It's Not All Downhill From Here

by Terry McMillan

“You mean your age?”

  “You damn straight. I want to date somebody who has at least ten years left to live. Anyway, I have a date tomorrow night with a fella who looks like he’s still alive.”

  “What did you change your age to?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “Sixty?”

  She threw a bag of pink cotton balls at me. “Fifty-five. I thought that was an exciting number.”

  “What do you expect to get out of this, Ko?”

  “That is a dumbass question, Loretha.”

  “Well, I know you’re not interested in having sex.”

  “What is wrong with you? Of course I want to have sex.”

  “But you don’t know these guys.”

  “I will after we have sex.”

  “Well, good luck, you old ho,” I said.

  And at that we both started laughing even though I found this to be quite scary. I had no idea Korynthia was really serious about going on a dating site. What’s the point at our age?

  “Hey, I can’t breathe in here with all this dust. Can we go outside?” she asked.

  “I suppose so.”

  “Anyway, Lo, do me a favor. Don’t tell the girls about any of this, please.”

  “I won’t. They’d only be jealous. Well, not Sadie, since she’s got a married lover.”

  “I still find that hard to believe. Sadie was never smart, but I didn’t know she was stupid.”

  I crossed my arms and looked at my sad building, which you wouldn’t even know was here unless you knew it was here. And just as I had done when Kwame asked, I heard myself say, “I’m going to look for a nicer, bigger place. It’s time to make a change.”

  Korynthia gave me a high five. “Hey, have you had any offers on the L.A. store?”

  “I had taken it off the market for a minute because I started getting queries and was not prepared to deal with all the energy and time it took. But I just put it back on.”

  “Well, let me know if you need some help or company when you start looking for a better location for this ugly place. Remember, I do have a real estate license, so I have access to all listings. But I will only be available afternoons.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I couldn’t wait around for you to hire me, so I got a part-time job.”

  “Doing what?” I asked.

  “I teach a cardio and strength-training class for seniors at my gym.”

  “What, you mean like that SilverSneakers business?”

  “Yes, and even though I know you probably won’t come and work out with your own kind, you need to think about doing some kind of exercise on a regular basis, Lo.”

  “Please cut me some slack, Korynthia. This is my second lecture from you in an hour.”

  “It’s called love, huzzie.”

  And she walked over and bent her six-one body down and gave me the biggest squeeze, then kissed me on my forehead.

  “And I don’t like that shade of silver you got. It looks too much like Cruella de Vil.”

  I gave her the finger.

  Right after she left, I dialed Dr. Alexopolous’s office. It was Saturday, but I decided to leave a message anyway.

  “Hello, this is Loretha Curry calling to find out if Dr. Alexopolous received my test results. Since I haven’t heard back, I’m hoping it’s good news. I’ve been doing my very best to cut down on sweets and carbs, and I recently joined a gym and have been exercising with SilverSneakers. It’s so refreshing to work out with people my age. Anyway, I’ve already lost about four pounds and am hoping to lose about thirty more by my birthday, which gives me about five months. I look forward to hearing from you soon. Again, this is Loretha Curry.”

  I don’t know why I lied.

  Yes, I do. Because I want it to be true.

  * * *

  —

  The next day I was in the Petco parking lot, having just bought B. B. King some new rawhide bones and a thirty-pound bag of his anti-arthritis food. I was loading the giant bag into the back of the Volvo when it slipped out of my hands, splattering brown kernels all over the asphalt. I just stood there and watched them roll. I was on the verge of crying as I thought about how Carl and then Kwame always did this for me.

  “Just leave that, ma’am,” I heard a young male voice say. “I’ll run and get you another bag.”

  When I turned around, he looked like he didn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds, but I just said, “Thank you, young man.”

  “Next time, ask for help. That’s what we’re here for. I’ll be right back.”

  And off he went.

  I felt my cellphone shiver, and I was surprised to see a text from Odessa.

  I need to talk to you about something important. Can you meet me at Carroll’s Diner if you’re not too busy? It’s VERY important.

  I texted her back. Give me about ten minutes.

  Of course, I was wondering what could be so important and I was just praying she didn’t need to borrow any more money. I was tired of saying yes and felt it was time for me to start saying no. I was already coating myself with some invisible armor to prepare for her latest sob story.

  “Here you go, ma’am.”

  He slid the bag in the back of the wagon and lowered the door. I tried to hand him a ten-dollar bill and he waved his hand no. I stuffed it in his shirt pocket anyway.

  “Never turn down a tip,” I said. “And thank you.”

  * * *

  —

  Odessa waved to me from the window. She was sitting in a booth. As usual, there was a worried look on her face. I wish she would wear makeup and stop frowning so much. I can’t remember the last time I saw my sister smile.

  I waved back.

  When I got inside she jumped up to give me a hug. Her breasts felt larger than they used to, and she was squishy. I wondered if I felt the same to her? She was wearing baggy blue jeans and a purple sweatshirt even though it was eighty degrees outside.

  I sat down.

  “So,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “I have to move out of the guesthouse.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the new owners have evicted me. They’ve given me twenty-four hours.”

  “Can they do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “But why did they just decide?”

  “I knew they wanted me out because they were going to start renovating, but they hadn’t given me a timeline. We don’t really get along, after all they’re living in what used to be my house and have made me feel like a squatter. I guess they’re just fed up with dealing with me.”

  “I’m sorry, Odessa.”

  “Do you have any vacancies at the apartment?”

  “I think I have a one-bedroom.”

  “I would really prefer two. Doesn’t that Kwame live in a two-bedroom?”

  “He did, yes.”

  “Can’t he move into the one-bedroom?”

  She has so much nerve I almost can’t stand it.

  “No, he cannot. He swapped with Cinnamon and Jonas when they had the babies. I do have a two-bedroom coming up, but it won’t be ready for a couple of weeks.”

  “I have to be out by tomorrow.”

  “Goddamnit, Odessa! And I meant goddamnit, so don’t even think about correcting me.”

  “Can I stay with you for two weeks?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it just won’t work and because B. B. King doesn’t like you.”

  “Well, the feeling is mutual. Anyway, what am I supposed to do?”

  I just looked at her. I cannot believe we’re twins.

  “You can stay at one of those long-term-stay places. Oakwood Apartments, I think they’re called. They’re clean.”
<
br />   “You need a credit card to stay there and mine is maxed out.”

  “What about your social security, Odessa?”

  “I only get about seventeen hundred a month and I have a lot of bills.”

  I didn’t even feel like asking what kinds of bills, so I just said, “I’ll put it on one of my cards.”

  “Thank you, Sis. But let me ask you this, what floor is the two-bedroom on? Is the kitchen updated?”

  * * *

  —

  Three weeks later she moved in.

  She called me once she was settled. “I can’t wait for you to see how I’ve decorated the apartment!”

  “Have you seen Cinnamon and Jonas and the twins yet?”

  “No.”

  “Have you bothered to say hi?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, I’m not crazy about babies and I’m not crazy about Jonas and Cinnamon either. They’re such hippies. It’s like they’re stuck in a time warp and think it’s the seventies.”

  “Well, I love them.”

  “I’ll be cordial when I do see them, I promise,” she said. “But guess what? I got a job. I’m working as an attendant at a senior facility: the one Ma’s in.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Take a wild guess, Loretha.”

  “You don’t work with Ma, I hope.”

  “Why in God’s name would you say it like that?”

  “It just doesn’t seem like that would be healthy for her.”

  “Really? And why not?”

  “Because you make her too emotional.”

  “Like you don’t? Anyway, I work in a completely different wing, with patients who have more problems than Ma.”

  “Ma doesn’t have problems, Odessa. She’s just old and occasionally has a hard time remembering things.”

  “Anyway, I have to go. I need my rest to deal with those old folks. I work the evening shift.”

  And she hung up.

  * * *

  —

  The following morning, I woke up and reached for my cellphone, but it wasn’t there. I bolted straight up because I always put it on the nightstand. But then I remembered I had taken my shower, put on my pajamas and bathrobe, sat in Carl’s chair, and taken one of Ma’s newest envelopes out of the basket, which was full again. Reading Ma’s letter was the last thing I remembered doing. I looked in my purse but the phone wasn’t in there. I was trying to remember the last time I used it, but I couldn’t. I put my robe on and walked into the kitchen to look, but decided I would eat something first because I knew the only other place it could be was the car and my stomach was growling. I grabbed the tasteless granola, some raspberries, and low-fat milk and sat down at the kitchen table to pretend I was enjoying it.

  B. B. King started whining to go out and when I reached for the doorknob, I thought I was seeing things, because there in the driveway was Jalecia’s car and she was slumped against the steering wheel inside it.

  I flung the door open so fast it forced B. B. King to jump off the small landing. I reached into the pocket of my robe for my phone to dial 911 but, of course, it wasn’t in there. I tried to open the car door but it was locked. I yelled as loud as I could and banged on the window, “Jalecia!” She leaned back slowly, rolled the window down, looked at me, smiled, and in a slurred voice said, “I just stopped by for a quick visit. I was on my way home.”

  She was still drunk.

  But I didn’t care. I was just relieved she was breathing.

  I reached into the window, opened the car door, wrapped my arms around her waist, squeezed her as tight as I could, and helped her inside. She smelled like alcohol, which I was almost grateful for, given the alternatives. When we got inside the kitchen, I rubbed my hand up and down her back and looked at her glazed eyes, her balmy skin, her short Afro, and her chapped lips. This woman who is my only daughter suddenly looked just like me when I was her age, and I kissed her forehead and her cheeks and I said, “You are home.”

  “That’s good to know. I just need to lie down for a minute,” Jalecia said, as I helped her walk up the steps like she was handicapped. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. I led her to the guest bedroom, which was right down the short hallway from Carl’s and mine.

  When I opened the door, I was glad Kwame had moved out. Even though there’s another bedroom down the hall, she would be close enough to hear in this one. She pushed her sneakers off, then pulled up the throw at the foot of the bed. She fell on one side so her head landed on a pillow and within seconds she was snoring. I backed out of the room slowly and closed the door as gently as I could.

  Once in the living room, I walked in circles trying to decide what I should do. Ma’s envelope was still open on the table from the night before. Inside it was a smaller pink envelope with a flimsy, yellowed piece of notebook paper in it and a Post-it stuck to the front.

  “Found this in my scrapbook. I wrote this to you, the future you, when you left for college. Anyway I’m sending it now.” I decided to read the letter again.

  “Dear Loretha. I have a lot of regrets and I’m not even forty yet. But I don’t regret having you and Odessa. Well, that’s not all the way true. What I regret is having you when I had you. I wish I had waited. I wish I had had a husband to help me raise you both. But just make sure you don’t give yourself away to the highest bidder. And don’t be a cheap date, as the saying goes. If you’re reading this and you’re over forty, I hope you are doing what you want with your life. I hope you are more patient than I was because none of us are perfect. You will stumble but figure out how to get back up. Ask for help if you can’t and if someone else needs it, give it to them. I hope you understand what I mean. Love, Mom. P.S. And have some fun! Get on as many airplanes as possible! The only reason I’ve ever been to the airport was to pick somebody up.”

  As I folded the notebook paper and put it back in the pink envelope, which was inside the white one I had bought her, I wondered if Ma had written more of these letters. But this one was what I needed today.

  I got up and walked down the hall to check on Jalecia, who I knew was still sleeping because I could hear her snoring. I decided it was safe for me to take a shower. But by the time I got dressed and walked out into the hallway, I saw her bedroom door was open, and the bed was empty. I rushed to the kitchen and, through the window, I saw that the only car in the driveway was mine.

  I sat down at the table, folded my arms, and lowered my forehead on top of them. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to help my daughter because she didn’t seem like she wanted help or knew she needed it. But I couldn’t just abandon her. I didn’t want to just sit by and watch her fall and not be able to get back up.

  * * *

  —

  I took B. B. King on a short walk to the corner and back, then put him in the backyard by the pool. He had a spot he liked under the tree, and a bone. He liked to watch squirrels and birds from there, and every once in a while he would capture a snake.

  I got inside the Volvo and I almost lost it when I heard my phone ringing under the front seat. There it was! I reached down and pulled it out, answering louder than I should have.

  “Hello?”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Curry. This is Shana calling from Dr. Alexopolous’s office. Are you okay?”

  “Hello, Shana. Yes, I’m okay, I suppose. I’ve been waiting to hear back from Dr. Alexopolous about my test results. And because I haven’t, I assumed no news meant good news.”

  “I’ve left three messages for you at your work number.”

  “Work?”

  “The last receptionist accidentally deleted the files for patient home and cell numbers from the computer, which is why she’s no longer working here, so all we had was your work number. I see from your file that you left us a message about a m
onth ago but you didn’t leave a contact number. We mailed you your results and a letter instructing you to contact us. When we didn’t hear back, we finally called the pharmacist to get your cell number, which is why I’m calling you now.”

  “So, where’s the doctor?”

  “Dr. Alexopolous is at a medical conference in New York, where her daughter also goes to college.”

  I wanted to yell: Am I going to live or what? but instead I said, “So were you calling about my results?”

  “You should have a message from the doctor on your work voicemail, but your A1C was eight-point-three, which is much too high. The doctor called in a prescription with two refills to CVS to get you started on medication to bring it down, but she’ll want to see you as soon as she’s back to discuss a treatment and lifestyle plan.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said—”

  “Never mind, I heard you. So what should my A1C be?”

  “I don’t want to alarm you, but the doctor said it would be much healthier if you could get it down closer to the seven range, although six-point-anything would be ideal. You can google the table and see for yourself.”

  “Please have the scheduler call me with her next available appointment. Thank you,” I said, and hung up.

  I was pissed. At the old receptionist. At this new receptionist. At the doctor. At my daughter. And at myself for being so stupid. So weak. We both have a damn disease. I started crying because I felt helpless and I wondered if Jalecia felt the same way.

  I picked up the prescription.

  I called Jalecia but of course it went straight to voicemail. I texted her every day for five straight days.

  I know you’ve got a drinking problem, Jalecia, and it is nothing to be ashamed of. I hope you go back to AA.

  I was glad you came home, even under the circumstances, because it told me you knew you would be safe here.

  Please don’t shut me out, Jalecia. I’m on your side.

  I have diabetes.

  Please call me or Cinnamon to let us know you’re okay. I love you. Mom.