“Do you like to run?”
“I don’t know.”
“Let’s be safe and start you walking on the treadmill. Do you know the treadmill?”
“Not personally.”
She doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t get it.
“I actually have one at home, but I couldn’t tell you how to turn it on.”
This she laughs at. “Well, it’s just one machine. But it’s the easiest for most peoples to start out on. Later, we can make it harder and you will appreciate it. But if you don’t like, there are other machines you can try. And we can change them so you don’t get bored.”
“What if they all bore me?”
“That’s too bad. You said you are making the lifestyle change, so you won’t be bored. You will benefit. Besides, every twelve weeks we change your program. How boring could that be?”
“Good point.”
“Anyways, I will show you how to use the treadmills and then you will arrive at the club for about forty-five minutes before we begin the strength training.”
“So you’re not going to stand there while I do my cardio?”
“No. You would be wasting your money. And I would be bored watching you walk walk walk, get it?” She laughs.
“I see.”
“We divide the body into sections. One day we will do work on the back. Then the chest and arms. And day third is lower body.”
“Okay.”
“But not so fast. All of these days we will do abs.”
“Can’t wait.”
“You will love it. We will use those balls up there,” she says, pointing to at least three different sizes of rubber balls that look like they belong on the beach.
“I don’t get it,” I say.
“You will see how good they are soon enough. You will want one to have for home. It will be a good idea. But not today.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Now, you will promise to eat a good breakfast like something on the sheet we gave you?”
“I’ll try.”
“You don’t want to work out on empty stomach. It’s not good. And breakfast is very important.”
“I know, I’ve heard.”
“Bunny gave you the spiel, huh?”
“Yes she did.”
“She’s a smart woman and good boss. Anyways, shall we go to start?”
“You mean right now?”
“Yes, right now.”
“I thought we were just going to talk today.”
“We talked. But you came here to exercise and get into the best shape, right?”
“Right.”
“Then today is the day of your new lifestyle. Let us go.”
I do everything she shows me. As soon as I start to sweat I worry that I might be having a heart attack, but Ming checks my heart rate and assures me that I’m not. I push and pull on the arms of these machines and lift the handheld weights like I’m Miss Olympia. I’m much stronger than Ming thought I was. But she isn’t the only one surprised. I slide and slip off two of those big balls, but Ming promises that I’ll catch on. By the time I walk out of here, I wipe my face dry and toss my towel into the basket and just stand here for a few minutes looking around. I feel good. Because I’ve finally done something I’ve been meaning to.
Arthurine has been here again. I think she deliberately comes when she knows I’m not at home. I also know she’s trying to get everything out of here before Leon gets back. As if he might reprimand her and make her put everything back if she weren’t quite finished. It’s amazing how our roles change as we get older.
Dinner is broiled chicken breasts, steamed broccoli, and a salad. I read the mail, flipping through at least four catalogs of no interest. I look up at the clock. It’s after nine. I’ve waited as long as I can. I want to know what that doctor had to say about our mother. Joy could’ve called to say something. Bitch. I grab the phone and dial the number with far too much hostility. “Joy?”
“I was planning on calling you tonight. As soon as I got the kids in the bed.”
“You want to call me back?”
“They’re in the tub. They can soak a few more minutes.”
“So how did everything go?”
“Everything went just fine.”
“Just tell me what happened at the doctor’s office.”
“Okay. She was very nice.”
“Who was?”
“The doctor. Lovey was a different story. But anyway, she gave her some mental test that she didn’t do so hot on. But she got a few answers right.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, anyway, the doctor…did you know she was black?”
“Yes, I did. Keep talking.”
“Okay. Anyway, she said she couldn’t say right on the spot if Lovey had Alzheimer’s or not. But she might not have it.”
“Did she actually say that?”
“Not in those exact words, no.”
“Then why are you saying it?”
“She said she couldn’t come right out and say she had it ’cause she needed to take maybe one or two more tests first.”
“That’s different than saying she doesn’t have it, Joy.”
“Whatever. Anyway, she had me walk Lovey across that hot-ass parking lot and get her a MRI.”
“So you took her?”
“I just said I did, didn’t I? It was a bitch trying to get Lovey to lay down inside that thing. She thought she was going into space. I musta spent twenty minutes trying to convince her that she wasn’t going nowhere. That they needed her to be still so they could take some pictures of her brain.”
“And did she?”
“Only after I promised to take her to McDonald’s and get her a Big Mac with large fries.”
“She has to stop with the French fries. Her cholesterol is too high.”
“You know good and well she ain’t eating her Big Mac without no fries.”
“When will the results be back?”
“Not for a week. But the problem is the doctor is going on vacation tomorrow for two weeks.”
“And? Does that mean we have to wait until she gets back to get the results?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“Did she say anything about her having a PET scan?”
“She said a lot of shit that was kinda over my head, to be honest. But I do remember her saying that after she looks at that MRI, if something looks shaky then Lovey won’t need to have no PET scan. Plus Medicare don’t pay for that test and it’s expensive as hell.”
“How much?”
“Three thousand dollars. I’m serious.”
“So now we just have to wait. Okay. How’s Lovey?”
“The same.”
“And you?”
“Nervous as hell.”
“About this?”
“This, and my court date next week.”
“I thought you said you’ll probably just be going to rehab?”
“Well, I talked with the lawyer and he said if the judge cuts me some slack on that other minor offense last year, I might end up doing a twenty-eight-day stint in a rehab program or they could make me do the one that last six weeks, but then again, there’s still a chance I could get a little time.”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
“Like what kind of time?”
“Two years.”
“In jail?”
“Prison. I’d probably be out in six months.”
“But what about your kids? And Lovey?” I say, thinking out loud.
“Why you think I’m tripping so hard?”
“Well, look. Right now. Don’t worry about them.”
“Somebody’s got to.”
“Then let it be me,” I say. “Do you want me to come down there and go with you for your court appearance?”
“Would you do that, Marilyn?”
“Sure. I don’t see why not.”
“Thank you. I’m still taking that medication, Marilyn, if you
worrying about it. I’m clean. I swear it. I’m even going to meetings.”
“What kind of meetings?”
“AA and NA.”
“What’s NA?”
“Narcotics Anonymous. They meet in the same place. It just depends on my mood which door I walk through.”
“Well, I’m just glad to hear you’re walking through one,” I say. “Joy, let me ask you something that might sound silly, but it’s not meant to.”
“I’m listening.”
“I know you’ve heard of yoga, right?”
“Of course I have, girl. I saw a documentary on that, too. Why?”
“Would you ever consider trying it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I just don’t buy some of this new age shit, that’s why. Bending and stretching is supposed to make everything feel better. I bend over when I clean out the tub and I stretch when I hang clothes on the line and I still feel like shit. And that meditating goes hand in hand with the yoga. Hell, I been breathing every single day of my life, but they claim if you breathe a certain way—and how many fucking ways can you breathe is what I’d like to know—but listening to them, you’d swear you get a buzz or something. Why? Don’t tell me you into it?”
“I just started. But it calms you down. And they say it can help you relax.”
“Then you bend and breathe for both of us. I gotta go. I hear the kids up there screaming and running around, which means Lovey probably be next.”
“Bye, Joy. Give Lovey and the kids a kiss for me, and I’ll see you next week.”
After I hang up, I remember that today is also the first day to register for classes online. I head straight to the computer and log on, using my personal ID number. I click and press every button and check all the appropriate boxes, including the space that asks which session, and I hit the one for summer. When I finally get to the one that asks for the course number, I take a deep breath and punch in the numbers for the metals/jewelry class. I go back over the entire form to make sure I did it all correctly, and realizing I think I have, I hit ENTER. My heart is beating faster than it did on the treadmill and I know it has to be past my target zone as I push the chair away from the keyboard and wait and watch for a message that will tell me if I’ve been confirmed. And there it is.
Chapter 23
Paulette lied. You can’t get much deeper in the ’hood than this. She didn’t tell me you couldn’t see the damn place from the street. I must’ve ridden up and down this avenue five or six times looking for the address until I finally stop and ask a woman if she knows a girl around here that braids hair. She was sitting on the front steps smoking a cigarette. “Hell, just pick one. Everybody braid hair now days. Shit, I’m available,” she says and starts laughing to herself. She is stoned out of her mind on something.
I back into a driveway to turn around again, and from my rearview mirror I see purple. The side of this apartment building is what’s facing the street. It looks more like a deserted motel, because two old cars are parked in two of the four parking spaces. One is rusted out and the other has three tires and no passenger door. The plants on the balconies have been dead a long time and bright broken toys are scattered on one. I get nervous when one of the splintered wooden doors flings open and a black guy about thirty comes charging down the stairs right past me as I’m backing right on past this place which I realize is my destination.
One side of this stucco house is definitely purple and the other side lime green. I look at the numbers, and park in front of the dark door. A patch of grass is the size of my bathroom, but someone has planted beds of petunias and zinnias. Loud rap music is coming from the other side of the duplex, thank God, and then I hear growling. I look to the right and behind a metal fence are two pit bulls. I knock on the door since there’s no doorbell.
At first, I didn’t believe Paulette when she told me the girl’s name was Orange. I tried calling the next day to make an appointment just in case Orange might have been getting booked up since Easter was less than a week away. Her phone was disconnected so I called Paulette back to make sure she’d given me the right number. She had. “Try this one,” she said. “It’s her sister.”
“Where does she live?”
“In the same duplex. You know how it is.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask what her name is.”
“It’s Blue. Both of them braid and both of them have kids.”
“Anything else?”
“They aren’t the tidiest housekeepers in the world.”
“Do you mean they’re junky or nasty?”
“You’ll see. But it won’t kill you for one day to come down out of those hills to get a taste of the real world.”
“Do you hear me complaining?”
“Call me whenever they finish.”
I knock again. I hear kids running through the house. A little chocolate boy about four with big bright eyes opens the door. “Hi,” he says. “Who you?”
Before I get a chance to answer, a girl about eight comes up from behind and pushes him away from the door. “How many times Mama done told you just don’t be opening the door unless you know who it is. Now get over there and sit down somewhere.” She turns her attention to me. “You here to see Orange or Blue?”
“I think Orange.”
“I gotta go wake her up. She was braiding late last night. Come on in and have a seat. She be out in a minute.”
It’s hard to digest what I’m seeing. The floors in this living room and down the hallway that were once hardwood have been painted over many, many times but the latest with the ugliest shade of brown I’ve ever seen. The color our cabins at camp used to be. There are two couches in this small living room. One plaid. The other is some kind of wild print whose colors are fading. A great deal of food has been spilled on both, but at least it doesn’t smell like it. A toddler who looks like he could be a year or so is sleeping on one of them. He has rows of thick braids in his hair and is sucking his thumb like it’s breakfast. A fake zebra rug is underneath a glass table that’s begging for some Windex. The curtains on the picture window are sheer, but tacked to the wall above them are two dark sheets that are closed at the halfway point of the window with two safety pins, I think to control the light.
I don’t know where to sit. I hear giggling and then yelling coming from a few doorways down the hallway. “Marilyn, this Orange! I’m sorry to be running a little late, but just sit tight. I’ll be out in about ten or fifteen minutes. I gotta make sure my kids get to school on time even though they already late.”
“No problem,” I say. My appointment was for eight o’clock. It’s eight-thirty.
“Did you figure out yet what kinda braids you want?” she yells again.
“I think individuals.”
“Human or synthetic?”
“I don’t know.”
“All I got here is synthetic, unless you want to run down on San Pablo and pick up some human hair but they don’t open till ten. You driving ain’t you?”
“Yes, but synthetic is okay.”
“I thank Paulette said you was closer to a six or a four.”
“I really don’t know. But take your time. I can come back a little later if you want me to.”
She finally stops yelling and I can hear the wood creaking from the weight of something. I imagine it must be her. “Naw, don’t do that. I got somebody coming in here right after you. Here I come now.” The house actually feels like it’s trembling. In fact, it looks lopsided when I look down the hall and see a six-foot girl who can’t be more than twenty-three but weighing in the neighborhood of three hundred pounds coming down the hall in tight gray leggings and a Lakers sleeveless jersey. Her thighs look like Christmas hams. She must have a thousand thin braids in her hair, half of which are struggling to cover breasts that are bigger than my head. She turns around to reprimand the cute little boy who met me at the door, and I see the other half covers more than half of her back, which is pre
tty long and wide. “Go brush yo’ teeth, boy. Don’t make me come back there and say it again. And tell Ray Ray he better be outta here before I count to ten.”
When she sees me, she smiles. Now I see that even though she’s a Glamour “Don’t” it’s obvious that she’s not only pretty but also one of the sexiest big women I’ve ever seen. “I’m Orange, and I’m sorry for the wait and all this mess. It’s hard keeping a house clean when you got kids running through it all day long and you trying to braid hair, too. Come on over here in the kitchen.”
I follow her around a half corner, and it’s a kitchen all right. Pink and gray linoleum on the floor. The sink hosts its share of unwashed dishes. Pots on the stove just like at Lovey’s: one with hard rice, the other with string beans that have been cooked so long they’re brown. A frying pan is full of cold white chicken grease. On the floor over by the kitchen table are mounds and mounds of hair that look like black cotton candy with an occasional cluster of red vines running through it. “Blue?” she yells again.
“What?” a voice that sounds almost like an echo sails around the corner from that hallway.
“Get your ass in here and clean up this damn kitchen. You said you was doing it last night. I told you we had a early appointment.”
Orange grabs the broom and sweeps the hair up so fast I’m mesmerized just watching her do it. She then calls the little girl, “Brittany, get in here and clean off this table before you walk out that door and it better be now!”
Here comes Brittany, who does exactly what she’s told. Her hair is braided thicker and shorter. I think it’s hers. She removes the plates and bowls and dirty glasses and grabs a bottle of Fantastik, sprays the table so it’s spotless, and then says, “We need six dollars for lunch.”
Orange lifts a pound of hair and flips it over her shoulder then reaches inside her jersey under a soft mountain of brown flesh and pulls out a ten-dollar bill. “And don’t act like you don’t know what change is. You hear me?”
“I hear you,” Brittany says. “Did you call the school and tell ’em we was gon’ be late again?”
“Do we have a phone here that work?”
“Aunt Blue do.”
“Marilyn, would you mind dropping these kids off at school. It ain’t but five blocks. I’ll take the gas money off your hair.”
The Interruption of Everything Page 26
