Under the Peach Tree

by Charlay Marie

  “What happened?”

  “I asked him to get me something to drink and he said, ‘You got two legs, get your own drink! I’m tired of catering to your every need! You better feel your way into that kitchen, woman!’”

  My eyes widened. “He said that?”

  “Oh yes, he did. And he didn’t stop there either. ‘If I would’ve known how hard it would be to take care of a blind woman, I woulda asked Jesus to bring me a better wife!’”

  “Oh, no, he didn’t!” I felt my face boiling and yet Momma May smiled.

  “When people are angry, they say things they don’t always mean . . . especially men. Oh, I gave him the silent treatment for a whole week. I told him if he thought it was hard being married to a blind woman, let’s see how it was to be married to one who’s blind and mute.”

  I laughed. “I bet he ain’t like that.”

  “Not one bit. But it made him appreciate me more, knowing that things could always be worse. He apologized, said he’d been overloaded with stress at work and took it out on me. He said it was nothing but the devil trying to take away the only good thing in life. Plus, I took a deeper look into my situation and realized I wasn’t being the woman I needed to be. So I got myself up and learned my way around that house. It improved our marriage.”

  I dropped my head. “And, let me guess, you think I should forgive Dante.”

  “Yes. He doesn’t understand why you don’t like to go to church like I do, Hope. Let him see from your eyes.”

  “So, does that mean you understand my point of view in that situation?” I asked.

  “I understand both points of view, Hope. Dante’s birthday present to you wasn’t inside of that church, it was helping you get over your greatest fear. I actually gave him the idea, however, he didn’t implement it correctly. Hope, you will have to face your fears head-on. You can pray for deliverance all day long but God is not going to force you into it. Sometimes He will. But in this case, you have to walk into it. You have to be stronger than your fears or you’ll never be the woman of God He intends for you to be. Do you understand that, Hope?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And don’t worry, sweetie. I got on Dante about that mouth and anger of his. He knows he was wrong.”

  “Well, I still ain’t ready to forgive him.”

  “In due time, you will.”

  Momma May and I spent the rest of the day talking about anything and everything until it tired her out, which didn’t take long. She was such a wise woman, almost as if God Himself spoke every word from her mouth. She had a story for everything, and every story was meant to teach. Every story had a way of wrapping itself around my heart, feeding it with truth. And that’s what God teaches us. We are to use our words to lift people up, not tear them down. That was the difference between my birth mother and my spiritual mother. My birth mother only spoke words meant to tear me down. Everything she said was from the devil. She wanted to keep me low so that I wouldn’t ever be able to walk into my greatness. The devil has a powerful influence over those who give him that power. But now I stepped on the devil’s head daily. He would not be victorious.

  Surprisingly, Dante was sitting on the porch as I walked up to the house later that night. I could tell by his low head, the way his shoulders slouched, that he felt remorse. Good.

  It was a beautiful night. John had once said, “The sound of nature is at its best once the sun goes down. Every day life tends to distract us from the beauty of life, the things that bring true joy. We tend to miss out on the secrets of nature, things long forgotten from ancient times. Like how soothing it is to listen to grasshopper’s music, to the owls hooting in nearby trees, to the critters rummaging about in bushes. And the stars seemed to shine brighter at night.”

  “Hey,” Dante said, eying me warily.

  I fought down the urge to be difficult and settled for a “Hi.”

  “Are you just now getting back from the hospital?”

  “Yeah, because somebody was acting funny.” Welp, there goes my attempt at not being difficult.

  Dante sighed. “I’m sorry . . . for everything I said. I didn’t mean any of it.”

  “Whatever, Dante. I don’t even care anymore. It is what it is.”

  I took a seat next to him and stared out at the dark night. I remember being a kid and looking up to the sky, wondering what all was out there. The stars are much brighter in the country; the city lights are too distracting. People decorate the city in lights and forget about the stars and moon. We’d rather busy ourselves with Times Square than sitting under the sky, learning the constellations.

  Society has a way of distracting us from the things that really mean the most. Children are too consumed by video games and television to go outside and play. Adults would rather watch someone else’s reality on TV than create their own. What happened to spending all day outside? I remember the joy of it. Now we complain about cramped legs from sitting on the couch all day. We’re fatter than we used to be. We’re never satisfied because we’re brainwashed to think something better is around the corner. A new phone, a new car, a new sandwich at some fast food restaurant. Has technology replaced God? Has money? Have we replaced ourselves with something less human?

  I made a promise to myself to stay true to nature. So when I looked at the stars and was reminded of how humans had regressed over the centuries, I clung to them. They are constant. When everything around me changes, the stars, they stay the same. Kinda like God.

  But all stars die and He lives forever.

  Maybe it’s actually a big difference.

  “What are you looking at?” Dante asked, following my eyes up to the sky.

  “The stars. Do you ever wonder what’s all out there?”

  “Everything,” he responded. “Hopes, dreams, the future, our prayers.”

  I nodded. “Do you think God lives in outer space?”

  “I think He lives beyond it. There’s so much we just can’t see, or possibly begin to understand. But I think God is beyond the stars and galaxies.”

  “Why do you think He created all of the stars and other planets if He was just going to use the earth?”

  “That’s a question you have to save for God. He has a lot of things He plans on sharing with us.”

  I guessed that was as good an answer as any. Maybe God would share all of His secrets with us like an episode of How It’s Made.

  Science has gone a long way, but we can’t possibly begin to understand all of the universe’s ways. Some scientists are so convinced in their science that they ignore the fact that there is a God. Science is just a way for our human minds to understand how God created everything. Regardless, people never want to give God credit for His works. That was something Momma May taught me during those long visiting hours at the church. She was so full of wisdom.

  I hadn’t realized how much I’d learned just by being in her presence. I’d find myself referencing her teachings throughout my day. Well, God worked her teachings into my heart and I’d take them wherever I went.

  I instantly felt said, just thinking about Momma May.

  The doctors sad her condition was worsening each day. They had managed to get the blood flow back on track to where she didn’t need any machines, but her body was beginning to shut down. Her skin started to look gray and she began losing her hair. I noticed once while brushing it.

  But even though Momma May was dying, her spirit was still fresh. She still taught me the importance of life: to love God, to love all of His children as I loved myself, and to bring others to Christ. The last part I hadn’t really figured out. I couldn’t even step foot inside of a church to bring others to Christ. I thought only preachers did that. I guessed I still had a lot to learn.

  “What are you thinking about?” Dante asked. I’d almost forgotten he was sitting beside me.

  I sighed. “Life.”

  Chapter 20

  Dante came jogging up to the house that morning, the way he always did. I had bee
n sitting on the porch, thinking about my future, when his voice sounded.

  “Good morning!” he sang.

  I frowned. “Why you so happy for?” I asked.

  “I got a surprise for us after we go visit Momma May today.”

  “Well, tell me now. I hate surprises.”

  He shook his head. “Nope. You have to wait and find out,” he stated irrevocability.

  I sighed and stood. “Fine . . . and it better be good.”

  An hour later we walked through the hospital doors. The moment I entered, I felt something off. Something . . . unsettling. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I looked over at Dante, who seemed oblivious to what I felt. Dread, was it? Sometimes our soul foresees pain that our brains have yet to recognize.

  When we got on the elevator, I stood back, fiddling with my fingers. Dante noticed and frowned, but he said nothing. When the elevator doors opened, I rushed out, nearly knocking Dante over.

  “Dang,” he said, righting himself.

  “I’m sorry,” I breathed, barely above a whisper. “I just . . . I feel . . . Can I go see Momma May first today?”

  He frowned. “Yeah, but what’s wrong?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I said and took off toward the swinging doors that led me to Momma May. I turned down a few hallways and almost bumped into a few people who had come from Momma May’s room. I guessed they were church members.

  I stood in front of it, wondering if I should knock. The thought lasted only a few seconds before I went ahead and allowed myself in her room.

  And she lay there, half asleep. She looked up at me with a smile. My raging heart settled as I came to her bed. I ran a hand over her gray, thinning hair.

  “Every morning I wake up and thank God that you are in my life,” I told her. I took a seat next to her, studying her pale face. She looked thinner today, more sickly. There was a bedpan sitting on the other side of her, which let me know she’d been getting sick. Momma May smiled and opened her mouth to say something but couldn’t.

  She’d never been this bad.

  I stood up and walked to the door, yelling out, “Nurse!”

  A pretty lady with a bright smile came up to me just seconds later. “How can I help you?” she asked.

  “Yeah, she’s not talking. She was talking fine yesterday. Why can’t she talk today?”

  The nurse reached behind me and grabbed Momma May’s chart. “Stage four cancer,” she said, skimming over the papers. “This is quite normal once a patient’s health declines. She’ll have trouble remembering things, difficulty concentrating, problems with speech. She’s weak. Do you understand that?”

  I shook my head. “A person’s condition doesn’t worsen overnight.”

  She smiled apologetically. “Tell that to God.”

  I frowned as the nurse walked away. Tell that to God? What did that even mean? Tell that to the person who was in charge so they could fix it? It wasn’t like God would just change Momma May’s condition. I’d prayed and prayed for Momma May to get better until I realized I was praying the wrong thing. And then I prayed to allow His will to be done, whether it meant healing Momma May or not. And then I started praying for her to go peacefully with the least amount of pain possible.

  I sat back down next to Momma May and held her hand. I tried not to let the tears come out.

  “I felt something funny when I came to the hospital. I thought something was wrong with you. And now you ain’t talking.” I paused, trying to compose myself before I cried all over Momma May. The last thing she’d want was me crying because of her. She wanted me strong and I’d be that, even if I had to fake it. “I wish you could tell me another story, but I’m being selfish. How about I tell you a story, Momma May?

  “I told you a story already but you was asleep. It was easier that way, because I didn’t want you to judge me. But I know now that you won’t. You ain’t like my momma. You’re better than her. You gave me a place to stay. You taught me about a God who really does love me. You showed me how to be a better person and to let go of my past. I’m so thankful.”

  I went on to explain the things that hurt most. About how verbally abusive Momma was; however, I went into more detail with her that I’d ever done with anyone. I finished my story with, “That’s it. That’s about as deep as my story gets. I was scared that you would judge me.”

  Momma May opened her mouth to speak but struggled. I could tell by how much she strained that she needed to tell me something. “I . . . al . . . ready . . . kn . . . knew.”

  I frowned. “How?”

  “I . . . was . . . wasn’t . . . ’sl . . . ’sleep.”

  I almost cried. This whole time I had been keeping that one secret from Momma May, afraid she’d kick me out or judge me. She knew and it didn’t change a thing. She still loved me, unconditionally. The pain of knowing she’d soon be gone engulfed me. I choked on a sob.

  I grabbed on to Momma May’s hand, watching the machine that monitored her heart rate. I hadn’t noticed how much it had slowed down in the last few minutes. I didn’t know if it was normal. Maybe I should alert the nurses. But I locked eyes with Momma May as she tried to lift her hand from mine to wipe my tears away. How did she know I was crying?

  “D . . . don’t.”

  “No. I should be telling you that! Don’t.” I paused. I was on the verge of a breakdown. I didn’t want her to hear my voice wavering. I needed her to believe I was strong enough. I inhaled, stabilizing myself. “Don’t die. Please stay. I still need you.”

  She tried to shake her head. “Strong,” she muttered.

  “I’m not strong. Not without you.”

  “G . . .” She started coughing. Once it settled, she tried to speak again. “God.”

  I didn’t understand what she meant, but I nodded anyway. I could tell how much it hurt her not to be able to speak to me the way she wanted to. Momma May used to be a lively older woman. One who would walk into a room and command attention with her presence alone. One would know, just by being in the same room with her, that God stood near her. His spirit was all over her. And it still was, but it no longer kept her strong. Instead, it allowed her to weaken. God was calling Momma May home. I could feel it. I knew the moment I walked into the hospital that something was off. Yeah, God was in this place, claiming His prize, claiming Momma May. I should have been okay with that, knowing Momma May was going to heaven, but I couldn’t let her go. I wasn’t okay. She was mine! She needed to fight for her life!

  I remembered a poem by Dylan Thomas that I read in high school. The teacher told us to write a one-page essay about the meaning behind the poem “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night.” I remember writing “I don’t know” until I filled up the whole paper. I never really cared for poems and their misguided meanings. I was never smart enough to figure them out. But, I realized, some poems were so deep we couldn’t begin to understand the meaning without actually experiencing it for ourselves. Well, now I understood the poem clearly as Momma May lay there, dying. She probably didn’t have a week left, let alone a few days. And yet, she seemed gentle, almost willing to go.

  The poem was about a man sitting at his father’s deathbed, trying to convince him why he shouldn’t die quietly. Fight! Rage! Do anything, but don’t go gentle into that good night. Even the old, the good, the grave, and the wild men fought. No matter what lives they lived, they fought against death. Nobody wants to die. So I understood what the author meant.

  He wanted his father to fight because he didn’t want to lose him to the dying of light, which was death. And I didn’t want to lose Momma May. But I’d understand why she’d go peacefully. She knew she was going to heaven. For her, it was a joyous thing and she would go gently.

  I felt her slipping away.

  “Don’t go gentle, Momma May,” I cried. “I love you, okay? Just hang in for a while longer.”

  Her hands squeezed around mine. “Love . . . you.”

  Moments later the heart monitor began beeping as Momm
a May closed her eyes. I didn’t have time to process what was going on as the nurses and doctors rushed in the room, trying to pry me from Momma May. I would’ve fought them, but they were the only ones who could help her. Before I knew it, I was pushed into the hallway with the door slammed in my face. I stood in shock for a few moments before I turned around to face Dante.

  “I saw the nurses rushing in,” he said, wide-eyed and worried. “What’s going on?”

  “Her . . . her . . .”

  “Come on, Hope!”

  I sighed. “The heart monitor started beeping. I don’t know what’s wrong. They all rushed in and kicked me out,” I told him.

  He nodded once and pulled me away from the room, passed the nurse’s desk and out of the swinging doors into the lobby. He stopped and spun around to face me, cupping my face in his hands. His serious eyes held mine as he studied me.

  “Don’t break down, Hope,” he whispered. “No matter what happens, promise me you’ll be strong. Even for me.” He choked on his words. “Hope, I know how you feel. She’s all I have too. I don’t have family to lean on. I only had my mom and she’s gone. If Pastor May dies, I only have you. And we have to be strong together.”

  I nodded, but I knew it wasn’t a promise I could keep. If Momma May died, so would the good in my life. I might as well go back home to that sad, poor house with a crazy momma and beg for her to take me back. I’d have put up with all of her craziness if it meant not being alone.

  But deep down, I knew I wasn’t alone.

  I had Dante.

  Momma May said we’d one day get married. The thought once brought me joy, but nothing could wipe out the sense of dread that began at the bottom of my heart. It was filling up, almost pouring over. I couldn’t take it!

  “Don’t, Hope,” he said, turning my face back to meet his eyes. “I see you wavering, giving up, and losing hope. But you can’t lose hope, do you know why?” I shook my head. “Because you are hope. You give me hope. You’ve given Pastor May hope.”

  “How?”

  Dante smiled. “Pastor May told me she prayed to God daily to be able to help someone like you. Help them find God. She said it’s one of the most important things to do on earth. We have to bring as many people back to God as possible. And she had an ache to change someone’s life. She knew she was old, didn’t have much time. She wanted to give someone every good thing God had given to her. Which was the spirit of grace, knowledge, and wisdom, so that you may pass it on to others and so that they will pass it on to more. It is the gift that keeps on giving. So Pastor May prayed for a girl to pass everything on to, and she handed the torch to you. Do you know what that means, now?”