An afternoon soap opera is on the big television hanging from the wall. Three women sit at the table, playing cards. Most of the others are covered in knit blankets, nodding from their medication. Mommy and I sit side by side for a while, neither of us moving. I touch her hand, move in closer, and before I know it, I’m chatty. I share each of my children with her, describing them down to their birthmarks and quirks. I tell her about the dream I had last night about her combing my hair. The whole while, I’m stroking her veiny hand. Her skin is cold, and I adjust the throw over her lap. There were older pictures of the kids in my wallet, and I hold them up to her face. She looks and then looks away.
“Mommy, I know you are in there. I know you came to me in my dreams last night.”
Her fingers are limp and lifeless. My nose dribbles, and I wipe it with the back of my hand, trying not to feel sorry for us.
“Time for chair yoga and meditation.” A woman with coiled black hair and dressed all in white is standing in the doorway.
“You can come, too.” She directs her voice at me with a smile. Her skin is creamy, her eyes emerald green and inviting. I can imagine lying down and resting in those eyes.
Mommy’s head bobbles as I wheel her to a conference room on the right where the woman has led us. People in wheelchairs sit in a circle and two attendants stand in the corner. Candles are lit and I can smell something burning.
“What’s that smell?”
“White sage. It cleanses the energy in the room.”
The place did feel good. Cozy, even. The nursing home with all of its odors and smells evaporated. We had been transported someplace else.
“Welcome to chair yoga and meditation. I am Shira.”
I detect an accent but can’t place it. I like her immediately.
“Today we are going to focus on grounding our energy. So place your feet as flat on the floor as you can and then push your bellies forward.” She demonstrates.
A lady wearing a black wig and a T-shirt that says “World’s Greatest Nana” rolls her neck and shoulders with agility to Shira’s command. I wish she were my mother or that my mother were her. I adjust the blanket on Mommy’s lap, feeling an overwhelming need to protect her. I move a hair from her face and kiss her cheek. I’ve missed her.
At least half of the patients keep up. The man sitting next to Shira moves to her rhythm with a grin that makes him look like he thinks he is her teacher’s assistant.
“Wonderful, Sam,” Shira praises him. His face lights bright.
Shira rests her hands on her heart and starts humming the sound Om. We join our voices with hers. Then she pulls a bowl and a wooden stick from under her chair and starts playing this amazing tune. It hums and vibrates deep down in my soul.
“Close your eyes, dear ones, as I lead you into meditation. If there is anything that you are still holding on to, let it go. This is a place of healing.”
I inhale, allowing my lungs to expand.
“Let’s try breathing with our eyes closed and going deep within our bodies for five minutes. Enjoy.”
My mind rests. Before I know it, Shira is standing in front of me.
“How was it?”
“It was great. I needed that.”
She extends a card to me. “I teach class to able bodies tomorrow night. You should come.” She gives me a hug. She feels like the Holy Spirit.
I roll Mommy back to her room. There is a brush on her table, and I brush her hair until it shines. She has a knot at the back of her head, and I make a mental note to ask the nurse about it. A bottle of Poison is on her dresser, and I spray a dab onto her wrist. Her arm twitches and then her mouth curves. I wonder if the scent brings any memories to her mind. I make a mental note that when I return to bring her a fresh bottle. Maybe I’ll even bring Preston and the kids with me.
There is a jar of cold cream on her nightstand, and I warm the lotion between my palms and then massage her face, fingers, and feet. I hum “Amazing Grace.” She says nothing, looks at me sometimes, but most often just stares at the wall. I work at peace, not expecting anything from her. Instead I bask in her presence. I hum children’s lullabies as I work because I can’t stop hearing my children’s voices, Mommy, Mom, Mama, Mommeeeee.
THIRTY-SEVEN
The Cleansing
The next night I drop Gran off for evening service. She had already gone to morning and afternoon services, came home, had a little dinner, and then back for some more.
“Gran, you haven’t had enough?” I say, helping her from the car.
“I gots lot to pray on. Family all shook up.” She leans against me hard as she pulls herself to her feet. “You ought to come with me, do you some good.”
Not happening.
“I’ll come back and pick you up.”
“Gal, the only way out of this is the Lord.”
I turn to her with a smile that lets her know that I don’t want to be disrespectful, but I’m not going. Gran huffs but acquiesces.
* * *
The address that Shira gave me happens to be a few blocks north of the church in what they now call the Arts District of Philadelphia. It is a storefront dance school, and I find easy parking right in front. When I walk into the building, the smell of white sage resets me. From the small lobby I hear laughter drift from the right. I walk in that direction and see a door that opens into a large studio. The room is half filled with people sitting on the floor on top of fluffy pillows, Mexican serape blankets, and yoga mats.
Shira is kneeling in the center of the room, playing a bowl. Her heavy hair is pulled in a loose bun off her face. Her green eyes are on me.
“Welcome, Felicia,” she calls, but her fingers never miss a step as she twirls a mallet around the rim of the bowl. The vibration of the bowl unthreads me. Barefoot people pour into the room behind me. That’s when I realize that I need to remove my shoes and leave them outside.
“Thank you,” Shira says to me when I return.
We all sit in a large circle. Shira taps the bowl three times and then places it back on a metal plate. I can still feel the vibration encircling us. My spirit is alive. The smells, vibe, energy were unlike anything I’ve experienced before, but it all felt necessary for where I wanted to go.
“Tonight I want to talk a little about finding your purpose.”
The room stilled. Most sat crossed-legged with their eyes closed, so I did the same thing.
“There is something that we have all been put on this earth to do. Purpose. We all have a purpose. My purpose is to motivate. What’s yours?”
Her question rolls around in my head like a loose pebble. Beyond being a mother and Preston’s wife, do I have a purpose? I can’t really say acting, because it’s not like I’m out pounding the pavement trying to make it happen. More like waiting on a call from my agent, hoping she can make it happen.
“Now, let’s begin our meditation together as one.” Shira takes a long pause. “As we go into the meditation, I am going to put some questions out into the Universe. Who am I? What do I want? What is my purpose? How can I serve?” Shira words swaddle me like a soft scarf. I feel warm and present.
“Don’t worry about the answers to the questions. Just let them drift out into the Universe. The answers will come when you need them.” She falls silent. “We will do a twenty-minute meditation. I’ll watch the time for you. Enjoy.”
I thought I would be fidgety, but twenty minutes felt like three. Shira hit the mallet against the metal bowl. Her husky voice slithered into the room, gently pulling me from the state I was in.
“Begin to bring your awareness back into your bodies.”
I opened my eyes and looked around the room. Faces pasted with the same dazed, orgasmic look. I grin.
“Thank you, dear ones, for coming. Go in peace.” She bows, and the people in the room start moving slowly toward the door. I take my time getting to my feet, not wanting to break the spell. My hands fall through my very short haircut. I stretch while trying to remember the
last time I felt so centered.
“Felicia, don’t leave,” Shira calls to me.
I sit back down. It takes about five more minutes for her to clear the room, and then she smiles at me. Her walk is tall even though she is petite.
“How was it for you?”
“Nice. Like a bubble bath.”
“Are you in a rush?”
“No.”
“May I give you a reading?”
“What do you mean?”
“Come, I’ll show you.”
Shira leads me to a tiny room off to the side of the dance studio. The entrance was covered with colorful sarongs that I have to move aside to enter the space. I am instantly reminded of a Catholic church. The room smelled strongly of frankincense. Or was it myrrh? I remembered the scent well from when the priest used to shake the censer at the start of Mass. When I was at Catholic school we went to Mass a few times a month.
Shira sits cross-legged on a thick, silk pillow. There is a small table between us. I kneel on the other side. She reaches underneath for a black velvet bag. She pulls the drawstring and out comes a stack of cards.
“These are tarot cards. They are meant to give you some guidance.” She shuffles the cards and then hands them to me. “Shuffle until you feel your energy in the cards. Until you feel compelled to stop.”
I immediately thought of Preston, how much fun we always had playing cards at the kitchen table. Listening to Pandora radio. Me drinking wine. Him some crazy-name beer. Those nights were lovely and always ended in hot, rude lovemaking, and I push my knees together to discourage the feelings that stir.
“Okay.” I place the cards in front of Shira.
“Now split them in three piles from left to right. Wherever you feel the natural break.”
I do as I’m told. Shira turns over cards until I see three rows of three. She looks down at the cards for a few beats and then starts talking. Her voice sounds different. Deeper, fuller, and even huskier.
“This is your foundation, your past, what you’ve been sitting on,” she says, referring to the bottom row. “This is what you are going through now,” she points to the second, “and this is what’s most likely to occur if you continue down this path.”
My stomach is knotted with anticipation. I’ve never done anything like this. Gran would be knit and tangled if she knew. But I need this and eagerly lean forward. Shira studies the cards for a while, her eyes almost trancelike as she starts speaking.
“You’ve been going through a very rough, trying time. But I see here that the worst is over.” She points to a card with a person laying facedown with swords piercing his back. “This is the eight of cups. It signals that you need to turn away from something or someone who has been unhealthy in your life. It could also be a behavior or way of life. Once you turn your back completely, the transformation will begin.”
She moved to the second row of three.
“This is the tower card,” she explained. “You have built your life on ego, and such grounds are unstable. This card symbolizes being broken down to the barest element so that this time, when you build up, you build from the core of your being. This is the hangman, and it’s in reverse.” She ran her thumb along the card. “This means that you’ve been feeling restricted in your life, confined. You need to get in touch with these feelings so you can release yourself. It is time to live from your core, not from the peripheral. That’s why this transformation seems so challenging.”
She picked them up, shuffled, and gave another spread.
“This is called a Celtic cross.” She flipped a card over and continued. “Here’s the challenge,” she said. “The challenge is you. You haven’t forgiven yourself for something that happened in your past. Whatever it is, you need to let go.” She flips a card and then places a card on top. The card has a picture with cups, a rainbow, a husband and wife with their arms wrapped around each other, and kids dancing.
“Looks like a family tie, tragic, something that you need to wash out of your system. You’ve been deceptive. But that doesn’t have to be the end. Wash it out of your system and make amends. Once you do that, see here?” She flipped another card, the nine of pentacles. “Look at this. The clarity starts to flow. This card means that you can have the life you want, with all the trimmings. But you have to start moving forward.”
Tears are in my eyes.
Shira picks up the cards, stacks them back into one pile, and then places them back in the velvet bag. Her eyes are still low, almost hooded.
“I’d like you to lay down here on the rug and I’ll give you a Reiki healing to cleanse your aura. It won’t hurt.”
I do as I’m told.
“There is a strength in you that wants to come through. I’ll do my best to clear the blockage.”
Shira appears with another velvet bag. This time she shakes three small crystals varying in color and size and tells me to close my eyes. I do, and then soon I’m somewhere else. Floating.
* * *
I’m not sure how much time has passed when I hear Shira singing my name softly, and then I hear the beautiful song of the singing bowl and my eyes are open. I feel like fresh air.
“Bring your awareness back to your body gently. I’ll go get you some water.”
When she returns with a Dixie cup, her face has a filmy shine to it, like she had run up a flight of stairs.
“What did you do?” I sit up, feeling a little unstable.
“I cleansed your chakras and balanced you. You were very clogged. Be sure to drink a lot of water and pay attention to your dreams for the next seven days. Usually a cleansing is followed by strong images, even premonitions and warnings. Will you come to class again?”
“Yes.” I thank her and lean in for a hug. “That was wonderful. I tap, but I’ve never experienced anything like this before. What do I owe you?”
“First session is free.” She smiles and I hope I can see her again.
THIRTY-EIGHT
The Fan
I walk to my old car feeling brand-new. That was the most wonderful gift I’ve ever given myself, and I feel a little skip in my step. The windows are rolled all the way down. When I turn the radio on, my favorite Michael Jackson song is playing, “Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough.” I sing, shake my shoulders, and do every dance I can manage while driving a car. When I pull up to the church, I’m happy to see that Gran is standing outside with two of her church sisters, Ms. Marie and Ms. Evelyn.
I get out of the car. “Hi there.” I wave.
“Faye, it’s good to see you, girl. What in the world have you done to your hair?” Ms. Evelyn motions for me to come over and give her a hug. I do.
“Just something different.”
“Well, if anyone can pull it off, it’s you. How are the kids?”
“Fine. Getting big.”
“Well, you take care of yourself.” Ms. Evelyn pats my arm. I squeeze Ms. Marie and then take Gran by the hand. She lowers herself into the passenger seat. Her breathing is heavy.
“Gran, you’re breathing hard. You want me to stop for some water?”
“I’m all right. Just praised the Lord with all I had. So much to pray on.”
I slide behind the wheel.
“I took the papers down to discuss my will with you. I’m going to call Chrissy over tomorrow to tell her. She ain’t gonna like it one bit.”
“Why?”
“I’m-a leave the house to you and make you power of attorney over what I have. It ain’t much, but it’s something.”
“Gran—”
“Let me rest my eyes. I’ll show you everything when we get to the house. Every time I look at you, can’t believe you chopped off all that pretty hair.”
“I needed a change.” I protectively run my hand over my head.
“A change would have been a press and curl. That what you did is drastic, girl. Women cut their hair when they desperate. You talk to Preston?”
“Go on and rest your eyes, Gran.”
I
pull the car onto Broad Street and take the slow way from South Philadelphia to North with easy sing-along music playing on the radio. Gran dozes, which gives me a chance to think over some of the things that Shira said in my reading. What do I want? What is my purpose?
When I park in front of the house, the front door is wide open. Gran doesn’t have a screen, so you can see clear to the kitchen.
“What the devil?” Gran hobbles up the stairs. “Crystal?”
“Yeah, Mama.” I can hear the substance.
“Why is the front door like this? You know Precious had a cat run into her house the other day. And it took two days to get the darn thing out.”
“I was hot.”
The television is blasting a reality show. When I walk into the living room after Gran, one girl on the show throws a glass of red wine on the other girl’s white dress. They start fighting.
I close the front door.
“Where y’all been? What you best friends now? Going to church and whatnot like two peas in a pod? Always been like that. Always leaving me out.”
Gran moves heavily into the living room. She leans on her cane. “Don’t start no mess.”
“Mama, why you always taking up for her?”
Gran sinks into her favorite dining room chair, the one that’s between the living and dining rooms so she can see both ways.
“Ain’t ’bout sides. It’s ’bout what’s right.” She pulls at the bobby pins in her hair and unpins her wig.
A forty-ounce of Old English sits between Crystal’s legs. She clutches it with both hands. “What about me, Mama? I wait on you hand and foot while this hussy is away living the good life.”
“Hussy?” I interject.
“Hush, Crystal.”
“Why I got to be quiet? I saw your little will.” Crystal flings her words at Gran like marbles.
“Why you in my stuff?”
“Ain’t fair that Faye always gets everything.”
“Stop it, Crissy.”
“I’m tired of playing second to her.”
Second House from the Corner Page 21
