The Crowning Glory of Calla Lily Ponder (29 page)

I remembered M’Dear’s voice, telling me, “The moon, La Luna, is always there. Her pull is strong, strong enough to move the mighty Mississippi, Calla. The Moon Lady, La Luna, is your bridge from darkness to light. Trust in her strength.”

I caught sight of the moon through the trees, and I prayed.
Oh, Moon Lady, I need your strength. I need some way of just letting this be. I ask you to teach me acceptance. Help me to accept this hard death of Sweet.

And again M’Dear’s voice filled my mind. “Look closely now,” she said, “and wait. These are the two most important things I can tell you now. Look closely and wait.”

S
teve did some investigation for our case against the oil company. In his research he found out that something had fallen on Sweet during the explosion, and it hit his neck and head. I kept thinking about that, about my husband’s bones, his tendons, his muscles. The thought of then holding someone else’s head in my hands, well, it was more responsibility than I wanted right now. Just the weight of the skull, encasing the head. The muscles and bones. The top of the spinal column right there at the base of the neck. These precious parts terrified me. What if I hurt someone? It was all too much.

I had to tell Ricky that I couldn’t work for a while. When I told him that he should maybe find someone else to replace me, he didn’t speak at first. When he did, his voice was kind of husky.

“There
is
no replacing you, Calla.”

When M’Dear died, I felt like a big safety net was torn apart. When I married Sweet, I felt that net start to mend. Then Sweet was killed, and the net was blown apart again. Now there was nothing underneath. My life was my high wire, and I had to build my own safety net. Let the Moon Lady weave it out of stronger material than I or anyone could devise.

I took M’Dear’s words to heart. I looked closely, and I waited.

I walked, usually one to two hours a day at first, trying to
think
my way to the next step. I walked all around the Garden District until I cleared my mind of everything except the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other.

Then I wrote letters to the folks at home who were worried. They hadn’t heard much at all from me since the funeral. Finally, it was time to write.

The best place was our porch in the mid-morning sunlight.

Then one morning over breakfast with Ricky, I said, “Ricky, something’s changing.”

He looked at me over his cup of coffee. We were sitting at our favorite diner, the Bluebird Grill.

“I’m starting to feel different. I’m starting to see the trees again. I heard a bird this morning. Something’s widening in me.”

“Good, good,” he said, smiling. “It’s been a while now. All right, let’s have some bacon and eggs, huh? How about some bacon and eggs and some good grits, the way you like them, with lots of butter?”

“Ooooh,” I moaned. “Ricky, just because I’m starting to feel a little better, don’t go pushing that kind of food on me just yet.”

“Okay,” Ricky said. “How about some grits and toast? Grits and biscuits?”

“Mmm. Maybe just some grits,” I said, “just some plain grits. Butter on the side, nothing fancy, okay?”

“Okay,” Ricky said, “good.”

“I don’t want to rush it,” I said. “I don’t want to rush my mourning. It’s mine. Maybe if I take enough time, my heart will just get bigger—big enough to take all this. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” he said, “I think I do. Sweet was family to me, and to Steve, too.”

“I know. Ohhh, bless Steve’s heart. He’s always the one who says, ‘Calla’s getting tired now. Let’s leave her alone. Let’s go home now.’

“And Ricky, you’ll be saying, ‘No, no, no! We’re not leaving Calla alone. We’ve got
Casablanca
here to watch for the fourteenth time. We’ve got popcorn and plenty of chocolate!’ You know, sometimes, Ricky, how you just don’t let up?”

“I know,” Ricky said. “It’s just my Chalon nature.”

It made my heart sad to hear him say that. “Chalon nature”—it’s something I’d have loved to see get passed on. I remembered how Sweet and I tried so hard to make a baby—all the crazy things we did that we couldn’t tell anybody, like me standing on my head. “Come on, Calla,” Sweet would say, “let’s do it like the yogis do.”

“What do you know about yogis?” I’d say.

“Nothing,” he’d say, holding my feet. “I don’t know nothing about yogis, but I do know that you sure look good while I’m holding your feet and I get to see what I see.”

“Oh, stop it!” I’d say, laughing.

I looked around the Bluebird Grill. It was so smoky—all that bacon and hamburgers and people smoking cigarettes. The smell was comforting and turned my stomach at the same time.

As I looked around, I felt myself somehow move outside of myself, the pain just beginning to let go so that I could finally see something else besides it. I could see where Ricky and I were, sitting in that booth right there on St. Charles Avenue on Skid Row.

I remembered being here at the Grill a few years ago at 2:00 a.m. But who was I with? It wasn’t Sweet. So it must’ve been Sukey and me. I remembered the life I had before Sweet, how wild it was. Probably half of the people at the Grill that night were taxi drivers. I also saw a prom queen, a transvestite, and a police officer, all within fifteen feet of each other.

I chuckled out loud as I recalled that scene, sitting there with Ricky while a plate of grits was set down in front of me. I picked up my fork, inhaled the aroma of the grits, and got very calm.

I looked across at my dear friend, who’d helped pull me through the storm. I smiled and said, “I think I’m ready to start back up at the shop if it’s okay.”

Ricky smiled back. “Your chair’s been waiting.”

I
had been back working at Ricky’s for almost six months or so when

Steve called and said, “Let me take you to lunch.”

“Sure, where do you want to go? Felix’s?”

“How about Galatoire’s?”

“Uh-huh,” I said, laughing. “Yeaaaah, right.”

“No, Calla, I’m serious.”

“Really?”

The next thing I knew, we were at the glass doors and polished wood of Galatoire’s, the grand dame of the oldest and grandest of New Orleans restaurants.

“Oh, wow. Steve, I can’t go in there. Look at how I’m dressed!”

“Oh, come on, Calla. It doesn’t matter. We can do anything we want.”

I stepped in and saw the dining room in all its glory. It has very high ceilings and old mirrors set into the white woodwork. Above the mirrors, all the way to the ceiling, the walls were deep green with a large gold fleur-de-lis pattern.

Galatoire’s legendary, graceful waiters have been there thirty, forty, fifty years, and when they retire, their sons inherit their jobs. You can just see that sense of history in the way they move, crisscrossing the dining room with such ease and grace.

“Steve, have you gone a little nuts?” I asked. “Or have you won a huge case, in which case you really should be taking Ricky to celebrate?”

“Well,” he said, “I thought I’d take you instead.”

“Aw, that’s too sweet.”

“No,” he said. “Nothing’s too sweet for you, Calla Lily.”

As we sat down I could smell the extraordinary French Creole food that Galatoire’s was famous for. A fine meal later, I was halfway through my crème brûlée when Steve took out an envelope.

“Calla, this is a celebration, if a bittersweet one,” he told me. “This is for you.”

“Well, what is it?” I asked.

“Just go ahead and open it.”

I did, and oh, my God, it was a check with my name printed on it, “Calla Lily Ponder.” After the dollar sign, there was a five, followed by five zeroes. All those little zeros: zero, zero, zero, zero, zero!

“Steve, this just can’t be right!”

“Yes, Calla. It’s your settlement. I would have liked more, but hey, this is pretty decent.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“How about, bring on the champagne!”

Steve signaled one of the waiters, and then for the first time in my life, I said: “Please bring us your very best bottle of French champagne.”

After a while I felt so lightheaded that I couldn’t think of what to do or say, so I ordered a second dessert, a piece of perfect bread pudding with whipped cream on top.

Then I started crying, crying a flood that wouldn’t stop. I lifted my champagne glass one last time and quietly said, “To Sweet.” I looked around at all the gold trim and lights and the waiters in their starched uniforms. And at the people who lunched there every day. And I just thought about my Sweet. His thick black hair, olive skin, sturdy body. Always wearing his pants with one leg tucked into his boot, and the other one halfway out. My husband.

Steve looked directly in my eyes for a long moment and then said, “To Sweet.”

After all the champagne I drank, I realized that I couldn’t go back to work, so I ordered a third dessert for Ricky as a consolation prize. When it arrived, Steve said, “Well, we might as well leave. Your carriage awaits.”

Then I walked out the door, and what I saw made me squeal. Right outside the restaurant, there was a carriage pulled by two strong mules, with a liveried driver. I’d never before ridden in one of those carriages, though they are all over the Quarter.

“My carriage
does
await,” I told Steve.

We laughed, and I thanked him from the bottom of my heart for the lunch, for the settlement, and for being such a dear friend.

Then I hopped into my carriage and rode it all the way home.

When Sukey got off work, I had her meet me in Audubon Park. The trees there are so beautiful and so ancient. Their roots go so deep into the ground that nothing could rip them up. A hurricane could tear through this place, and those trees would still be standing here.

We set out walking, and it wasn’t long before Sukey complained, “Come on, Calla, will you slow down? Your legs are about eight inches longer than mine. I can’t keep up with you.”

So we stopped and sat down on a park bench. I told Sukey about the settlement, and she said, “Calla! You never have to work again for the rest of your life!”

“It’s not that much,” I said. “Plus, there are some people I want to share this with. So many who have helped pull me through, including you.”

I reached into the deep pockets of my sundress and pulled out an envelope.

“Okay, close your eyes.” Then I put the envelope into Sukey’s hands. “All right! You can open them now,” I said.

“Ahh,” Sukey squealed, “Calla, are you nuts!”

“Thanks for sharing so many of your jewels,” I said.

And we sat on the bench, and hugged.
Friends for life
. Then I thought of how much fun it would be to share this money with those I loved, and still have more than I had ever thought about.

“Yeah!” Sukey said. “And I could do it with you! Neither one of us would have to work. We could just lie up in the bed and watch movies and eat macaroni and cheese. And then afterwards, we could have big bowls of M&Ms. What do you think?”

“I think you’re still fourteen years old.”

“I think you’re right,” Sukey said. “I’m just kidding, of course. I don’t ever want to stop working. I love being a counselor, and I’m just getting my practice up and running. Lord knows we’ve got enough alcoholics in Louisiana to keep me busy until the day I die!”

That night I had a dream so vivid that it woke me up. The moon was so full and bright that I could see my whole bedroom lit up. And I could see La Luna’s strength, so powerful that it was driving all sadness out of the room, pushing it out to the Gulf of Mexico, where the vast body of water could handle it.

And as the sadness moved out, a whole new world of light came into me.

Suddenly, I knew what I would do: transform the old Swing ’N Sway into my salon. I could
see
it down to each little detail. It would be more than just a beauty shop.

In my dream, I opened the door of the Swing ’N Sway, a space that had once been a plantation grocery store, then a dance studio, and soon to be a beauty parlor. I saw the doors with their fine handiwork, the floors that were always kept immaculately clean and waxed every year. I saw the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and the door that opened to the breezeway.

I saw it all, and then I saw an overlay of my shop, the new Crowning Glory, snap into place.

This would be the place where I would practice what M’Dear—and Ricky—helped teach me. I had been reading about reincarnation since Sweet’s death, as suggested by my yoga teacher, and suddenly I realized that was true of places as well. The Swing ’N Sway would become the Crowning Glory,
and
dancing would still take place. Oh, yeah, I won’t just do someone’s hair; I’ll invite them to dance! Mothers and daughters will dance together. And mother-daughter clients will always have discounts.

La Luna—I knew I could only do this in La Luna. I’d been planning to return soon, eventually, but when I woke up, I knew now it was time to finally go home.

When I told Ricky the next day, he was excited about my dream but still sad that I would be leaving soon. “Calla, you’re so gifted that I’ll never manage to replace you. But more than that, you’re such a close friend—Steve and I will miss you badly.”

“Ricky, I’m leaving what I can’t absorb anymore—the noise, the smell, the roaches, the urine, the beer and mildew. I love this city, but I have to leave it. I need my small town.”

He was glad that I’d finally gotten a vision of what I wanted to do, and he understood my mission to heal, because he is a healer himself. And it pleased him to see me with my determination back again.

“Calla, you can do anything,” he said. “Declare victory
now
. You have gotten through the worst. You’re smart, you’re talented, and heck, you sure have learned to manage your money better than anybody I know. But most importantly, you have the gift of beauty and healing. Now,
relaxez-vous
!”