I’m surprised at just how glad I am that Leon’s gone. I’ve been going to work early and staying late. Trudy is becoming quite knowledgeable and even skillful in a number of departments. She asked if I’d ever finished that necklace I was making and I was embarrassed but admitted that I hadn’t. “Why don’t you leave it here and let me have someone have a go at it? I know exactly what you’re after. Don’t worry.” So I don’t.
I even drove out to Bunny’s health club and got a brand-new membership knowing it was her day off. I signed up for those yoga classes in Berkeley. I treated myself to one of those day spas but left before the “day” was over. On the phone they sounded like an infomercial on how much pampering I was in store for. The massage therapist seemed afraid to use much pressure and after thirty minutes, I gave her a tip and told her I had to go to the bathroom and I felt refreshed. The manicurist’s pager kept going off and while I sat in that pedicure chair that was broken, they had to pour the hot water in and then started vacuuming up all the loose toe and fingernails. So much for “self-care,” magazine-style.
Every evening before dinner I check in with Joy, who’s still sounding good and after dinner I help Arthurine study for her driver’s test. She’s skipping Bible study this week because she says she can’t study two things at once. I can’t believe it’s Thursday already, and here she comes limping into the house with a Nordstrom’s shopping bag full of mail. “Most of this look like it’s for you. I think I saw something in there from one of those colleges but I don’t have on my glasses, so I could be mistaken.”
My ears are ringing. But maybe it’s my cell phone. Or the second line in my workshop. “Arthurine, do you hear that?”
“What is it I’m listening for?” she asks, leaning toward me.
“Do you hear a phone ringing?”
She tilts her head so her ear points toward the ceiling. “It ain’t coming from my room, my phone is turned down so low I can’t hardly hear it when I’m in there.”
“Is there a TV on somewhere?”
“Not that I know of, but I ain’t been in your room.”
“Never mind,” I say. “I don’t hear it now.”
“You might want to get your hearing tested because you don’t wanna look up one day and be deaf.”
“I just thought I heard something ringing, that’s all.”
“That’s how it starts. A little ring here. A little ring there. Then no ring at all. I know what I’m talking about. And speaking of ringing, I forgot to tell you your sister called and said that that neurology doctor had a opening so she’s taking Lovey to see her this Tuesday instead of two weeks from now.”
“That’s great! How did she sound?”
“Like she was your sister.”
“Did she seem happy?”
“She wasn’t exactly bubbling over, but she certainly didn’t strike me as being depressed. What are you driving at?”
“Did it sound like she could possibly be drunk?”
Arthurine pauses for a minute to remember. “No, not at all. But she was chewing on something which I thought was rude.”
“Then I’ll call her later.”
“She said not to worry. She’ll call you after they get back from the doctor.”
“But that’s five whole days from now!”
“So? What you so worried about?”
“My mother.”
“The girl is taking her to the doctor, Marilyn. You think she’d let something happen to Lovey?”
“Not on purpose.”
“Oh, chill out, girl.”
“Chill out? When did you get so hip?”
“They say it a lot on BET. Oh, shoot. There was another message you might not want to know about but I think I should tell you anyway. Your doctor said that if you’da had the baby, it would’ve been a little girl.”
“Thank you, Arthurine, for being such a good secretary.” A little girl? I rub my arms up and down to brush the chill bumps away and to erase the image of a baby girl.
“You’re welcome. Anyway, did you get the mail yesterday?”
“No.”
“Me neither. Did you get it on Tuesday?”
“No.”
“Me neither. Well, here. You go through it. I’m going on upstairs to pack.”
“Did you tell me you get back on Sunday night or Monday morning? I can’t remember.”
“I don’t think we ever discussed the coming and going part. But they said we should get back here on Sunday night somewhere between eight and nine. They have to leave a window open because the brochure said the tour company cannot be responsible for the weather or heavy traffic.”
“I’ll wait, Arthurine, so don’t start worrying about it, okay?”
“Do I look worried? No. Do I sound like I’m worried? No.”
“Okay you made your point! What time do you need to be over there tomorrow?”
“Prezelle said the bus is leaving that parking lot at one o’clock sharp, so we can’t be late or I’ll get left.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be there in plenty of time. But let’s just say hypothetically speaking, if you were late. Do you think Prezelle would really go on without you?”
“That’s a question I don’t have the answer to and do not want to have to find out. I’m just so excited, I hope I can get to sleep tonight.”
“And you’re still planning on taking your driving test in the morning, right?”
“Of course I am. While it’s still fresh in my mind. And then can you drop me off at Prezelle’s, if that’s all right with you?”
“I said I would, and I will. We’re taking your car.”
“Why?”
“Because that car needs to be driven. And tomorrow is as good a day as any. What hotel are you staying at?”
“The Nugget. How many times do I have to say it?”
“Don’t get cute, Arthurine, or you’ll be hitchhiking down to the DMV.”
“You still ain’t heard a word from Leon?”
“Just that he had arrived.”
“Do you miss him?”
“Nope.”
“That’s a shame. I’m praying very hard that the love you two once shared will come alive again, you know.”
“Don’t pray too hard, Arthurine. God has already made his decision.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because He spoke to me.”
“What? When? What did He say?”
Her eyes look like glassy marbles that are just about to pop out and roll all over the floor.
“He said it’s time to get this party started.”
She recoils. “He ain’t said no such thing and you know it. Sometimes I think you trying to be witty but you ain’t a very good comedienne, Marilyn, because you don’t have no idea what’s funny. And you should not be throwing God’s name around like He’s a human being or a real person when He ain’t.”
“I’m sorry, Arthurine.”
“All is forgiven.”
She goes on upstairs and I walk over to the red table in the entry and start making the usual piles. Arthurine was right. Here’s a white envelope from the Academy of Art College with my name typed on the front. I can’t open it. Not yet. I slide it all the way down to the end of the table all by itself and continue sorting through the rest of the mail. Shit! There’s one from the California College of Arts and Crafts, too. Now I’m having heart palpitations and then it feels like I can hardly breathe. I go over to the living room and sit down on the couch. This feels like a mistake, especially if my heart wants to stop beating and I’m suffocating at the same time. I stand back up. But this time I feel light-headed, so I sit back down. Now I feel hot. I take my sweatshirt off and sit here in my underwire bra and jeans that are too damn tight. I undo the snap and the fat that I hope to lose in the near future expands causing my zipper to unzip itself. I can’t open those letters right now. I just can’t.
“Marilyn!” Arthurine yells from the top step. “Can I borrow one of your s
uitcases?”
“I don’t care.”
“Can I take that black one with the wheels that I can hang my things up in?”
“I said I don’t care.”
“Can you bring it up here for me?”
“Only if you come down here and do something for me first.”
“My feet hurt. I’m seriously thinking about getting these bunions cut off either right after we finish with Lamentations or before start-up with the Song of Solomon in the New Testament.”
“The Song of Solomon is in the Old Testament, Arthurine.”
“Look, you don’t need to correct me when it comes to the Bible. I may get some things out of order, but it’s all in there somewhere, so what difference does it make?”
“You’re right, Arthurine.”
“I don’t say nothing about this mishmash you make and call art, now do I?”
“No, you do not.”
“Then we’re even. Now. Whatever it is you wanted me to do, can I do it up here when you bring me the suitcase?”
“I suppose so. I’ll be right back.”
I run to the garage and get the garment bag, but by the time I get back into the house, I seem to have conjured up the courage to open the letters myself. After all, there are really only two possible answers: come or stay home. What I’m finding to be more surprising is how much this obviously seems to mean. I just don’t want to put so much weight on this that it feels like the only key that can unlock the door.
I take Arthurine the bag and turn to go back downstairs.
“What happened to your blouse, chile?”
“I was burning up.”
“Flashing again, are we? Lord, don’t I remember. So what was it you wanted me to do?”
“Never mind. It was nothing.”
“What was it? Now you done got me all curious.”
“I can do it myself.”
“Do what yourself?”
“Open these letters I got from the two colleges that will tell me whether or not some of this mess I make confuses the hell out of them, too, or if it’s good enough to get me accepted.”
“Oh, come on, Marilyn, I was just kidding with you. Oh ye of so little faith. Open them letters, girl, so we can both have a reason to celebrate.”
I open them without reading them, then unfold each one and simply look at the first few words of each letter. They’re pretty much the same: “It gives us great pleasure…” and “We are pleased to advise you…” But instead of jumping for joy like I was praying I’d be able to do, I am truly humbled by these letters of acceptance. Because I finally realize that not only do I have to make a choice but that I’ve always had them.
“What do they say? I’m dying of curiosity.”
“You don’t really want to know do you, Arthurine?”
“Don’t make me snatch them letters from you. What do they say?”
“They basically say the same thing.”
She stamps her foot. Which is a bad move.
“Well, they both seem to be saying, ‘Let’s get this party started!’” I take hold of her right hand and slide my left arm behind her back and I waltz her all the way to her bedroom without even coming close to kicking her bunions.
Chapter 21
I don’t feel like driving just yet,” is what Arthurine says right after she passes her test and I attempt to hand over her keys. She crosses her arms then squeezes them so tight that it pushes her breasts almost up to her chin. The keys hit the pavement.
“I was just thinking that you might want to drop me off and drive yourself over to Prezelle’s,” I say, reaching down to pick them up once I notice that we’re standing in the line of fire of a nervous teenager about to take his driving test. When we get over to Arthurine’s white Cadillac, I dangle the keys in front of her one more time for good measure.
“I need more than five minutes to get used to the idea that I can get in this car in broad daylight and drive right past the police without breaking into a cold sweat, plus, go anywhere I want to without sneaking like I’m somebody’s criminal.” She pivots and rushes over to the passenger side of the car and stands there.
I feel like making her wait. “You look very nice in mint green, Arthurine.”
“I do, don’t I. Thank you,” she says. “Now can you hurry up and open this door, I don’t have all day.”
I drive. As promised.
The slick silver bus is already there when we pull up. A parade of senior citizens is dragging suitcases without wheels as if they do have wheels across the concrete and abandoning them in front of the open baggage compartment. Prezelle is standing between an avocado green overnight case and a brown plaid bag bursting at the seams. It’s big enough to hold clothes for a family of four. He appears to be looking for his woman because his face lights up when Arthurine steps out of the car.
“I was getting a little worried,” he says, and to my surprise, gives her a quick kiss on her lips. Prezelle is—needless to say—decked out. However, it appears that he may have gotten his seasons a little mixed up. He’s sporting a brand-new straw hat and when he bends over to give me a peck on the cheek, I see the price tag and separate bar code still stuck to the underside of the brim. He is also camouflaging a Hawaiian print shirt that I know only comes in short sleeves beneath the tweed suit jacket that most people would consider a separate, especially when it doesn’t match the pants that happen to be brown corduroy. I’m afraid to look at his shoes.
“I passed,” Arthurine exclaims.
“I knew you would. I told you you would. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Prezelle.”
“So now you’re legal, huh?”
“I am indeed.”
“Then why didn’t you drive over here instead of making Marilyn go out of her way to bring you?”
“She insisted. Didn’t you, Marilyn?”
“I did. I wanted to see you both off and wish you a good time.”
“Well, that’s awful nice of you. Is that a new outfit you’re wearing there, Reeney?”
“It most certainly is. I can’t believe you even noticed.”
“I’ve never seen you in a solid color before, that’s why.”
“Do you like it?”
“I do. It is downright flattering. But I hope you brought a few of the ones you always wear that I like.”
“Of course I did. I’m planning on wearing the purple and gold one to dinner.”
“Did you know it’s a buffet? All you can eat?”
“Don’t tell me that, Prezelle. I don’t need no buffet to eat all I can.” She chuckles.
“Can I get your bags out of the trunk?”
“I only brought one,” she says.
“I’ll get it, Prezelle,” I say.
“No no no. Let a man do a man’s job.”
I smile at him as I pop the trunk open and then at Arthurine who looks like she knows she’s already hit the jackpot. Prezelle lifts the black garment bag up and starts to carry it toward the bus. I want to tell him it’s got wheels, but I just keep my big mouth shut.
He hurries back. “Come on, Reeney,” he says, reaching out to take her hand. “Or we might not get to sit together.”
“Prezelle, don’t worry yourself for no reason. We’ll be closer than a bus seat tonight and tomorrow.”
I think I’m hearing things. “Wait a minute. I mean, excuse me a second. Arthurine?”
“What?”
“Do you mean to tell me that you and Prezelle are staying in the same room?”
“Of course we are. What a stupid question, Marilyn.”
“What’s so stupid about it?”
“I don’t think it’s a stupid question,” Prezelle says. “I can see how you might wonder why we would choose to go this route.”
“And what route is that?” she asks, looking at him.
“We save eighteen dollars in a double.”
“That ain’t the reason we talked about, Prezelle.”
“Look, I’m n
ot implying that there’s anything wrong with the two of you…I mean, it’s your business and you’re both consenting adults. I just didn’t know it was going down like this.”
“Well, it is going down like this and we gots to go,” she says, this time grabbing Prezelle by the hand and pretty much dragging him over to the bus entrance. “Bye, Marilyn,” she says, as he helps her get up that first step. “Try to have a good weekend without me.”
“That’s impossible,” I say. “I miss you already.”
“Bye-bye,” Prezelle whispers to me.
Part of me wants to wait until they’re seated safely on the bus and long after it disappears from sight, I’d stand here a few more minutes to make sure that if they forgot something that would cause them to have to turn around and come back, I’d be here to go get whatever it was they needed. But Arthurine and Prezelle are not on their way to camp and they are not my children. Every tinted window on this bus has a smiling senior citizen behind it, two of whom are waving to me like they’re leaving for their honeymoon.
I didn’t call to tell anybody about my news yesterday. I wanted the reality of it to sink in first: I’m going back to school. Just like my children. I needed to really weigh what this is going to mean. I also have no idea if Leon will pay the tuition or if I’ll be taking out a student loan. This even sounds odd: me taking out a student loan for myself. But I’ll do whatever I have to do. I’m going.
I meet Paulette and Bunny for a shopping lunch in San Francisco. Bunny—much like Prezelle—doesn’t seem to know it’s the end of March and not August. She’s in a tight, white, hip-hugging sweat suit that you wouldn’t dream of sweating in, even though there’s a matching jacket that doesn’t quite reach her waist, and under it she’s wearing a white satin camisole that’s obviously too small. Paulette, on the other hand, looks like a grown-up having lunch on Maiden Lane on a sunny spring afternoon. Her braids look unbelievably good, which tells me that her daughter didn’t do them. She’s in black leather pants, black boots, a white shirt with a great collar, and a red blazer. I’m not commenting on what I’m wearing. But I’m presentable. I also don’t bother telling them my news until after we order. Neither one seems surprised to hear it.
The Interruption of Everything Page 24