It's Not All Downhill From Here

by Terry McMillan

  When I got home, my driveway was full of cars so I had to park in front of my house. All my friends know where I keep the key and when I walked in the side door, Sadie and Lucky were sitting at the kitchen table. B. B. King was waiting in front of the sink. He knew something was wrong, which was why he put his snout on his front paws and closed his eyes.

  “Has anybody heard from Korynthia?”

  They both looked down and folded their hands. That’s when I saw the tears falling.

  I covered my mouth.

  “Bird overdosed,” Sadie said.

  “What did you just say?”

  “You heard right.” Lucky sighed.

  I couldn’t say what I wanted to because I couldn’t stop my teeth from chattering.

  Then there was nothing but silence. I took a deep breath.

  “But he made it to the hospital? Somebody please tell me he’s in the hospital.”

  “Yes. But he’s in the morgue,” Sadie said.

  I stomped my left foot and then my right one and then I jumped up and down because it just felt like too much death and pain and suffering was happening all around me, when something could’ve and should’ve been done to prevent it.

  B. B. King whimpered.

  “How did it happen?”

  “He took more than half a bottle of pain medication,” Lucky said.

  “Percocet?”

  “No, OxyContin. The one they do documentaries about. But what difference does it make now? What can we do to help Ko?” Sadie asked.

  “What would make him take so many?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Some people are troubled. I don’t think they all get high just to get high,” Sadie said, with a sigh.

  “Maybe he was in pain,” I heard myself say.

  “You’re probably right,” Lucky said. “But not the kind a pill can stop. And he’s only forty-one.”

  “Isn’t Jalecia around the same age as Bird?” Sadie asked.

  It felt like a dart had just been jabbed in my heart.

  “She’ll be forty-one on her next birthday,” I said. “Goddamnit! Where’s my phone? We need to call Ko, right now. Can somebody call her? Please?”

  “She’s not taking calls,” Lucky said. “She asked me to tell everybody to please wait until tomorrow morning to call. She’s with her kids.”

  “I hope she’ll come back to church. He will hear her,” Sadie said.

  “God can only do so much,” Lucky moaned.

  “Let’s just pray for Bird and Korynthia,” Sadie said. “She’s going to need our strength and support to help her get through this.”

  “Oh, just shut up, would you, Sadie?”

  “Loretha, are you okay?” Lucky asked.

  “No, I’m not okay!” I said in what I knew was a cracked voice. “I wish we could put our arms around Korynthia right now. And even though she’s there with her daughters, we’re her family, too.”

  “Yes, we are,” Lucky said at the same time as Sadie nodded her head.

  Then we all just sat there and watched the clock move from one minute to the next. My shoulders felt like they weighed a ton. I thought about picking up the phone to send Korynthia a text but my fingers wouldn’t let me. I knew what it felt like to hear “I’m so sorry for your loss” over and over and over. I’m tired of death.

  I’m tired of illness.

  I’m just tired.

  * * *

  —

  When I saw daylight sneaking through the blinds, I sat up and picked up the phone, which had been on my stomach all night. I dialed Korynthia’s number, but she didn’t answer. All I could manage to say was, “Ko, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  I took B. B. King for a walk and when we got home I had a voicemail from Korynthia. “Hi, Lo. Thank you for your call. This is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to go through. I don’t know if losing a child feels anything like losing a husband, but I know you know what loss feels like. I’ve decided to stay here in San Diego to be close to my other kids but will let you know when I come to clear out my house. It’ll be a minute. We are not having a big service so please don’t come. Just do everything you can for your daughter while you still can. Love you.”

  I decided not to call her back. Instead, I called Sadie and Lucky and simply said, “Get dressed. Meet me at my house in an hour. We’re driving to San Diego.”

  * * *

  —

  I put B. B. King in one of those doggie hotels and told them I wasn’t sure if I’d be gone for two or three days.

  None of us uttered a single solitary word until we saw the sign that said San Diego in 23 miles, which was when we realized we didn’t know exactly where we were going.

  Finally, Lucky said, “This isn’t like a surprise party. Let’s just text her and tell her we’ll be there in a half hour and to let us know where she’s staying. By the way, where are we staying?”

  “I don’t care,” Sadie said.

  “I need room,” Lucky said. “And a big bed since I’m big. But not for long.”

  I was driving, but I didn’t bother to look at Lucky through the rearview mirror.

  “Did anybody call Poochie?”

  Everybody had a not me look on their face.

  “Who wants to call her?” I asked.

  “Let’s wait until we talk to Korynthia and find out if she called her,” Sadie said.

  “Somebody text Korynthia, please,” I said.

  “I will,” Lucky said, and did, and we waited.

  Five minutes passed.

  Then ten.

  “Nothing yet?” I asked.

  “Wait,” Lucky said, pointing. “Get off at that exit.”

  I pulled off the freeway and into a Starbucks parking lot, put the car in park, and put my hands in my lap.

  “Why’d we get off?” Sadie asked.

  “Because this is what she just texted: As grateful and thankful as I am for all your love and support, please turn around and head home. I am planning to stay here for however long I’m needed. I love all of you and thank you for your prayers. I’ll keep you posted about when I’ll be back. No need to send flowers or anything. My son is at peace.”

  We sat there motionless and in silence for what felt like an hour. I rested my head on the steering wheel and tried to imagine what Ko might be going through. What I would be feeling if this was my daughter. A cold chill made me shiver at the thought and I leaned over and snatched a handful of Starbucks napkins out of the glove compartment and just held them up for everybody until they were gone.

  “I’ll drive if you want me to,” Sadie said.

  “It’s okay,” I said and backed up and drove to the entrance that would take us back to Pasadena.

  For the next two months we didn’t meet to have dinner because we didn’t have anything new to talk about except how worried we were that Korynthia was always too busy to talk to us. Besides, Poochie and Lucky would have had to pretend they didn’t know about Sadie and her on-again relationship with the man of God.

  Poochie told me she was gearing up for hip and knee surgery, but I didn’t know if she’d decided which should come first. She also complained about a sciatic nerve she had to have shots for. I thought all of her ailments were somehow connected. Like me, Poochie is too thick. She rocks when she walks and can’t go more than a few steps without a cane, which she always keeps in her purse. She scared the hell out of me once when she slung it like a whip and it unfolded like magic. It also sounds like her mama has pretty much been hoping death will hurry up because she has gotten bored as hell waiting for it.

  Lucky postponed her gastric bypass surgery because she said she was too depressed to start losing weight so rapidly and because she has not been able to stop smoking marijuana, which makes her hungry. She claims her husband wants to start div
orce proceedings, and she’s waiting to see if they’re going to quibble over the house. Lucky is so full of shit. Joe would stop all of this if she’d just tell him she still loves him, but she’s too damn stubborn to admit it.

  Sadie is still a fool in love but she hasn’t given me much confidence that Mr. Minister is ever really going to file for divorce. I really don’t care one way or the other. I feel that maybe once he fucks her over the way he fucked over his wife and her heart cracks into a lot of pieces that she has to glue back together all by herself, then maybe there’s a chance we’ll get her back. We pray for her stupid ass.

  And me? I have not been taking my diabetes medication, even though Dr. Alexopolous called in a new three-month refill and ordered another lab test to see if my numbers looked better. I’ve had so much on my mind I didn’t even realize I was eating even more of all the things I shouldn’t be eating and I have actually put on ten (but probably fifteen) new pounds. I’m taking naps off and on throughout the day even though I haven’t done much to make me tired, and I’ve started feeling thirsty all the time but, in all honesty, I really haven’t cared, especially after I found out from Cinnamon that Jalecia did not finish her blackjack-dealer training. She and her boyfriend got into a fight right out there on the Strip with a crowd watching them and she took a Greyhound back to L.A. She is back living with Peggy and neither one of them has bothered to call me. But I know it’s just a matter of time.

  Finally, last week, instead of having our regular dinner at someone’s house, we all agreed to just meet at Roscoe’s House of Chicken and Waffles for old times’ sake. Poochie and Korynthia decided to join us via FaceTime.

  “First I have an announcement to make,” Korynthia said. She looked tired, and like she had also put on a few, too. Her face was puffy and the bags under her eyes were sunken. This meant she had been doing too much. Probably crying. I was dreading hearing the inevitable news that she’d sold her house.

  “I can’t live down here. My kids have been treating me like I’m their slave and my grandkids and my great-grands are needy and unappreciative. I don’t like feeling this way. I’ll be back next week, so let’s go to Vegas for Lo’s birthday!”

  “Ko, I am so happy you’re coming back here I could cry! But I don’t want to go to Vegas for my birthday,” I said to all of them. Of course my birthday just had to come up. As if mine was so important. I really wanted to skip celebrating it this year.

  “You’re going,” Korynthia said. “I need to throw some dice, I need to hear the sound of slot machines paying, and I need to hear people screaming with joy at the top of their fucking lungs and I don’t want to have to hear little voices saying, ‘Grandma, can you do this, can you do that?’ So, we’re going.”

  “And I need to see you guys in person,” Poochie said.

  I looked at Sadie. “Will you be able to get away?”

  “I’ll ask.”

  “Don’t ask,” Poochie said to Sadie, which made Sadie realize I had opened my big mouth. “I’ve got discount coupons for you to stay at the Venetian and I’ll get two double rooms so you all will be close. Please don’t take one of those casino buses again because a lot of folks will be drunk and loud; and if you take the one for seniors they’re even worse because they’ll most likely be filled with church members who put God on hold until the morning. Although, Sadie, word on the street is that you’ve been sinning again, so you’ll fit right in.”

  Sadie rolled her eyes at me and I rolled mine right back. She should know by now it’s impossible to keep secrets in this group.

  “I’ll get tickets for the male strippers,” Korynthia said and rubbed her palms together.

  “I’m not going to a strip club,” Sadie said.

  “Yes, you are,” Lucky said. “Pray on it.”

  “I’ll get the tickets to Celine at Caesars because we agreed on that already and to Cirque du Soleil as a birthday gift to myself from you ladies,” I said.

  “That doesn’t make any sense. Wait, which one?” Lucky asked.

  “O.”

  Everybody clapped.

  “Then it’s settled,” Lucky said. “We can hire one of those fancy black vans with black windows to drive us there. We all have credit cards that work, don’t we?”

  We all laughed.

  Although Sadie looked like she had to do the math.

  * * *

  —

  I decided to skip Christmas entirely, but then changed my mind a little bit. Instead of getting a tree, I bought seven beautiful perforated stars with lights inside and put them in my windows. Carl would’ve loved them. I didn’t send cards like I’ve done the past thirty or forty years. But I couldn’t resist giving Cinnamon and Jonas gift cards to Target for the twins. And I thought it only fair to give them something just for the two of them: gift cards to my favorite movie theater with the promise to babysit, should they ever have a desire to tear themselves away.

  I let B. B. King eat the last two kosher hot dogs and a few French fries and a half hour later, I scraped the vanilla out of the ice cream sandwich and put it on a saucer, which he licked so clean I had to take it from him.

  “You’re going to get diabetes, too, B.B.”

  When I sat down for a minute, it hit me that I had not been kissed or hugged or had sex in almost a year. It’s the longest I’d ever gone since I was in my thirties. And here I was trying to figure out how to celebrate Christmas without my husband. I decided that if I couldn’t have sex, I would bake. I called everybody and told them I would have my usual sweet potato pies, peach cobbler, bread pudding, and apple pies—and they could fight over them.

  I rolled crust. I sliced apples. I opened ten cans of peaches. I boiled sweet potatoes and mashed them with cinnamon, nutmeg, sugar, eggs, vanilla flavor, and a drop of bourbon. I made bread pudding that was so fluffy it almost floated out of the little baking dishes I bought. The peach juice boiled onto the aluminum foil I knew to put under the cobbler because it happens every year.

  I was too tired to drive so Jonas stopped by and picked up each Christmas box and delivered them to all three of my homegirls. He only wanted a sweet potato pie since he and Cinnamon try not to eat much sugar, though they always made an exception for the pie.

  And then I slept.

  I knew I was trying to fill up the day.

  And because Carl and I always ate lobster tails with butter and baked potatoes with chives, sour cream, and butter and a salad and sourdough bread on Christmas, I had a lobster dinner for one delivered. After I ate some of it, I had two glasses of wine and lit the two lemon-lavender candles he always loved, and later took a hot bath and hoped Carl knew this was my way of saying Merry Christmas and how much I wished he was still here.

  * * *

  —

  I realized I really didn’t want to be celebrating my December 31 birthday in Las Vegas with half a million people, so I convinced my friends we should wait until the following week. Plus, Poochie called to let us know that her discount coupons weren’t valid on New Year’s Eve and, besides, the Venetian and every major hotel on the Strip had been booked up for months. None of us had made the reservations for our chosen activities yet, so we booked them for the following weekend.

  When they all asked, I told them I did not want a pre-birthday celebration. I did not want to go out for cake and ice cream. I did not want to have drinks at the Langham hotel. I didn’t want to see a movie at that theater with the reclining suede chairs like they have in first class, where they had a real menu with real food and served you drinks, and only about thirty or so folks even fit inside each of the seven theaters. And no, I did not want to have a deep-tissue massage and an age-defying facial at Burke Williams. I wanted to stay home and be quiet and remember how Carl surprised me last year. I wanted to remember that that was the last time I saw my husband. I wanted to remember that it was the last time I’d been kissed.
Hugged. I wanted to remember how he smelled. I also wanted to think about how I might spend the next year and maybe the rest of my life without longing for the past or worrying too much about my future.

  They didn’t fight me.

  I got cards. But not from my daughter. Ma sent me the same one she sent me last year, which made me smile.

  I got calls. But not from my daughter. Jackson FaceTimed me and I was thrilled that those twins were getting cuter. He was hoping I’d make it there for my birthday but knew this one might be hard. I told him I’d be there by spring. He understood.

  I got flowers from all my girlfriends and Jackson, and Odessa, and Cinnamon and Jonas and Handsome and Pretty, but not from my daughter.

  My feelings were hurt, but I tried to pretend like they weren’t. I went to Macy’s and bought myself a pair of yellow pajamas that were 40 percent off. Later I took a bubble bath and turned on the Spotify playlist of some of my favorite songs from the seventies through the nineties, which Jonas had made for me. I put on my new pj’s and poured myself a glass of medium-priced champagne. I was wide-awake so I started watching Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve special and loved watching the young kids party like they had everything to live for. And when the ball dropped, I realized I still did, too.

  * * *

  —

  The black limo-van picked me up last. The driver looked like Billy Dee Williams forty years ago, which made all of us nostalgic, and I for one immediately thought of him in Lady Sings the Blues and only snapped back to the here and now when I heard a not-so-deep voice say, “So, who’s the birthday girl?”

  I raised my hand.

  “Happy birthday, Miss Loretha. My sister’s name is Loretha. A pretty name for a pretty lady. So, is this your fiftieth?”

  I said, “Of course. It’s my second time,” and then we all laughed. We were all wearing some kind of colorful but not too bright sweatsuit since we wanted to be comfortable for the drive. Lucky was sitting right behind Billy Dee because she said she needed more legroom even through Korynthia, who sat right across from her, was taller. Korynthia didn’t say a word, but Lucky just had to add, “Is your mirror fogged, young man? She’s sixty-nine and her birthday was last week, so really she’s almost seventy now!”