The Interruption of Everything

by Terry McMillan

  “No, we just been sitting and waiting, sitting and waiting, so you better get your behind on over here. The food is cold, but we can heat it up in the microwave. You ain’t got to stay but a minute.”

  I decide to try whining. “But I’m tired, Arthurine. Can’t we have leftovers tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow is bingo night.”

  “Not even Saturday?”

  “We bowl on Saturdays.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since we started bowling on Saturdays, that’s when. You have to drive right past here on your way home, so come on!”

  “Arthurine, wait a minute. Aren’t we going to church together on Sunday?”

  “God willing.”

  “And I thought you said you were making Easter dinner?”

  “Don’t go putting words in my mouth. I don’t cook on no holidays. Especially on the day He rose.”

  “Then I misunderstood you.”

  “It won’t be the first time. And won’t be the last. But I had the impression that you was planning on surprising us by making a reservation at a restaurant like that one me and you went to on the water.”

  “Well, I can try. But what about tonight?”

  “We’ll be listening out for you. And just so you know, Jesus is my final answer,” she says and hangs up.

  That woman! When I get there, I park in one of the many empty spots for visitors. A white-haired white man with gigantic teeth opens the door for me. “Hello there, young lady!”

  “Hello there, young man!” I say back. “And thank you for holding the door.”

  He blushes. His eyes look glazed. “My pleasure,” he says and literally bows. I look for “Goodenough” on the pad and press it. After I’m buzzed in, I realize that the gentleman is still standing at the door. In fact, he’s looking outside to see if anybody else might be coming. I wonder what it feels like to be that lonely. I hope I never have to find out.

  The lobby is nice. Tiled. It looks just like a regular apartment complex, actually. I don’t know what I was expecting. There are a few older folks sitting in what looks exactly like the lounge area at a ski resort. There’s even a fireplace, but it’s not lit. They all notice me and wave. I wave back. I take the elevator up to the ninth floor. Before I can even get close to #903, Arthurine is poking her wigless head out of the door and motioning me to hurry. “Come on in, chile! And just look what you done gone and did to your hair!”

  I give her a hug. She’s in one of those mumu-type things. Her wardrobe is going from bad to worse, I swear. “I told you I’ve been getting it braided all day, Arthurine. Why are you acting so surprised?”

  “I just didn’t expect it to be so many of ’em,” she says raking her fingers through them over and over. “And this ain’t your real hair color, neither.”

  “You’re so observant!” Wow! From over her shoulder I see San Francisco and what everybody in these hills covets: a three-bridge view! “I am sorry for being so late. And I won’t stay long.”

  Prezelle comes out of nowhere. Walks over and gives me a hug as well. He’s in a red plaid bathrobe with green plaid pajamas underneath. At least he’s consistent. “Hello there, Marilyn. You can stay as long as you like but I’ll be asleep by ten. That means I’ve got about forty-five minutes to enjoy your company. I like all those plaits in your hair,” he says. “How in the world are you ever going to get those things out?”

  “It took all day to put them in. And right now, I don’t want to think about how long it might take to get them out.”

  “I have to get used to it,” Arthurine says. “You look too young. Come sit,” she says, waving her arm like Vanna White does when she’s showing contestants what the showcase prize is.

  I sit on my second plaid couch of the day, but this one is modern and clean. The cocktail table is some kind of veneer, as are the two side ones. The lamps are white porcelain with clusters of spring bouquets on the front and back. The base is gold. I saw them at Target. Everything in here is shiny and clean. The floors are a pale gray tile. The walls a warm white. The kitchen is L-shaped. I don’t think two people could walk by at the same time. In fact, as I look around this feels a lot like a hotel room. “What a nice apartment,” I say to them both.

  “Thanks. I liked it a whole lot more until Arthurine came in here complaining about everything.” Prezelle is now sitting in his blue recliner. Arthurine’s is right next to it, except hers is burgundy and has ruffles. She’s over at the refrigerator, taking Tupperware containers out and placing them on the smallest countertop I think I’ve ever seen. But it fits in with all the other round corners and right angles and smooth surfaces.

  “It is a nice place, but we just too cramped up in here.”

  “But I told you that would be the case, Mrs. Goodenough, now didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did, Prezelle Goodenough, and all I’m saying is that I got a house full of lovely furniture in storage and nowhere to put it. Nice things. And as you can see, this place came furnished. Ain’t it boring?”

  Of course I agree with her, but I can’t agree with her. Prezelle seems quite proud of his home. “Well, I think it’s quite livable. Can’t you guys get a bigger apartment in here?”

  “We’re on the waiting list,” Prezelle says.

  “But we also looking at other complexes. This ain’t the only nice one out there.”

  “But you just got here, Arthurine!”

  “She can’t sit still for moving,” Prezelle says. “But I’m on her side. She wants to get a bigger place. We’ll get a bigger place and that’s all there is to it.”

  “You hungry?” Arthurine asks.

  “Honestly?”

  “No, tell me a big fat lie.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “No problem,” she says, and puts the containers back inside the refrigerator. “You want something to drink?”

  “I’m fine. I just really wanted to stop for a minute to say hello.”

  She takes about five steps and is sitting in her chair. They push their wooden levers back and are immediately reclining. I swear they look like they’re about to take off. But what a couple. What a delight to find love at this stage of their lives. I envy them.

  “The more I look at ’em, the more I think I like them braids,” Arthurine says. “But something is different about you. Stand up.”

  Without even thinking, I’m standing up. She looks me up and down. I look down to see what she might be looking at since I’m just in jeans and a pink T-shirt, the neckline of which is full of hair particles that are starting to make my neck itch. “You losing weight?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Don’t she look like she done lost some weight, Prezelle?”

  “I can’t really tell,” he says. His eyes are starting to droop and his head is headed to the right.

  “Well, I can. I been around you long enough. Your face look thinner.”

  “Maybe it’s the braids.”

  “You ain’t over there depressed and can’t eat are you?”

  “No, Arthurine. And I’m not depressed. I’ve been going to the gym. I’m working out with a personal trainer and I started doing yoga.”

  “Well then, that’s it! I knew you was doing something. Sometimes one or two pounds can change the way a person look, especially when they wasn’t fat to begin with.”

  “I’m not too far from it.”

  “Don’t make me get out of this chair and slap you, girl. You can’t be but a what? Twelve.”

  “On a good day.”

  “Enjoy it while you can.”

  “So, are you still going to Bible study?”

  “Not like I was. I don’t enjoy driving as much as I thought I would. And traffic is so bad, I’m scared somebody might hit me from behind or head-on and sometimes I feel like letting that steering wheel go and just pray that car will drive me right on through it. I don’t trust myself all the time. It’s just entirely too stressful when you old.”

  “We do r
ead scriptures to each other before we turn in,” Prezelle—back from the dead—says.

  “That’s sweet.”

  “So you heard my son called.”

  “I heard.”

  “He sounded good. Too good if you ask me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean, Arthurine?”

  “Well, he wasn’t really talking about the things I thought he shoulda been talking about.”

  “Which was?”

  “You. And him. Your marriage. What the heck is going on? I asked him if he had found his soul yet and he said in a manner of speaking, yes. I asked him how in the world did he manage to find it so soon when he still got more than a week left before he comes home. And guess what he said?”

  “I can’t, Arthurine, not tonight.”

  “He said he learned that he’s free to move on if he wants to.”

  “Really? He said that, did he?”

  “Wait a minute. So I said, ‘Move on to what, son?’ And he just said, ‘To a higher level.’ I still didn’t know what he was talking about. He ain’t at one of them cult-type places, is he?”

  “Not even close. Did he say anything about me? Like why he hasn’t bothered to call?”

  “No. He didn’t mention your name. Which I also thought was strange. He just said he needed to do this, and he’ll be a new man when he gets home.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “Oh, he said he wants to have a birthday party.”

  “A birthday party?”

  “That’s what he said. He said it’s time for him to start celebrating his life.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I ain’t making this up. You don’t think Leon could be using any kind of drugs, do you, Marilyn?”

  “Of course not. He’d have found his soul by now if he were. But maybe he should. Since he’s been such a frozen little flower who needs to thaw out. Forgive me, Arthurine,” I say and stand up.

  “The bathroom is over there,” she says, pointing to a white door. “I know you just upset.”

  “I’m not upset and I don’t need to go to the bathroom. I’m tired. But more than anything, I’m tired of your son and his bullshit.”

  “I might have to agree with you on that one,” she says. “Tell me something, Marilyn. Do you want a divorce?”

  I stop dead in my tracks and then turn to look at her. I wonder what she wants to hear. I wonder what I should say. I wonder what I honestly feel. I wonder what difference it will make one way or the other. My mouth opens and out comes: “I think I do.” I can’t believe what a relief it is to hear myself say it. To finally admit it. And to the woman who happens to be my husband’s mother.

  “But what would you do without him? Have you thought about that?”

  “I’ve been giving it some thought. Yes.”

  “You think you won’t mind being by yourself?”

  “What difference does it make? As things stand, I feel like a pot of water that someone left the fire under and now it’s all evaporated.”

  “Well, I certainly know what that feels like. But do me a big favor, baby? Don’t go doing something you might regret.”

  “Well, I’m going back to college, I can tell you that much.”

  “That ain’t got nothing to do with your marriage, do it?”

  “I think it does. You don’t know how many years I’ve spent doing everything for everybody and neglecting myself.”

  “Yes, I do. We all do it.”

  “We?”

  “Women. We give up entirely too much for men, and in some cases, for even our children.”

  “I’m not saying I regret what I’ve given them. I just feel like nobody really cares what I’m doing as long as I keep doing what I’ve always done for them.”

  “I don’t know how true that is, Marilyn. But I care.”

  “And I appreciate that you do. I’m also not claiming that my feelings are based on facts, but acts, or I should say the lack of them. Ever since the twins left, I’ve just been existing, somewhere between one day and the next. I never had to think about how to fill up empty space before. I’ve always been concerned about the kids. Leon. My mother. And out of nowhere Leon tells me he needs a break. And then you up and get married and move out without preparing Leon or me for it. My kid comes home for spring break and I’m like an afterthought—and a bank—and now here I am all by myself and I’m just beginning to understand why I’ve felt sad, but I think I need to pay attention to all the signs.”

  “What kinda signs you talking about?”

  “Don’t you remember how you felt after your husband died?”

  “Of course I do. Like I was in quicksand and didn’t care if nobody tried to save me.”

  “But you didn’t sink to the bottom. It just felt like it. And eventually you didn’t need to be rescued by anybody, you just had to keep on living until it felt good again, didn’t you?”

  “I guess. But it was a little at a time.”

  “Well, that’s all I’m doing. I’ve lost a baby that I didn’t want in the first place and I truly believe that God did that to shake me up because between that, this whole menopause business, and my husband and kids not really needing me to mother them anymore, I’ve come to see that I’m all I have left. And that’s not a bad thing.”

  “You can still count on the Lord. He don’t have no Plan B and He never lets you down.”

  “I know that, Arthurine. But sometimes the Lord gives us gifts we don’t use or opportunities we ignore simply because it’s easier. I need to start taking better care of Marilyn, as well as I have of everybody else. I may have to learn how to live alone if that’s the only way I can do it. People don’t usually die from loneliness.”

  “But sometimes folks just need to get reacquainted. Like me and Prezelle did. Right, Prezelle?”

  He is out cold.

  “Anyway, when Leon gets home, I think you two need to go off somewhere quiet and try to figure out if what you got is worth saving instead of throwing it all away.”

  “Or, maybe I should go somewhere exotic for a month or so—all by myself—to see if I can find my center.”

  “Now you starting to sound like Leon. Just try to do this: write your plans in pencil but give God the eraser. Be still and stay put.”

  “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon except to Fresno to check on my mother. But I’ll give what you said some thought.” I give her a kiss on the forehead.

  “I will say this. Regardless of what happen, you gon’ always be my favorite daughter-in-law. You understand me?”

  “I do and as your only daughter-in-law, I do love and care about you, too, Arthurine. I miss you. I even think I miss Snuffy!”

  “Now why you have to go and bring him up? If we move out of here, I told Prezelle I want to live someplace where we can have a dog. But of course he likes cats. I told him we could get one of each. They’ll just have to learn to get along and accept their differences. Anyway, you be careful.”

  “I will. And tell Prezelle I said good night. I’ll see you two on Sunday.” I head down the hall and press the button for the elevator. The doors pop right open. As soon as I get inside, I hear Arthurine yell: “What time you picking us up?”

  I just shake my head and hold the doors to stop them from closing, and yell back: “In plenty of time.”

  Chapter 25

  Bunny loves my hair. And her necklace. Which she is wearing in broad daylight even though it’s an evening piece. We decide to stop by Paulette’s shop after leaving the gym to see if we can find something new to wear to church tomorrow. She’s actually going with her new fellow, whose name she insists on revealing to me in her very special way—it’s called guessing—while I attack the treadmill. “Next to Vietnamese food, what’s Leon’s favorite restaurant?”

  “Hell, he’s got too many to choose from.”

  “Just pick one he loves.”

  “Chez Panisse?”

  “It’s black-owned.”

  “Then why didn’t yo
u say that?” I’m sweating like a prizefighter and finally up to an incline level higher than one, walking at a pace of three miles per minute, which for me is equivalent to running the 100-meter race under twelve seconds. To put it another way, I can’t think. “Just tell me who it is, Bunny, and stop playing these silly games.”

  “You’ve got six more minutes to go plus the cool down, so keep walking and let me give you another hint. Does chicken and waffles mean anything to you?”

  “You’re not talking about that nice-looking brother with the mixed gray hair. Avery-what’s-his-name…the owner?”

  “I am.”

  “I thought he was married?”

  “He’s separated and getting a divorce.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Trust me. I know. It’s about to get ugly because there’s money and property involved, which is why I’ve had to keep my mouth shut.”

  “How long have you had to keep it shut?”

  “Five or six months.”

  “No kidding. And what makes him different from all the others?”

  “Stop making it sound like I’ve done the football team or something, Marilyn, damn. I want to keep this one.”

  “You wanted to keep all of them, Bunny.”

  “That’s not totally true. Some of them were only good for a much-needed lay and we both knew it.”

  “Whatever. I’m not even going to bother bringing up any names. How old is this guy?”

  “Fifty.”

  “And that’s not too old for you?”

  “Not by a long shot. He’s a good man, Marilyn. I’ve finally met somebody who’s got integrity and knows what he’s doing and what he wants.”

  “And what is he doing and what does he want?”

  “He wants me. And he wants to sell his business and move to Napa and grow grapes.”

  “I can just picture you out in the fields now, Beulah.”

  “Seriously, Marilyn. His kids are grown and paid for. His wife is just a needy, greedy, spoiled half-white bitch who hasn’t worked a day in her married life and isn’t about to start now.”

  “Sounds like I share some of her attributes.”