereotypes.”

“I know. But what does all that mean?” Kalisha queried with a look of malcontent coloring her face. She didn’t enjoy being out in the August humidity and wished to sit in her car and blast the air conditioning and cry.

“It means that with a few adjustments, we can get you to a place of fitness, both mental and physical. The classic mammy always smiled and took care of everyone but herself. I’m going to show you a philosophy which espouses egoism over altruism.”

“Altruism?”

“Yes it means self-death. Egoism is the exact opposite. It shows you how to have concern for your values without violating the rights of others.”

“That was part of the stereotype….”

“What?” he asked.

“The selfless mammy….”

“Yes, of course. The classic coal black mammy washed, fed, and took after the little white children and forsook her own on many instances. She held an overly pleasant disposition, even when the time called for her to be serious and protect herself.”

“I’m not like that.”

“As we’ve seen….”

Kalisha sucked her teeth.

“If we are going to be honest with ourselves, we’re going to need to discuss dietary concerns, gym membership, proper attire, and attitude adjustment,” St. Vincent intoned.

“I agree.”

“You’ve gotta. To shrug off the stigma of the mammy, it requires complete dedication to craft and precision. You’ll have to eat right, get your figure together, buy decent clothes, and lose the ill temper.”

“You just said that….” Kalisha replied.

“I know. Repetition is key here. I have to illustrate it so your mind’s eye can feast upon the tiny details. You can do this, and you sent a great donation so I’m glad about that.” He paused and canted his head. “I’ll be more happy when you transform into the lady you’re supposed to be.”

“How long could that take?” Kalisha asked.

St. Vincent shrugged. “I’ve set up a free year at the local fitness center. There are discounts to online prepared meals. You can shop with your girlfriends or by yourself, actually, for clothes that look like female conservative talk show hosts.”

“You’re doing all of this for me?”

“Well, you paid me in advance. I’ve gotta hold up my side of this arrangement.”

Kalisha stood up which prompted St. Vincent to rise as well. They shook hands.

“I’m going to be doing wellness checks on you every week to track your progress. If it is okay with you, I would like to bring a film crew along to see how you perform.”

Kalisha didn’t even consider it further. “Yes, that’s okay with me.”

“It’s settled. I’ll see you next week.”

In time, Kalisha sipped sugary strawberry soda and spicy pork chops. She plopped down on her couch after work and watched television shows depicting irate brides before their wedding. As she nibbled on soft baked cookies as her dessert and whole milk, the twinge of sadness pervaded her consciousness. Why couldn’t she just eat whatever she wanted and wear whatever she wanted? She knew in the morning St. Vincent would be there and she would have to go on a scale. She at least made an effort to dress in a more appropriate manner. A pair of blue jeans and a white blouse replaced the t-shirt and pajama bottoms. Nevertheless, she still wore her clogs.

The doorbell chimed. St. Vincent came through on his suggestion. A beefy guy with jeans and a black t-shirt followed by two black women carrying tablets stood at Kalisha’s doorstep. The women looked slim and well-dressed without being too formal. She opened the door.

“You look great,” St. Vincent remarked. “Have you ever had shoes without charms, though?”

“Good morning, Brenner.”

“This is the crew, Homan, Julina, and Daphne.”

Homan manned the camera and just put up his thumb.

“Okay so I’m going to let you and these two ladies help you get undressed and weigh you.”

Down to her bra and underwear, Kalisha looked at the number on the scale. It read two hundred and fifty-one. She got dressed again and came into St. Vincent’s presence with the camera following Kalisha’s every move.

“We’re going backwards, aren’t we?”

“It looks like it….” Kalisha responded, sucking her teeth.

“It takes time. It’s okay. I’m only going to let you be this way for however long it takes. When we….”

“I’ll do it.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“I think we have enough material for the show. Just sign this release form and we’ll be on our way.”

Kalisha grabbed the stylus and signed Daphne’s tablet. St.Vincent and company left the house and waited for their subject to change for physical fitness. Kalisha rushed up to her room and turned on the light in her closet. She opened the drawers to her chifforobe. She put on gym attire, joggers and a t-shirt and sweatband. In moments, she collected all of the clothes in a bag and tossed them in her garbage bin. Next, she entered her car and drove to the gym. A trainer had already been set up for her. Homan’s Camera rolled as St. Vincent, Julina, and Daphne all counted on seeing the interaction between the two women.

“My name is Harlem. You can guess I’m not from Delaware originally from my name.” She was about five foot five inches with braids tied into a bun on top of her head. Her skin looked like graphite and she possessed honey brown eyes. Though slim, she still projected slight curves in her figure and not an ounce of fat.

“We’re going to start off light. We’re going to get on the treadmill and just walk for half an hour, nothing too strenuous. Okay?”

Kalisha nodded in agreement.

“Now, this is the beginning of your journey. You have everything all set for you, now,” St. Vincent pointed out.

“Yes, I know,” Kalisha made plain.

After an hour’s worth of gym time, Homan would go to the studio in Wilmington and edit it. About eight minutes would be available for the Internet show. Showered and wearing black slacks and a red button down shirt, Kalisha found her way to the mall. The crew obtained permits in advance to record in the shopping center. St. Vincent folded his arms and walked as Kalisha tried on dresses and skirts. Kalisha sprang from the dressing room like a puma. Her right hand stretched to the sky while her left hand planted firmly on her waist. Colors burst. Orange and gray. Purple and white. Green and gold. She picked up an array of pumps to match her dresses.

“My wife would be proud of you,” St. Vincent acknowledged. “But I’m more proud of you for your transformation. Once we get your weight down, we’ll be able to see you in these garments. Buy them now and replace what you threw away today.”

Kalisha swiped her credit card and left the store with heavy bags. In another week, she had eaten powdered donuts and watched more TV. She had not been in the gym at that time. St. Vincent showed up to her house again with the Web show crew. He rang the doorbell. Kalisha opened the door wearing a dress that was too tight and shoes where her flesh bulged. A bonnet sat atop her head.

St. Vincent’s eyes widened.

“What is happening? What is going on right now?”

“I can’t do this,” Kalisha whined. “I like being my size, I like my clogs with charms. I like donuts. I go to work like anyone else and goddamnit, I have the right as an American citizen to be as big as I wanna be!”

“That’s not what we agreed on but if you want to renege on that deal, you of course as you say, ‘have the right.’ I cannot force you to be anything but you are. But I won’t call you mammy, I’ll call you Kalisha.” Bulbous tears streaked Kalisha’s face.

“I get it. I get it. You’re alright. Once you become able to recognize the agreement, I’ll be here for you.”

“Thank you, Brenner. I’m sorry. I didn’t want it like this. But this is how it’s going to be…for now.”

“Yes. The door is always open.”

Homan captured every moment of this brief exchange. It would be chopped down to two minutes. St. Vincent and his staff gathered themselves and traveled back to Wilmington to properly format and add the right touches to the video. During the ride, his cellphone buzzed.

He looked at the display. Like a charm in one of her clogs, an emoji showing running shoes and a treadmill appeared. St. Vincent grinned, thinking of the possibility of Kalisha’s redemption.