The Little Girl Who Sucked Away Her Thumb

Mama Hildegard had a story for everything and I loved to listen to them

image by Ulkar — purchased by the author

Mama Hildegard had a way with words. She knew how to take a sentence, spin it into a silken thread, and laden it with sparkling beads. She was a born storyteller and a bright beacon in my childhood. She delighted my siblings and me for hours on end between sips of sun tea and the creak of her old rockin’ chair.

When I was four or five years old, I got a rare day on my own with Mama Hildegard. It was a typical Louisiana summer, hot and humid. I’d
spent the cool part of the morning with Mama, pulling weeds from the small garden she kept nestled along the fence. My legs were sweaty and itching from okra fuzz, and the taste of sun-warmed tomatoes were still ripe on
my lips.

We sat on the screened-in porch taking a breather. My feet dangled bare and free under the porch swing. The sounds of mosquitoes tapping to get in and wind chimes joined the chorus of ice clinking against Mama Hildegard’s mason jar and the creaking of the old rockin’ chair.

Mama Hildegard regarded me from beneath the brim of her big gardening hat. She pulled her garden gloves from her hands, first one, then the other. She took one long swallow from her jar of…