A rustling turns me around to the gate again.
There’s crying.
Rachel’s crying.
The bushes across from Josey give way to George. He got Rachel under his armpit shoving her in the doorway of that house. She pins both feet on each side of the doorway, squats when he tries to push her through. She screams and bites his side. He throws her to the ground and Rachel’s head chips a rock, puts her to sleep. She looks like one of his broken dolls.
“Get away from her!” Josey say, coughing and wheezing. She grabs a big jagged rock from the ground beside her. I fall to the ground next to that rock-emptied space, weakened.
George’s eyes widen and his whole manner change. “Annie?” he say, not seeing Josey. His voice is childlike now. He say, “I was just taking the girl for a walk. She followed me. We were just playing, is all.”
Josey limps further into the clearing, between me and George, wheezing now. Her lips are pale gray.
“Get away from her or I swear I’ll kill you.” She’s hardly holding herself up to stand.
“Did Annie come with you? You gon’ tell on me?” George say.
Josey gasps for air. Again. And again.
“I was just going to talk to her. No harm in just talking . . .”
Josey collapses. Her eyes are focused on nothin and shallow sips of air stammer from her lips. The vapors have taken all of her strength.
George seems confused. He steps closer to Josey, cautious at first, then sure. “No Annie. No husband. No daddy. No nobody. Been a long time since we’ve been in these woods together like this, eh?” He kicks Josey in the side as if he’s scattering a pile of leaves. A little louder, “Those were the good ol’ days, weren’t they?”
He rests back on one hip, wipes the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, takes out his flask. Pulls a long drink.
George finds his pistol, fiddles with it, drops bullets in one at a time as he takes his time moseying back to Rachel. He stops just above her, studying her, twisting himself around to get a better look. “Shame,” he say. “We didn’t even get to play.” He cocks the pistol.
With a rage inside me, my body is set to flight. Too weak to reach George. I thrust myself inside Josey—the closest—and I’m coal again. I don’t have much time. I fill her lungs, make her breathe, make her grab the stone. Red to silver gray, my forms slough away in fistfuls. My body turning to ash and yet. Stand. We stand. Together we stand. I can feel her strength then. Feel all the years I’ve had to watch her. Only watch.
Not this time.
I can feel my hand turning into nothing as she takes the heavy stone into hers. Raises her arm as I feel my own taken by the wind. All my strength leaves me as she finds her own and slams its jagged edge into the back of George’s head. The thud of rock caving in bone sends his body to the ground. We fall. Together we fall. The rest of me ebbs away to cinder. I feel heavy. Lifted now. Light as the air.
I watch her straddle him, take the rock to his red-wet hair, ’til his whole face is gone.
I cain’t see no more.
I cain’t hear.
I cai
49
I AM DEAD.
I died a long time ago. Before you born, before your mother was born, ’fore your grandmother.
I was a mother, too. And I’ve lost her.
No more flashes.
No more watching.
No distance. No waiting on miracles. This ending is mine.
There’s only darkness here now.
An arc of light just crossed the sky. A star.
A star.
Around it comes many strands of other light. A shower of ’em like a million shooting stars racing down at once. I want to touch ’em.
White spreads around me, gathering together to form a single tunnel of bright.
I know this tunnel.
I know it’s for me.
My vision blurs with tears and I see Momma waiting at the end of it for me, her hand held out to me.
“Naomi,” she say, her voice like a song.
“Momma!” I say.
I want to run to her but I’m frozen here. A small window is behind me, framed in black. And through it I see Josey. This time, walking away from me with Rachel and Squiggy. Her clothes are bloodstained but she’s safe. My grandchildren are clean. They’re so distant now and almost unreal, like looking at a perfect painted picture you cain’t step in.
But I can, if I go back now.
I hesitate. And I’m not sorry for it. Not sorry for my unsure. I’m too old to apologize for the ways I feel. So I’m not sorry for my sadnesses right now, or this love I cain’t contain.
It’s beginning to burst from me. Toward Josey and my grandchildren and Jackson. Toward Momma. Everything around me. I’m consumed.
For the first time, there’s a new feeling resting on me.
Through me.
It’s leading me forward. To Momma.
The flashes are peeling away from me like an undressing. The final piece a blouse over my head.
I’m naked.
Fearing nothing.
Loved.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
WHERE DO YOU start when thanking people for a dream realized? With the person who was there to help you take your last step, or the person who first believed in you? Or gave birth to you? Or gave birth to one of the people who helped along the way, or the person herself or himself, or the person who organized the event or taught the class that led you to the person or the people? Or the person who made you feel at home? Or the cab driver who got you there on time, or didn’t and because of it, there was a chance meeting? Or…
Maybe there are no real beginnings anymore. Maybe the world is too old for that. Maybe there are just continuations of works laid out before we were even born. And what’s been said is true: we are all products of ancient loves, and of long relay races orchestrated by the universe. God. And for me, I’m walking with Jesus.
I thank God for choosing me to carry this story and for the privilege to be the one to take it across the finish line. This is a new continuation for someone else. And for me.
To my courageous and loving mother who has had as many names as she’s had lifetimes, Mildred Millie “Shirley,” my Dad, John, Jr. To the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, my husband, Lee; and to God’s princess and prince, Ava and Ash. To my adorable and wonderful sister, Katrina; my charming and wonderful brother John III; and to these stars, my brothers and sister: Tony, Michael, Fuschia and Parker.
To my family in Alabama and to those who are still living in East Tallassee, Alabama: Uncle “Dolf” Warren and Aunt Della; to the pillars of my childhood: Grandma Lurlean, Granny Harris, Katrina Brasher, and Hazel Ford. To the hope and beacon that has been Oprah Winfrey, to poet Romus Simpson, to Tod Goldberg, to my incredible agent Rachel Sussman and exceptional editor Dan Smetanka, and my publisher Counterpoint Press.
To Michelle Franke, Adam Somers, Jamie Wolfe, David Thomas, Jeff Eyres, Casey Curry, Heather Simons, Danny Corey, to David, Dee and Jason Saunders, to Manjit Sohal: my first friend while living in England. To Neena Bixby, Marytza Rubio, Cynthia, and Robert Eversz. To my pastors and to Nancy Hardin, A.M. Dellamonica, and Marcela Landres.
To the PEN Center USA Emerging Voices Fellowship Program, Breadloaf Writers’ Conference, Megan Fishmann, Willie Davis, Kaitlyn Greenidge, Katherine Deblassie, Heidi Durrow, Libby Flores, Jamie Schaffner, Tiffany Hawk, Joshua Mensch, Zoe Ruiz, and all of those artists especially women and writers of color who came before me and those I have the pleasure of working with now; to the publishers who’ve published my work, and those unnamed friends who have offered words of encouragement, a sofa to sleep on, a cup of coffee, a meal, a dollar, a ride, a discount, a recommendation, a prayer, a good opinion, volunteer time, or have just listened.
To the powerhouse that is the Los Angeles Literary Community.
And finally, to the Beverly Hills Film Festival which honored me with my first award for this novel when it was first bo
rn as a screenplay, to the Charleston Film Festival, HistoryPlace.com, the books The Jews of South Carolina and The History of Tallassee. To Wikipedia, Dickinson House in Belgium, and to my church family including HV Hot Topic who have encouraged me to follow my calling.
I’m so thankful for all of you.
Grace Page 34
