“Hi, Sis,” she said and gave me a bear hug. “I have to warn you that it’s a little tight in here. I’m doing the best I can with the space I have,” and she moved out of the doorway to let me in.
Even though it wasn’t yet dark outside, it was dark in here. It looked like a museum or a funeral parlor from a previous century. The first thing staring at me was Jesus.
In fact, the dining room table looked like the Last Supper except there were only two placemats, two plates, and two glasses at opposite ends. Ma used to have a table similar to this but hers was real mahogany. This looked like walnut veneer. The legs curved out at the top and then curled back in and had little claws on the bottom. Odessa had dismantled the cream-colored drum shade we’d installed and replaced it with a chandelier. A grandfather clock scared the hell out of me when it dinged. Odessa had also chosen to paint this room a mustard yellow. I thought I could almost smell it, but it turned out to be beef stroganoff, which I knew she was going to force me to eat.
“You want to see my bedroom?” Odessa asked.
“That’s okay,” I said. “I remember the brocade from your house.”
“The second bedroom is filled to the brim, so if I had a guest they would have to sleep on the couch.”
“You’ve downsized from a house, Odessa, when are you going to get rid of some of that stuff?”
“It’s not stuff, Loretha. It’s my personal belongings. Things I cherish. Let’s eat. Are you in a hurry?” she said and stormed out into the living room.
“Actually, I’m supposed to be meeting Kwame at my house because he said he has some good news to tell me.”
“You really like that kid, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And it doesn’t bother you that he’s a homosexual?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Too many of them out here for my taste.”
“Somebody recently asked me if you were a lesbian because you haven’t been with a man since your husband left you.”
“That is the most disgusting thing you could say to me, Loretha. I have given my heart and soul to the Lord Jesus Christ our Savior, which is all the love I need. I hope you came to my defense.”
“Of course I did,” I lied.
She moved toward the modern kitchen that I could see she’d stuffed with knickknacks from the same era everything else in here was from. It was all just creepy.
I would normally ask if I could help, but I decided not to.
“Can we open the drapes?” I asked, and then wished I hadn’t.
“I don’t like to have to look at the streetlight changing every so many minutes. I do not like this neighborhood and will be glad when I can move into Ma’s house. How long before it’ll be ready?”
“I told you I wasn’t sure.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Odessa, I told you I do not want you to live in Ma’s house. It’s too big. I might just sell it.”
“I don’t believe you.” She bowed her head.
“Lord, please bless this meal,” she said and let it go at that.
We did not say a word during the meal. I could hardly eat the stroganoff, which was terrible, and also because I had snuck a hamburger (not cheeseburger) with small fries before I came over, just in case I didn’t like what Odessa was serving. After we finished, I offered to help clean up.
“Don’t bother,” she said, and led me toward the door. “If you try to sell Ma’s house, I might sue you.”
I didn’t bother to respond but I was sure thinking about a church sign I passed on the way here that said: A GRUDGE IS A HEAVY THING TO CARRY.
She slammed the door before I could even think about hugging her.
“Mama-Lo! Guess who’s going to be a college student?”
B. B. King howled as if he knew this was good news and then started jumping up and down a few inches like it was a happy dance.
I stood on my tiptoes and squeezed Kwame as hard as I could. I was close to tears but I didn’t want to confuse B. B. King because he has only seen me cry when I was sad.
“I told you I had good news to celebrate. I even brought food, which I know is going to shock you. It’s Italian!”
“Congratulations, Kwame! I’m so freaking proud of you, son! Give me those bags before Mr. King nabs them!”
I didn’t want to seem ungrateful so I didn’t mention the pre-dinner burger and fries or the stroganoff I’d eaten at Odessa’s. Kwame set the food on the kitchen counter and shook his index finger at B. B. King: Wait until we’re finished and you’ll have a gourmet meal, too. He looked so handsome, his dreadlocks had grown and were shiny and smelled like mint.
“So, where?”
“Los Angeles City College. They have a whole television and film department!”
“Well, that’s wonderful!”
“Anyway, classes start in January and I can still drive with Uber so I’ll still be able to pay my bills.”
“It’s all good news, Kwame. So, what’s in these bags?”
“I got lasagna and sourdough bread, and a Caesar salad and asparagus for you. No dessert. Have you been watching your numbers?”
“Yes, I have.”
“You don’t sound all that convincing, Mama-Lo. Are you taking that medication they gave you?”
“Most days.”
“Most isn’t gonna cut it, Mama-Lo. Seriously. And when was the last time you saw your doctor?”
“Let’s eat. You sound like my mother!”
“Your son, you mean?” he said. “I want you to live a long life, long enough to come to my first movie premiere!”
“You’ll have to fly your mom out here for it!”
“No doubt. And I’ll pick her up at the airport in my Range Rover. The big one. But for now, I’ll set the table.”
“Speaking of sons, did I tell you I’m planning to go to Tokyo to spend some time with Jackson and meet his twin little girls?”
“That sounds cool. Y’all can make some twins in this family! Wow. How long is that flight?”
“About twelve hours.”
He started shaking his head. “No way could I be on a plane that long.”
“What’s the longest flight you’ve been on?”
“Zero hours. I’ve never had a reason to fly anyplace. You remember we took the Greyhound for my dad’s service.”
“Well, maybe when I go you’d like to housesit and dogsit. If your schedule permits, that is.”
I didn’t have a date nailed down yet. I just wanted to know if Kwame was willing because my friends had too many things on their plates, especially when it came to walking B. B. King.
“You can count on me. I can only afford two classes for now because I’m not a California resident yet. Which is cool because I don’t know how many of my units from Flint can be transferred. How’s the search for the new shop going?”
“So, you heard the House was burglarized?”
“Cinnamon told me. Good thing you had insurance.”
“Of course I did, Kwame.”
“Well, I had a little fender bender last week.”
“And? Don’t tell me the other driver didn’t have insurance?”
“He did not.”
“Whose fault was it?”
“His.”
“But you have insurance. It usually covers uninsured drivers.”
“It had lapsed two days before.”
“What did you just say?”
“Don’t worry, I paid it this morning because you have to have proof of insurance when you drive with Uber.”
“What will you do about the car?”
“The driver promised to pay me.”
“And you believed him?”
“Yeah. I mean, yes. His grandma and auntie were in the back se
at and he was more worried about them than anything. Anyway, he gave me his work number and I got the estimate and sent it to him yesterday morning.”
“And have you heard back from him?”
“Right before I got here I got the notice from Western Union that the payment was there.”
“So are you going to get the car fixed?”
“No. I’ve got a few other bills I need to pay since I couldn’t drive until I got reinstated with Uber.”
“So how do you plan on paying for the car repairs?”
“Dancing.”
“What kind of dancing?”
“Don’t ask.”
“I won’t.”
“It’s legal.”
“Just don’t end up dead. Because I like you.”
“I love you,” he said.
“Good. You might end up in my will. One day.”
“Don’t talk like that, Mama-Lo, please.”
“Speaking of mamas, how is yours doing?”
“I don’t really know.”
“Why don’t you know?”
“Because she never answered my card.”
“Call your cousin who stayed with you out here. Boone.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“But it’s eleven o’clock in Michigan.”
“Call him.”
He dialed the number and looked at me with those big brown eyes. Just like Carl’s.
“Yo, punk. What up? You heard from my moms?”
Listening.
“Has your dad spoken to her?”
Listening.
“What do you mean I sound white?”
Listening.
“Can somebody go over there and check on her? Her phone is still disconnected.”
Listening.
“Ask somebody for a goddamn ride, man. And call me right back.”
“Can’t you call another relative?” I asked.
“I can’t think of anybody else. Sorry for swearing.”
“No apology necessary under these circumstances, Kwame.”
We tried to eat. Kwame lifted the wide lasagna noodles and let them fall back on top of the red meat sauce. Then he pulled on the cheese to form a string, wrapped it around the fork, and rested it on the edge of the plate.
Five minutes went by. Then ten. Then twenty.
“Call him back,” I said.
And he did.
“She’s not?”
Listening.
“It is? Then go look through the side window.”
Waiting.
I watched Kwame’s face; his eyes opened wide and I could see he was terrified.
“What did you just say? Call 911! Right fucking now!”
He put down the phone and the phone rang again and he jumped up from the table. Walked back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, then opened the front door and came back in and started walking in circles. B. B. King followed him until Kwame dropped down on the couch.
“Kick the fucking door in,” he said.
He held his head down and covered his eyes. I went and sat next to him, rubbed his hand. I already knew what had happened.
I could hear someone yelling something through Kwame’s phone and then he said, “Call some-damn-body!”
And he jumped up.
“I have to go! I knew I should never have left her there by herself!”
“Did he say she wasn’t breathing?”
He stopped cold. “Boone, is she breathing? Please tell me she’s breathing, man?”
He started walking in circles. “She is? Thank you, Jesus. You already called 911? Can she talk?”
He turned and started jumping up and down. “How soon before the ambulance gets there?”
He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. B. B. King hunched down on all fours because he could sense something was wrong.
“You hear ’em now? Call me when you know she’s going to be all right. Please. And tell her I love her and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
And then he slumped down on the sofa. And immediately jumped back up.
“Kwame, baby. Slow down. Let’s figure out how to do this. She’s breathing. That’s a good thing. Now maybe you might want to go pray. Any way you want to. Go sit on the front porch. I’ll call to see how fast we can get you to Flint.”
I gave him a hard hug.
“Thank you, Mama-Lo.”
I called American Airlines and explained that I was trying to get a flight out tonight from Los Angeles to Flint, Michigan. They asked me if it was round trip and I said yes, then no, and then if it was economy. I asked if they had that extra legroom fare in economy. Then I asked what the difference in price was between that one and business class. I thought that because of his frame of mind he was going to need all the comfort he could get, so I said make it business class and she said he would have to change planes in Chicago and would be in Flint by ten thirty tomorrow morning. I gave her his name, my credit card, and his cell number and it was done.
I heard him walk back inside and B. B. King was with him. Kwame looked calmer.
“They said she might have had a stroke, and she’s at the hospital now. They can’t say for sure until she sees a doctor. But she’s breathing.”
“See how fast God works. Check your phone. There’s a flight in three hours. You can be sitting by your mama’s side right after breakfast.”
“This says business class. I know that costs more money. Please call back and change it. I’ll get there the same time in coach.”
“But your legs won’t. This way you might be able to get some sleep. Do you need to go home to get anything?”
“No.”
“Do you have any money in your checking account?”
“Sixty-three dollars.”
“Text me the account number and I’ll transfer enough to get you through this. And if by chance you end up staying, know you’ll always have a home here.”
He bent down and gave me a hug. Then he pulled up the app for Uber and within seconds he raised his head.
“Three minutes,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I know she’s okay, definitely in time to housesit and watch B. B. King.”
“Don’t even worry about that, Kwame. Besides, I’ve got enough friends and family here in Pasadena to watch the house if you aren’t back. And B. B. King loves those doggie hotels.” That got a chuckle out of him. We walked to the door.
“Call me as soon as you land and then after you see your mama. And do give her a hug for me.”
“I will,” he said. “I definitely will.”
And there was Uber.
The Italian food was cold and stiff and still sitting on the table. I put most of it in the refrigerator. I ate a piece of hard bread. Got a cold glass of water. Took my pill. And fell across the bed with my clothes on. When I felt my cellphone shivering in my palm, it was morning. I read the text from Kwame that he had landed, that his mother was going to need him, and he could not leave her until he knew she was going to be okay.
“Did you bring the Bengay?” Ma asked.
“Of course I did,” I said. “Don’t they have it here?”
“I want my own.”
“For what?”
“Why are you so nosy? I’m old and old people ache and Bengay helps.”
“I’m sorry, Ma.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about. Anyway, it’s for my wrists. They get a little stiff sometimes, especially when I’m doing my push-ups,” she said, and then started laughing.
I tried to laugh but couldn’t, so I just said, “Funny Fanny.”
“When you get old you better hope you have your sense of humor. Laughing keeps you young.”
“I am old, Ma, in case yo
u didn’t know.”
“You’re old when you think you’re old.”
“Okay, Ma. I get it.”
“What’s that tone I hear in your voice? You don’t sound like yourself. Is it Jalecia?”
“No. I haven’t heard from her in months. Kwame had to go back to Flint. His mother had a stroke.”
“Awww. I’m so sorry to hear that. He’s such a nice homosexual.”
“Who told you he was gay?”
“Odessa, who else? She’s homophobic, you know.”
“I didn’t know you knew that word, Ma.”
“I watch TV, Loretha. Everybody’s gay now. I don’t mind. I can think of at least three boys and one girl in my gym class who were probably like that, but back then everybody just used to say, ‘You know he funny.’ Or ‘You know she a butch.’ Even then, we just figured they were born that way.”
“I hope he comes back soon. He was going to be starting college right after the new year.”
“Which reminds me. You’re having another birthday soon, huh?”
“I suppose so.”
“Whatcha gonna do this time? And please don’t say nothing.”
“The girls want to take a casino bus to Vegas. We promised Poochie we’d do it, but I don’t know if I’m up for celebrating my birthday this year, Ma.”
“That’s stupid. You need to celebrate every single one of them while you still can. Carl would want you to, I’m sure of it.”
I wish she hadn’t said that because it was just a reminder that my birthday would always mark the anniversary of him being gone.
“Ma, your hair is a mess. You want me to brush it?”
“You must be reading my mind,” she said. “Grab the brush off my nightstand over there. And thank you for the geraniums you sent, although I thought they might be from a new boyfriend!”
And she started laughing. Her silver hair was iridescent and thin, so I was gentle. As I stood behind her, I remembered how hard she used to pull when she brushed my hair, because it was “thicker than thick,” as she used to say.
“That feels so good. You know Odessa works here at the facility now. I’m glad she doesn’t work in my wing.”
It's Not All Downhill From Here Page 15