The Interruption of Everything

by Terry McMillan

  “That’s nice,” I say. What breathtaking girlfriend? Why wasn’t she at the concert with him? What part of Africa? And what was she doing to appear to be so graceful? And why do I even care? This is ridiculous to be this curious. I’m privately embarrassed by it. “It’d be good to see him,” I say, and leave it at that.

  “I gave him my card and put our home number on the back. He said he’d give us a call real soon. Hey, Spence,” he says, turning away from me, “don’t you want to introduce your mom to Brianna?” Before Spencer has a chance to answer, Leon’s already heading toward the doorway. “Tell you what, I’ll go check on her. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to her, now would we? She’s something,” he says with a look in his eye that’s downright scary. “Would you mind pouring your dad another glass of chardonnay? I’ll be right back. Catch up with Mom,” he says, and not only sashays down the hall but if I’m not mistaken, I do believe he runs up the stairs.

  I look at Spencer, and he hunches his shoulders up like he doesn’t get it either. “Where are those young men whose cars are blocking half the driveway? Go upstairs and tell Omar, Milton, Tavis, and Conrad that they better get their butts down here to say hello and give me my hug or no edibles like steak or cake.”

  “I’ll go get them right now. They’re watching the Lakers. And my sister who has just advised me that she’s with child crashed about ten minutes ago. I believe Sage is in your room with her. Nevil’s somewhere in a corner with a book.”

  “Where’s Arthurine hiding?” I ask, walking over to the kitchen island that’s completely covered with open Styrofoam containers. I can smell the dry-fried crab and the curry, but I walk around peeking inside every container until I see the grilled quail, which of course no one has touched. This is one of my favorites.

  “I’m right over here!” she says, trying to speak over the music. I don’t see her until Spencer, who’s at the bar, goes over and turns it down to adult level. She and Prezelle are sitting side by side inside the curve of the leather sofa that’s hidden by the bar. The television is on mute, but it looks like that hasn’t stopped them from watching it.

  “Hello, Arthurine. And how are you, Prezelle?” I ask. They both look as if they’ve come to the wrong party by mistake but decided that since they were here, what the hell, they might as well stay.

  “Was Leon nice enough to give Prezelle a lift, Arthurine?”

  “No, he did not.”

  “Then how’d you get over here, Prezelle?”

  “Arthurine picked me up.”

  I know I didn’t hear him correctly, so I say, “Repeat that for me again, please.”

  “I went and got him myself,” she says.

  “In what?”

  “In my car.”

  “Arthurine,” I sigh. “First of all, this isn’t exactly the right time for us to have this conversation, and I apologize in advance if I embarrass you, however, I have to ask: what on earth would possess you to drive that car when neither of you have driven in over a year and you know your driver’s license is expired, not to mention your night blindness?”

  “Slow down, Marilyn. My Lord. First of all, nobody was here to go get Prezelle and since Spencer had all his friends coming to the homecoming, I wanted my friend here, too. And yes, I know my license is expired but I only went up the hill a few miles. I was willing to suffer the consequences if I got caught but the Lord was in the front seat with me, guiding me the whole way so I wasn’t really worried about darkness. And for your information I’m going down to take the test again next week ’cause I’m tired of depending on everybody to take me places, especially since I’m starting to get a whole new social life.”

  “I’m happy you’re becoming a social butterfly. But what do you mean by ‘again’?”

  “I took that test last month but they’ve made it much harder than it used to be and I had a few problems with some of those questions which made no sense whatsoever the way they worded them so they told me to study a little harder, then come back and try again. But that’s neither here nor there. And just so you’ll know, when I first moved in here, Leon told me to start my car up at least once a week and let it run for twenty minutes or so, which I’ve done. I have also driven it back and forth in the driveway to rotate the tires,” she sighs, and then takes a deep breath. “Now what do you have in those bags?” She pushes the palm of her hand into the back of the sofa to get to a standing position, and Prezelle gives her a little help. Of course she’s headed over here to see for herself.

  “I’ve been truly enjoying myself,” Prezelle says. Now he’s trying to get up, but the sofa is too low and he loses his balance, drops back into a sitting position, and decides to stay. He’s wearing tweed trousers that probably once belonged to a suit, and they’re being held up by red-and-gray striped suspenders that are wrinkling his used-to-be-white-and-he-ironed-it-himself shirt. Prezelle sinks deeply into the soft cushions of the sofa and crosses his legs like Superfly. He seems to know he’s sharp.

  “I’m glad you’re having a good time, Prezelle. You look quite dapper today.”

  “Why, thank you, Mrs. Grimes.”

  “Call me Marilyn.”

  “Why, thank you, Marilyn.” Now he’s blushing.

  I better watch it, before his girlfriend gets jealous. “What have you guys been doing?”

  “Just sitting here. Watching. And listening.”

  “Watching and listening to who?”

  “Who’s supposed to eat all this meat? Waste not, want not,” Arthurine says after opening both packages of steaks. But I don’t bother answering her.

  “Don’t worry, Grandma, my boys and I will devour those things tomorrow if nobody else does,” Spencer says.

  “So, how’s Brianna?”

  “Sweet, Mom. You’ll like her. I sure do.”

  “And how long did you say you’ve been seeing her?”

  “I don’t know—almost two months, give or take a week. Long enough to know.”

  “Long enough to know what?”

  “That I’ve got it bad.”

  Oh Lord, here we go again. What is it with this boy? I’m beginning to wonder if he falls in love with every pretty girl that makes him come. But I don’t want to go there, so I ask something generic: “Where’s she from?”

  “Actually, she grew up on what sounds like it might have been a farm, but she doesn’t call it a ‘farm.’ I mean they had cows and pigs and chickens and everything. It’s a little town. They still have dirt roads! I can tell you this much, driving between there and Atlanta, you wouldn’t want to have car trouble at night. Mom, is that peach schnapps I see?”

  “It is.”

  He runs over and gives me another hug. “Were you planning to make this today?”

  “I was, but you said not to bother cooking.”

  “We didn’t mean cake. Unless you’re too tired.” But now he’s giving me that please-baby-baby-please look.

  “Then turn the oven on,” I say. “And go check to see what’s going on with your girlfriend. It feels like I’ve been here an hour and I still haven’t met her.”

  “Bet,” he says, turning the dial to 350 degrees. “Thanks, Mom. Be right back.” He takes a bottle of water from the refrigerator and pours his dad a glass of wine, spilling half of it on the hardwood floor. Some things just don’t change. I hand him a paper towel and he cleans up the mess.

  “I’m sorry, Prezelle, you were saying?” I’m hoping and praying he remembers so I won’t have to embarrass him, too.

  “I said I’ve been enjoying watching and listening to the youngsters.”

  “What were they talking about?”

  “Well, seems to me that they started in on the most recent events of the day: this war over there in Iraq and the whole 9/11 tragedy and then they started in on that Jackson Five boy and his sister exposing herself at the Super Bowl—which they all seemed to enjoy, and from there it was that Kobe Bryant basketball star I believe was accused of raping some Colorado girl that they
all agreed was nothing but extortion. And things quieted down there for a minute until Leon decided to flip the calendar in the other direction and asked how they felt about that Million Man March. That’s when things got heated, I’ll tell you. It was pure entertainment.”

  “That it was,” Arthurine chimes in.

  “Really? How so?” I ask.

  “I’ll tell you why, Mom. Because your husband felt that it was a senseless expression of black manhood and even though most of us were kind of young when it went down, we all agreed that it was an incredible display of solidarity and how often have we seen it since then?”

  “Well, Prezelle, did you express how you felt about it?”

  “I didn’t think nothing about it, one way or the other. But if I had felt like talking I probably would’a said that I don’t think getting on no bus proved all that much. All a man needs to do to prove he’s a man is work hard. Take care his family. Pay his bills on time. And try to be a good father. A good husband. That’s all there is to it. You don’t have to go nowhere if you already doing right where you are. But I’ll tell you, Marilyn, it was really nice just listening to these young men talk about so many different issues, using big words and sounding so intelligent I couldn’t say anything for smiling. And to think that they are all in college just made me feel good.”

  “We’re all very proud of them,” I say.

  “I had hoped they’d bring up the snipers. I can’t believe they were black. We didn’t used to behave like other people.”

  I don’t dare ask who he’s referring to. But it feels like we need to lighten up a bit in here. “Did you have any of this delicious Vietnamese food, Prezelle?”

  “No, baby. I can’t eat none of that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know what they eat in Vietnam. But we’re in Oakland and I don’t know what all that’s supposed to be. There’s not one thang on that counter I could rightly say I recognize except the rice, and even that had speckles of something orange in it.”

  “I’m sorry. Arthurine, why didn’t you describe what was in each container to Prezelle, or at least offer him something else to eat?”

  “Because he didn’t ask. And I just told you. Waste not want not. He said he was just waiting to get used to the smell because I told him that I’m not afraid to try new things, even at my age, and if he is, I don’t know how this relationship is going to work.”

  “Oh, all right,” he says, this time giving himself a big push and he’s upright. He is sharp as a tack. All he needs are some dark sunglasses and he could be mistaken for a short Ray Charles. I think she’s taller than he is. But so what? If she likes him.

  “Arthurine, would you mind helping Prezelle sample some of the food?”

  “I don’t mind at all,” she says.

  “Hello, Mrs. Grimes,” I hear a southern voice coming from behind me. When I turn around, I see a young woman who probably could’ve been a black Breck girl. Everything about her looks sweet and tender. Her eyes are big and bright, as if she’s always interested in what people have to say. And what a tiny little waist! I bet she’s the size they just recently invented: a zero.

  “Hi there, Brianna. It’s very nice to meet you, honey. Make yourself comfortable and have a seat,” I say, pointing to the table in the nook, which seems to be the only clean surface in this kitchen.

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s very nice to meet you, too. And I want to thank you for inviting me to your home,” she says, looking up.

  “You’re quite welcome.”

  “Well, this has to be the most interesting candelabra I’ve ever seen. Where did you find something like this?”

  “Oh, I made that thing. Or, I should say, refurbished it.”

  “No kidding? How? What made you think to use all these different things on a light fixture? I mean, I see seashells and pearls and isn’t that dried fruit?”

  “Sure is. It was an old boring wrought-iron fixture that I got tired of looking at, so I just painted it blue and then just scrounged around the room and started gluing on anything I saw that I felt might bring it back to life.”

  “Well, it worked. Do you make this kind of stuff a lot?”

  “I always have something lying around that’s waiting to be finished. But it’s just a hobby.”

  “Well, before I go, I’d love to see some of the other things you’ve made if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure,” I say.

  “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

  “I don’t know. I was just about to make Spencer his favorite cake,” I say. “But after looking at all these boys, I better make that cake.”

  “I’d like to help, if you don’t mind.”

  “No, come on over here. Look in the pantry and get an apron that’s hanging next to the pots.”

  As she walks past me toward the pantry, I realize she’s tiny from the front, but as the kids say, “Baby got back” and I see what Spencer’s weakness might be. Now I hear what sounds like a stampede coming down the stairs, but Leon saunters in before Spencer and his friends almost trample him over.

  “Hi, Aunt Marilyn,” one says, followed by three more, then hugs and kisses. These boys are almost men. In one short year they have major facial hair and their voices have dropped quite a few octaves. I can remember when they looked and sounded like girls!

  “It’s nice to see you guys back in the ’hood.”

  They all laugh.

  “So, Mom, I see you’ve met Brianna,” Spencer says.

  “I have indeed and she’s going to help me make the cake.”

  “Cool.”

  “Aunt Marilyn,” one of the boys says. “Would you mind if we run back up to finish watching the game and we’ll come back afterward to chat with you? Would that be all right?”

  “That’s fine. You’re on spring break. Go.”

  When Brianna comes out of the pantry, because her hair is long, she’s having a hard time tying the apron string behind her neck. “Spencer, would you mind helping me tie this, please?”

  But before Spencer can go to her aid, Leon beelines it over there and is standing behind the girl so close I can see his stomach touching her back. “I’ll help you, young lady,” he says, lifting the strings over her shoulders but so close that his palms appear to brush the top of her breasts. “Anything my son can do, I can do better,” Leon says.

  “What did you just say?” I ask.

  “Yeah, Dad, chill out, man. And back away from her, if you don’t mind. You are tripping too hard, dude.”

  Leon drops the strings and looks at us like we’re the ones tripping. “What did I say? I was just kidding.”

  The poor girl looks like she’s afraid to move.

  “Your joke wasn’t funny, Dad,” Spencer says.

  “I agree,” Arthurine says, once she gets Prezelle settled in at the table in the nook. “You were way out of line, Son.”

  “But I didn’t do anything. Look, if I offended you, Brianna, I apologize. I was just trying to say that my son takes after his dad, and that you’re just getting a younger version of me. Didn’t you get it?”

  She nods her head as if she knows she should, not because she wants to.

  “It’s not just what you did but also how you did it, Leon,” I say.

  “I was just trying to be helpful!”

  “Who needs help?” Sabrina asks, as she comes into the kitchen holding Sage’s hand but she quickly lets go of it when she sees the open containers. “I’m starving.”

  “Hi there, Sage. Want to help Grandma and Brianna make a cake?”

  She just nods. I can tell she just woke up.

  Now here comes Nevil. The oddly handsome Jamaican. “Hello there, Mum,” he says, kissing me on the head. His dreadlocks are almost to his shoulders. They scratch.

  “Mom,” Spencer says. “A bunch of us want to go up to Tahoe for a couple of days to do some boarding and I was wondering if we could drive down to see Grandma Lovey on Tuesday?”

  “No,
” I say, too fast.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I can’t get off work.”

  “Well, if you can’t go, Brianna and I can drive down.”

  “But I don’t want you to go without me.”

  “Why not?”

  “What I meant was, I have to take her to the doctor next Friday, so if you could wait until then, that would be better.”

  “No problem. But we have to bail on Sunday. She’s not sick or anything, is she?”

  “She’s having a little trouble remembering some things.”

  “Like what kinds of things?” Sabrina asks.

  “I don’t feel like talking about this right now.”

  “But we should know if something’s not right, Mom,” Spencer says.

  “Okay. She gets lost driving a few blocks from home. She forgets things she does or says not too long afterward and sometimes hasn’t recognized my voice. That’s enough.”

  “Both of my grandmamas and my grandaddy on my mama’s side had that. It’s awful,” Brianna says. “How many eggs, Mrs. Grimes?”

  “Eight,” I say.

  “Had what?” Spencer asks her.

  “Alzheimer’s.”

  “We don’t know yet if that’s what she has.”

  “It probably is,” Brianna says. “Everybody tried to pretend like that wasn’t what was happening to them, and they prayed real hard for it not to be, but even God can’t stop this disease.”

  “God can stop anything,” Arthurine butts in.

  “Not when He didn’t start it,” the young girl says, like she knows exactly what she’s talking about. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I’m just saying that I’ve watched three of my elders go through this and they all started out the same way: forgetting a little bit and then more and more until they don’t even remember you when they see you. It’s terrible.”

  “I wish I could go see Grandma Lovey,” Sabrina says. “But I have an appointment with my adviser that I absolutely cannot miss.”