Once in a Blue Moon

by Vicki Covington

  “Let me tell you what’s gonna happen, so you can stop worrying.”

  “Yeah?” Sam said, leaning over so far in the chair that he was almost on his knees.

  “Hold on, Sam. I need to get a drink of water from the faucet.”

  Sam held on, staring at his Nikes. He wasn’t wearing any socks. All his socks were in the dryer. He saw a girl pass by on her way to the corner store. She was wearing a nice shirt and tight jeans but looked worried—cocaine, he guessed. Then again, he shouldn’t judge. She might not be using anything at all, despite the likelihood around there.

  “I’m back,” Poppy said.

  “Got your water?”

  “Got my water. Now, what I want you to do after your laundry and studying is to look up and say, ‘Barack Obama.’ That’s all you gotta do, since I know you probably don’t have a habit of prayer. But if you just say somebody’s name and let it rise into the blue sky, God will know what you mean. Or you might do something tangible like go to the headquarters—I’m sure they got a nice one in Birmingham—and tell them you’re there to help. They’ll probably have you make phone calls or whatnot. But if you don’t have time for that, just remember to toss his name up in the air. God’s got great antennae; he will hear and know. Now, remind me, when are you coming back down this way?”

  “Spring break.”

  “That’s right, that’s right.”

  Sam held the hamper in one arm, letting it rest on his hip. When he turned onto Cullom Street, he saw Abi in front of him on the sidewalk. She looked like she was at the end of her morning run. She stopped on her porch and did some stretching.

  When she turned to the side, she spotted him. “Sam!”

  “Hey, Abi. Come over,” he said. “I’ve got something for you.”

  She made her way to his place, still sweating from her run.

  “Need something to drink?” Sam asked.

  “Water, please,” she panted.

  Sam got a bottle from the fridge. “For you,” he said, handing her the bottle and a small baggie. “And this is for your daddy.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t afford—”

  Sam stopped her. “Landon’s already got this. She told me not to let you fight her on that.”

  “She is so dear,” Abi said softly.

  “So, tell me what it’s been like,” Sam said.

  “Well, he did relatively well with his first round of chemo. His cycle is one week on, then three weeks off. So I took him home, and I’ll go get him when it’s time for cycle two. The chemo did make him sick. So thanks, the weed really helped.”

  She was sitting on the couch. Sam sat in the chair and leaned forward.

  “This might sound stupid,” he said, “but how do they give it to him? I don’t know anything about cancer. Guess you’ve had to educate yourself.”

  Abi asked him for a piece of paper and a pen. She seemed glad to answer his question.

  “I’ve learned so much,” she said. “Okay, so the human body is made up of millions of cells that vary in shape, size, and function. In healthy tissues, new cells are created during cell division, a process called mitosis. When cells become old, they self-destruct—kind of like people do.” She laughed and twirled the pen in her fingers. She drew little circles and lines and spirals as she talked. “The cells die, a process called apoptosis. I may not be pronouncing that correctly. Anyway, a delicate balance has to exist between the rate at which new cells are created and the rate at which old cells die. Cancer develops when the balance is disrupted and cells grow out of control. Chemotherapy is a type of treatment that uses strong medicine to stop the growth of cancer cells. Have you taken any biology courses?” she asked, pulling her hair back into a makeshift ponytail. “You don’t have any rubber bands, do you?”

  He laughed. “No. Let me turn on the AC.”

  “No, no, I’ll be fine. So, once the drugs enter the body, they destroy cancer cells by preventing them from growing or developing or multiplying during mitosis. Depending on the stage you’re in, chemo can be used to cure, stop from spreading, or relieve cancer symptoms. Un- fortunately, chemo also harms healthy cells, especially those that divide quickly, like hair, blood, bone marrow. So that’s where the hair loss comes in. Hair loss, nausea, fatigue, suppression of the immune system. That’s why my dad has to avoid people who might be sick, even if it’s just a little cold. Am I boring you?”

  “No, no,” Sam responded quickly. “I swear, these are things I’ve always wondered. My uncle had cancer, but I was too young to know what was going on.”

  Abi finished her water and set the bottle on the table next to the paper where she had drawn the geometric shapes.

  “I’m gonna ask Poppy to say a prayer. What is your daddy’s name?” he asked her.

  “Will,” she replied. “Recently saved, so he’ll appreciate the prayers.”

  “All right, Will. You are getting prayed for by the best of the best.”

  Abi laughed. “I think he has a crush on Landon.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Well, the first night, I had to work, and she looked after him. I took him to all his treatment rounds every day during the week. Every night, even though he was weak and sick, he wanted me to go get Landon. We played Scrabble and poker and watched a lot of episodes of Upstairs, Downstairs.”

  “You caught a vibe between those two?” Sam asked.

  “Well, I don’t know. Just that he wanted her around. He barely knows her.”

  “So, what do you think of all that?”

  “Whatever makes him happy, eases his pain, causes him to . . . well, to hope. To look forward to something. It’s supposed to improve his chances of successful treatment.”

  Sam nodded. “How did they do the treatments? Were you there with him?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Abi said. “They put him in this big blue leather lounge chair, get an IV going. The first time, they gave him a sedative. For a while, he seemed to be asleep, so I just watched TV. It was hard not to look around at everyone else. Afterward, he seemed fine, but he got sick a little later. We smoked up, and he was able to drink a smoothie I made for him. So thanks again.”

  “Don’t thank me,” Sam said. “Thank Landon. She’s the one who insisted on paying.”

  “Oh, I will. I certainly will.”

  ABI

  Abi noticed that her aquarium was leaking and knew it was just a matter of time before it seeped through her floor to Landon’s ceiling. She scooped the fish out and put them in a bowl of water. She pulled the oxygen tube out of the tank and turned the lights off. She lugged the aquarium to the bathtub and, with the help of a sieve to hold the rocks, was able to pour out enough water to make it manageable to carry downstairs and onto the lawn. Once she was outside, she turned it upside down and dumped out most of the tiny, colorful rocks. She and Landon didn’t have a spigot, so she got the hose and stretched it to the spigot next door. She washed the inside of the aquarium and wiped the corners with the paper towels she had brought down with her.

  She was in a quandary about what to do next, since she didn’t know where the leak was. She decided to take it to the pet store where she had bought it, Fred’s Pets.

  A pair of parrots wandered loose at the store. When Abi approached the counter, one of them began squawking at her, “Hello, missy! Hello, missy! Hello, missy!”

  The owner, Fred, was smoking a cigarette and letting his ashes drop to the floor. “What can I help you with?” he asked, although Abi sensed he didn’t really care to know. The shop was hot, despite the collection of fans Fred had set up around the room.

  “I have an aquarium in my car that I got here awhile back. It’s leaking, and I can’t find where. I have two fish in a mixing bowl at my place.”

  While she talked, he flipped the pages of a magazine.

  “So,” he said, and finally looked her in the eye, “you are here because . . . ?”

  “I don’t know why I’m here,” Abi said, realizing it herself just now. When she l
eft the house, she had intended to get her aquarium patched up. But suddenly, it felt like too much. One more broken thing she didn’t know how to fix. “I think my fish days are over. I should probably get rid of the aquarium, right?”

  “Up to you,” he replied.

  She got her thoughts together. “Will you take the fish?” Abi said. “I’ve got them at home.”

  “You could always just flush them.”

  “What? No, I couldn’t. They’re tropical.”

  “You live nearby?”

  “Yes.”

  “Put them in a big jar,” he began, and reached under the counter. He retrieved a huge jar that was spotted with mold and mildew and God knew what else. “Put them in here and bring them back to me.”

  “Are you going to flush them?” she asked, then caught sight of an iguana creeping toward her across the dingy linoleum floor. Instinctively, she ran behind the counter, ducking a little. When she straightened up, she found herself standing shoulder to shoulder with Fred.

  “You okay today?” he asked her. He smelled like fish and sweat.

  “Well, I was until I saw the pool of water on my floor.”

  “Just go get the fish and bring them to me.”

  “And you will find them a home?”

  Fred laughed. “A new home? This isn’t the Humane Society.”

  Abi’s eyes welled up. She realized she should have gone to the big-box pet store near the mall, but it was too late.

  “My daddy has cancer,” she sputtered.

  “So do I,” he told her without looking up from the magazine. Then he sighed and raised his eyes to her. “Just go get the fish. I won’t flush them, I promise. I have a big aquarium of my own at home with lots of tropicals. I’ll take them home with me. And you can just throw your aquarium in the dumpster.”

  “Thank you,” Abi said, relieved. “Thank you. I’ll be right back.”

  “Hello, missy!” the parrot said.

  Abi cried all the way home. She threw Fred’s moldy jar into the trash and found two clean ones in a cabinet, jars that previously had held stewed tomatoes from the family garden, tomatoes Mama had insisted she take home after a visit last fall. Abi turned on the kitchen faucet and filled the jars, cracked half a tab of water treatment into each, then used a strainer to scoop the fish out of the mixing bowl and into their temporary homes. She was still crying.

  Without waiting for her emotions to subside, she secured the fish in their jars and went downstairs. She wanted to be invisible. She hated crying in public. She wanted everybody to think she was fine, just fine. She buckled the fish jars into the passenger seat and drove back to Fred’s.

  He didn’t look up when Abi put the jars on the counter.

  “I’m back,” she said. “Hello.”

  “Hello, missy!” the parrot said.

  Fred looked up at her.

  “Here are my fish. Remember?” she asked.

  He nodded and picked up one of the jars, peered into it at the fish.

  “What kind of cancer do you have?”

  “Prostate,” he said. “I’m having a radical prostatectomy in a few weeks. The doc is cutting it out.”

  “I hope things go well for you,” she told him, and started crying again.

  He came from behind the counter and opened the store’s door for her. At first, she thought he was kicking her out, but he walked her to the Volvo and opened that door for her, too.

  “Hope your father makes it. Don’t worry about the fish. I promise not to flush them.”

  Abi nodded and wiped her face with her hands. Fred closed her car door gently behind her and headed back inside, lighting a cigarette on the way. It couldn’t be good for the animals, all that smoke. But it was his business. He could do whatever he wanted in Fred’s Pets.

  On the way back home, she thought about Fred and wondered how he was paying for his treatment. Daddy was lucky enough to have some insurance from the military, but Abi guessed Fred wasn’t so lucky. And neither was she, should something happen to her. But it wasn’t going to stay that way. She would have a master’s degree and a job with benefits. She was going to be a professional, secure.

  But things could change even then, Abi knew. She feared for Landon. She feared that her friend was traumatized by the divorce and hoped that Landon would start working again soon. She was on the way down the ladder, and Abi was on the way up. And for a brief moment, the two women were sitting side by side on their rung.

  Her daddy tolerated the first round pretty well. He didn’t lose his hair during his three weeks at home. Sam’s weed helped curb his nausea. Even Mama accepted the fact that marijuana was part of his treatment. She didn’t try to hide it from Sister and them. Abi could see that Daddy’s illness was changing her mother, who had even gone to the bookstore next to JCPenney and bought a book about the medical marijuana crusade. Abi liked to picture her all dressed up in a snakeskin jumpsuit, lecturing Sister on the importance of legalization.

  Abi started to respect her mama’s going to work. And it gave Abi a reason to take care of her daddy. In many ways, the illness was drawing them all closer. Her parents had kept it relatively together all these years. She might not have moved to Birmingham had there been tension between them. A couple of her cousins had stayed at home in order to keep their dysfunctional families from completely falling apart. They would never leave because they harbored the unfounded belief that they could fix things. Then the years had accumulated. Nobody got it together. There were drunken fights, infidelities, and pettiness. Compared to the rest of the extended family, hers was undoubtedly the most loving. Mama and Daddy never raised their voices to one another. Sure, she was closer to Daddy, but since his illness Abi had started to see her mother in a different light. Her parents had been married forever. And they never used her as a pawn in their disagreements, never tried to persuade her to take sides. Abi was an only child. She didn’t have to share their love with a sibling. Growing up, she had occasionally wanted a brother or sister, especially when Mama was going on. But in the end, she was happy having them all to herself.

  She thought of Mr. and Mrs. Kasir and their only child, Abe Jr.—how they must have felt watching his demise. The Kasirs had never tried to hide their problems from Abi. She had been renting from them for so long that they were like family. And they were so good to her, the way they had found the bed for Daddy before he began his treatments, the way Mr. Kasir brought Jason along to help. Jason, had grown up to be a source of pride and abiding affection for the Kasirs. In a way, Abi identified with him. Both of them had beaten the circumstances of their upbringings.

  These thoughts occupied Abi’s mind for the rest of the day. She didn’t feel bad about giving the fish to Fred, who also had cancer. Everything worked together, in a way.

  LANDON

  Landon’s phone rang.

  “It’s Will,” he said.

  “Do you need me?” she asked, trying to sound professional and less excited than she felt.

  “I’m sure you’re busy.”

  “No, no. Just finished cleaning a bit,” she lied. “Be right up.”

  The door to Abi’s apartment wasn’t locked. She knocked anyway, then went in. If he was resting on the couch, she didn’t want him to have to get up.

  “I’m in here,” he said.

  She walked into the living room. He stood, and she was as always aware of his height. He drew her close and hugged her as if his life depended on it. Maybe it did, Landon thought. She didn’t know what to say or do. She pulled away and looked around the room.

  “Here,” he said. “Would you mind just sitting and talking to me? I need a distraction.”

  He was wearing jeans and a white, slightly rumpled oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his forearms. His wedding band appeared to be a bit loose on his finger. Maybe he was losing weight. Landon couldn’t tell.

  They took a seat. On the coffee table was his tiny blue Testament, along with his pipe and baggie.

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sp; “I need to smoke before I try to eat,” he told her.

  She gestured to his Testament. “Is that the only Bible you have?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “I need to give you one of mine. I have several.”

  He packed the pipe, lit up, then offered her the bowl.

  “Just one puff, maybe. Or two,” she said.

  “Or three?”

  She smiled at him, took a hit—trying, a little more than she’d care to admit, to look cool—then coughed most of it back up. She felt a buzz immediately.

  “This isn’t like what we smoked back in the day, is it?” she asked him.

  He laughed in agreement. She watched his hands as they lifted the bowl and worked the cheap plastic lighter.

  Will put the pipe down and leaned back. “Do I look stoned?” he asked her.

  “You do.”

  They were quiet for a moment, until Landon noticed the absence of the whirring aquarium pump.

  “What happened to the fish?” she asked.

  “Abi said the tank was leaking, and she had to get rid of it.”

  “And the fish?”

  “She took them to the fellow who owns the pet store. Can’t recall his name.”

  “Fred?” she asked. “Fred’s Pets?”

  “You’ll have to ask her about it. I got the short version of the story.”

  “Fred can be an asshole. I hope he was nice to her,” Landon said. “I can’t bear the thought of anybody being unkind to Abi. I know she can take care of herself. It’s just that she has a tender side.”

  Will picked up the Testament and moved the purple ribbon page marker to one side. “I wish I hadn’t told her I’ve been saved.”

  “Why?” Landon asked.

  “It scared her.”

  Landon got up and turned on a lamp. It was dusk now, and the room was dark. She felt Will’s eyes on her.

  “I like that skirt you’re wearing,” he told her, still holding the Testament.

  “Thank you. I’ve had it for years. I sewed the patches on some torn places.”