Knowing

by Rosalyn McMillan

  She left the store in total bewilderment, however. The therapist had recommended that she immediately stop eating flour. Flour. She was told that it coated her small intestines and kept the normal functions of her bowels from performing routinely, causing impurities throughout her system which led to hair loss. He also recommended that she follow a diet low in fats, sweets, and starches. He made a list of several vitamins for her to take daily. Her bill totaled one hundred and fifty-three dollars — a small price to pay if it worked. Six months later she was still as bald as a newborn bald eagle.

  When her alopecia finally completed its eighteen-month cycle, and she was once again enjoying a full head of hair, the joy was short lived. Fifteen months later it was back. She had been trying to watch All My Children. After all, weren’t their problems worse than hers? And without thinking, she had started pulling on one of her braids — then another. They resembled dying trees being uprooted from the dark earth, surrounded by patches of barren soil.

  The eerie sound of hair coming loose from its foundation startled her. Ginger sprang to her feet and ran into the bathroom to look in the mirror. She wept aloud, horrified to see two braids clutched in her hand. Angry and shocked, she pulled out the remaining braids, one by one. It was almost like tearing a piece of paper; the long, thin, braids of hair felt like there was no life left in them. Brittle and dead.

  She remembered how, hours later, her three small children had found her still sitting in a zombielike state in the living room, staring at the television screen, in total disbelief.

  After placing a fluted glass of zinfandel on the glass end table next to her daughter’s resting form, Katherine closed the drapes, darkened the room, and added three logs to the fire. The smell of wood smoke filtered lazily from the ceramic-and-mahogany fireplace. The silvery pieces of wood hissed, as various chunks snapped, smoldering into fragments of powdery cinders.

  Katherine covered her daughter with a handmade afghan from the front hall closet. She remembered when Ginger had learned to crochet, having been taught by her friends at work. They wanted to make use of their spare time when they’d completed their production for the day. She’d called her from work, so excited to tell her about it. Two months later, Ginger had handed Katherine a beautifully crafted hooded poncho, crocheted in a rich wool yarn in blends of smoke gray, tropic sand, and beige.

  Ginger’s head swung lazily to the side as Katherine tucked the woolen blanket under her chin. She studied her daughter’s face. Her mouth was gaping open as though her dreams had surprised her. Katherine stifled the urge to call her name. Unable to understand or fathom the reasons of her daughter’s illness, she felt suddenly depressed.

  A mother was a child’s first teacher. She was there to ease out that first burp, to teach the child to walk and talk . . . to teach the basics of life. Now she was powerless to help her child. She had to put her faith and trust in the hands of God. A silent prayer was on her lips:

  Seek you first the kingdom of God and all his righteousness

  and all things needed for this life will be added on to you.

  He says lean not on your own resources or understandings

  If you will lean on him in prayer and meditation —

  Katherine knew Ginger was mentally exhausted. The anguish that plagued her daughter every two years was overwhelming. She thought of the quickest way to relieve some of the pressure from Ginger: organizing and using a few scare tactics on her half-disciplined, lovable grandchildren.

  “What kind of game are we going to play, Granny?” asked Autumn, tilting her pixy head. Sierra wondered about her grandmother’s strange change in attitude. Earlier she had cussed them out, telling them how junky and funky they were. She lined all four of them along the couch in the basement and read them up and down. She told Sierra she smelled like a rank pussycat. Told Jason his room was so funky a skunk wouldn’t have felt at home. She started in on Christian, saying after putting a load of white clothes in to soak that she’d spotted several of his drawers that looked like they’d been dragged through mud.

  Autumn had laughed, and pointed at each of them, thinking she’d escape the wrath of their grandmother. “. . . and Autumn, your teeth looks like Green Giant corn.” Then Autumn started to cry.

  Katherine had paced the floor, back and forth, yelling at all four of her grandchildren. Telling them they were taking advantage of their mother’s working. They knew Ginger went to bed early. Usually they shammed on doing the work their mother expected from them.

  Katherine wasn’t fooled by their innocent faces. They were young devils masquerading in sheep’s clothing. She put the fear in them that Ginger didn’t have the energy to.

  Then Katherine guided her two granddaughters upstairs to their bedroom. She placed her index finger over her closed mouth, studying their wide-eyed stare. “We’re going to pretend that Mama is Sleeping Beauty, and we’re waiting on the prince to wake her up. We can’t make any noise until Prince Charming comes to kiss the princess, otherwise the spell will be broken and Mama will stay asleep forever.”

  Autumn looked to her sister for guidance. She couldn’t decide whether this was going to be a fun game or not. “We have to be real quiet, and make the kingdom clean and beautiful so Sleeping Beauty will want to live here for the rest of her days.”

  Sierra shifted her weight onto one leg, put her hands on her hips, and said, “You mean we gotta clean our room, and be real quiet about it, Granny?” Katherine nodded. And Ginger said this girl was slow.

  When Ginger woke hours later from a deep sleep the house was quieter than usual. The realization that Katherine was there enabled her to relish the silence. If anyone could control her overactive children, her mother could.

  The phone rang.

  “Hello.”

  “It’s me baby.”

  She relaxed at the melodic sound of his voice. “Jackson.”

  “I called you earlier, but Katherine said you were having lunch with Kim. I thought your classes started this afternoon.”

  “No. They start tomorrow.”

  “Katherine come down for the weekend?”

  “Uh-huh. She figured I’d need some company with you gone. I picked her up after work today,” she lied. Ginger kept silent about her fainting at work the day before. Her physician had given her a note to give to her supervisor stating that she take the remainder of the week off, returning to work Monday. “I guess we’re both kinda lonely.”

  “Your voice don’t sound right, baby. You all right? ’Cause if something is wrong, I’ll take a flight out in the morning.”

  “No, sweetheart. You take care of your mother. I’m fine. Is she home yet?”

  “Saturday. We’re bringing her home Saturday morning.”

  “Did Jab make it down?”

  “Yeah, we’re all here talking about old times.”

  Ginger smiled to herself thinking of all the stories Jackson had told her about the nine of them growing up with hardly any money, and never really noticing they were poor. All their neighbors and relatives around them in Lee County never had any more than they did. Nobody had had a car — or other expensive items.

  They had never been introduced to the luxuries of life. They were poor financially, but rich spiritually, physically, and mentally. Their life was so filled with good memories of cherished moments that Ginger couldn’t help but feel envious of their love.

  11

  You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me

  At two o’clock in the afternoon, thick cumulus clouds clustered in the sky. The cold air tickled Ginger’s lungs as her breath hung in the atmosphere. Wiping the layer of fresh snow from her windshield, she headed for the freeway.

  As she stopped at the light on Jefferson, she noticed the newly remodeled bridge. The serenity of the view beckoned her. She decided to seize a few moments to enjoy the picturesque waterscape. Crossing the Douglas MacArthur Bridge, she entered the thousand-acre park of Belle Isle. The island featured an aquarium, zoo, and Dossin Grea
t Lakes Museum. It had been the city’s playground for more than a century.

  The place was an oasis where picnicking families flocked in the warm months, filling the air with the aroma of spicy barbecue, fresh sweet corn, and savory collard greens smothered in smoked ham hocks steaming over smoking barbecue pits.

  After parking her minivan, Ginger relaxed, opened the windows to inhale the cool breeze whipping across the frozen river, and turned the radio to Light 93.1 She let the soothing music flow through her body. Ginger’s eyes feasted on the forest of trees still draped with winter ice. The blanket of snow and frozen glaze across the Detroit River extended to the neighboring Canadian border.

  She didn’t want to read any more textbooks, talk, or even think. For just a while, she just wanted to be. It felt so wonderful to be calm, and just to observe, to merge with nature, instead of enduring the pressures of work and home.

  “Where’s your overnight bag, Sierra?” Ginger demanded. She closed the second door in Sierra and Autumn’s walk-in closet.

  Lord knows I don’t want to start another argument with this child today, thought Ginger. Nearly every time the kids left to visit their father, Sierra seemed to forget where she put her packed overnight bag. Ginger had bought Sierra at least twelve bags over the nine years since the divorce.

  “I just had it, Mama.” As she sat on the bed trembling, Sierra’s small body was rigid. She hated these scenes of her mother’s.

  Bulky sweaters, jogging suits, and caps of various sizes were strewn on the closet floor. Moments before they had been stacked neatly on the shelves above Ginger’s head. “Then where is it?” Ginger felt her forehead. Pain sliced through her temple. Placing her index finger and thumb over her closed eyelids, she leaned back against the wall.

  Katherine stomped into the room, holding the bulging bag as evidence of their futile effort. “If you hadda stopped for a minute in the kitchen instead of running upstairs like a raging bull, I could have saved you the trouble of packing their bags.”

  Ginger breathed a sigh of relief. Looking at her daughter’s eyes brimming with tears, Ginger was sorry she’d jumped to the conclusion that Sierra had left the bag in Port Huron.

  For the past year, she and Sierra had been fighting like cats and dogs. Ginger didn’t know how to reach her anymore. Sierra possessed an angelic face and an itty-bitty body that made her look seven instead of ten. It surprised even Ginger how such an innocent-looking child could turn into a pint-sized she-devil when told to do something that she didn’t like.

  The women at work had warned her that when their daughters reached the fifth grade, they entered a crisis stage that usually lasted until age twelve. The girls were going through a change of life, and it wasn’t easy on anyone.

  She pressed Sierra’s sandy brown head to her bosom, rocking her back and forth, and told her she was sorry for hollering at her. Sierra’s large brown eyes widened with relief as she stared up into her mother’s face.

  “Okay, let’s get the show on the road,” Katherine commanded. Steering her granddaughter from the room, she handed Sierra her blue overnight bag. “Granny starched and ironed all your clothes this morning. The only thing you have to do is pack your toothbrush. I didn’t know whose was which, so I left it out.” She smiled fondly at her grandchild and patted her on the butt.

  Katherine sat on the edge of Autumn’s twin brass bed. Rolling her eyes at Ginger, she chastised her for constantly harping on Sierra. “I don’t know why you can’t see it. Everyone else can. You nag her for every little thing she does. Can’t you see how sensitive she is?”

  Sitting herself on Sierra’s white eyelet comforter, Ginger crossed her arms and feet, and waited for the sermon she knew was coming. What her mother didn’t admit was that she’d done the same thing to her and Gwen when they were little. It wasn’t until a few years ago that Ginger and her mother had become good friends. Now, unwittingly, Ginger was following her pattern.

  “I know I holler too much. I’m guilty, Mama.” She threw her hands in the air. “I just don’t have any patience with her. She tries my nerves.”

  “You got a lot on your mind, Ginger. We’ll talk about it another time.” Katherine pounded from the room, all of her 180 pounds imprinting footsteps in the white carpeting.

  Ginger knew that Sierra was struggling to find her place between Christian and Autumn. But she didn’t know how to help her. It didn’t help that both Christian and Autumn excelled in school while Sierra found every class a challenge. Thankfully Sierra and Autumn got along. In fact, they were crazy about each other. They rarely fought. Even wore each other’s clothes — Autumn being extremely tall for her age and Sierra tiny, and small boned. Sierra suggested they share a room together, which pleased Jackson more than Ginger. Jackson didn’t want his baby girl sleeping alone.

  Ginger turned to admire her girls’ room; she’d redecorated it for them last year. Sierra and Autumn had been so excited about all the changes they could barely sleep for a week.

  Thirty clerestory windows encircling the pie-shaped room made the glacier white paint gleam. Stenciled lavender irises bordered the ceiling. Each girl had an antique brass poster bed. Intricate patterns of lovebirds, elm leaves, and berries were woven into the foot- and headboards and romantic coverings of feathery white cutwork canopied the beds.

  Two gold-filigreed pink-and-lavender Tiffany lamps adorned the mahogany nightstands. Handmade crocheted doilies danced in twelve sugar-stiffened layers around the center of the bureaus. Silk blossoms of white gardenias and lavender baby’s breath sat in hand-painted ceramic vases on the doilies.

  It was a place of sweet repose, of sunshine-gilded daydreams tinged with a hint of mystery. A room fit for a princess. Why, then, didn’t her children act like the perfect little angels in the fairy tales?

  Two porterhouse steaks sizzled in the iron skillet, smothered with sliced mushrooms and circles of Spanish onions. Steam billowed upward as Katherine checked the potatoes and onions simmering on the stove’s back eye.

  Ginger and Autumn sat at the butcher block slicing fresh vegetables for the salad. Autumn dreaded the bimonthly visits her sister and brothers made to Port Huron with their father. Sierra had tried to explain to her that their mother had been married to Michael Carter before she married Jackson. But Autumn never quite understood about divorce. She only knew how sad she felt when they were gone. Sometimes she cried. That was when she’d go upstairs and talk to her doll, Suzy.

  “Mama, when is Sierra coming home?” she asked her mother. She’d ask this question continuously until Sierra came home.

  “Sunday. They’ll be home Sunday night, sweetheart.” Ginger took heed of her mother shaking her head as she bent over to check the steaks.

  Katherine felt that Autumn should be allowed to go with the other children, but Jackson wouldn’t have it. Ginger wasn’t sure how she felt about it. Katherine hinted at Jackson a few times that Michael Carter had offered to take Autumn along for the weekends. Jackson was vehemently opposed to the idea. After a while, Katherine dropped the subject.

  After dinner, Ginger and Katherine cleaned the kitchen together, while Autumn was mesmerized in front of the television with a Ninja Turtle video Ginger had rented. Making a quick stop at Blockbuster Video on her way home from the park, Ginger had picked out the latest videocassettes available for children. She had also grabbed boxes of Raisinets, Milk Duds, and microwave popcorn to keep Autumn busy after the kids had gone.

  She always planned something special to do on those Saturdays with Autumn while the others were away. Just the two of them. Sometimes Jackson would come along, but rarely could she convince him to take a few hours away from his marathon of Westerns.

  “Just tell me what you plan on doing about keeping this house clean. You’re not going to have time to clean this house working in the plant and working at the office part time.” Katherine thought for a moment. “How many times a week did you say you had to be in the real estate office?”

  “At le
ast four times a week — put in two or three hours. After I’m established I won’t have to go in so much. I can do more from home. They want to see that I’m serious about working there. They’ve trained so many people who have quit after they hadn’t made a sale in a month or two.” Ginger sighed. “I know it’s not going to be easy. But I can do it, Mama. I know I can.”

  “You listen to me, and you listen to me good.” Katherine closed the dishwasher and took a seat at the breakfast room table. Ginger joined her after putting away the scoured skillets in the pantry. “You got good sense, but you don’t use it. You need someone to come in every two weeks and clean this big-ass house. I hope you don’t think these kids are going to clean it right without you supervising them?”

  Ginger folded her hands on the table. “I already asked Jackson about getting someone —”

  “Asked?” her mother shouted. “You don’t ask, you tell. Are you out of your friggin’ mind?” Katherine walked to the refrigerator and came back with a tall glass of beer. After a long cold swallow she added, “That may be a slow-walking back-hill Mississippi son of a bitch, but you better believe his mind clicks as quick as a Bic.” She took another sip. “Don’t tell me. He said no.” Ginger nodded, her eyes focusing on Autumn’s gym shoes near the credenza.

  Katherine got up from her chair, nursing her beer, and strode to look out the window. She shifted her weight to her right hip, and continued speaking with her back turned. “He wants to tie you down at home, so you won’t have the energy or wherewithal to succeed at anything, so you’ll just accept what he expects you to be: a factory worker, mother, and wife.”

  “He wants me to quit the plant,” Ginger challenged, half believing it herself. “He just doesn’t want some strange person in here cleaning our home.”

  “Bullshit. They have bonded maid services. You don’t have to worry about anybody stealing anything.” Two of her other daughters who lived out of state and worked full time had gotten cleaning women years ago. Not wanting to hurt Ginger’s feelings, Katherine had never mentioned it; neither had her daughters.