The Interruption of Everything (29 page)

I sit here listening to her think out loud.

“And I forgot all about that time she showed me and LL how to do cartwheels.”

“Joy didn’t know how to do a cartwheel.”

“Yes her did! She could do backflips, too. LL can do it, too. But I can’t.”

“Now see there. I bet if you thought about it a little longer you could probably remember more things your mama did that showed you how much she loved you. You understand what I’m saying here, Tiecey?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to miss her even though we didn’t spend all that much time together and we never really got to know each other. Lately it was starting to feel like we were. She was the only sister I had.”

“And she was the only mama I had.”

“Well, there’s probably going to be some things around here that’s going to change.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I have to figure a lot of that out.”

“Like what?”

“Like which bedroom I should give you and which one I should give LL.”

“I don’t want to sleep in my mama’s room.”

“In my house,” I say.

“You mean we get to come live with you and Uncle Leon?”

“Well, Uncle Leon might not be living with us.”

“Where’s he going?”

“I don’t really know.”

“You mean he didn’t tell you where he was moving?”

“He hasn’t moved yet.”

“Y’all getting a divorce, ain’t you?”

“I’m not sure what’s going to happen right now, Tiecey.”

“Well then, maybe he might could stay until we get there and then if you be nice and we be nice and don’t get on his nerves he can pretend like he our daddy.”

“You know, you have quite a lot going inside that little nappy head that needs to be washed, don’t you?”

“Can I get it braided like yours, Aunt Marilyn?”

“No. This is too much hair for a little girl.”

“I told you I’m almost eight.”

“And if I have anything to do with it, you’re going to act like it, too.”

“Do we really get to come to your house and live?”

“It might be the way it’s going to have to be.”

“Don’t you like me and LL?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then why you always be making us say things over and over, like we get on your nerves?”

“You don’t get on my nerves. It’s just that sometimes, I get upset when it seems like you guys haven’t learned your manners or if you’re speaking like you’ve never learned how to speak proper English.”

“What you mean by proper English? We speak English.”

“We’ll talk about it another time.”

“Why you don’t like LL playing video games? All kids play video games.”

“I know that. But it seems like all he does is play video games and watch cartoons.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“There’s more interesting things to do.”

“Like what?”

“You can read a book.”

“He can’t read.”

“Then I’ll read to him.”

“I can read but I wouldn’t mind you reading something to me, too.”

“I can do that.”

“What else is interesting to do?”

“You can make things: jewelry.”

“I don’t know how to make no jewelry.”

“I can show you.”

Her eyes light up. “Then we both can change.”

“See, that’s what I mean: at
almost
eight you shouldn’t be thinking about changing anything. But don’t worry about it right now. You two will come and live with me before I let you go into foster care.”

“We don’t like foster care homes.”

“How would you know?”

“’Cause we had to go to one before.”

I’m learning far more about everything and everybody tonight than I had expected. But I can’t ask any more questions. I know more than enough. “Well, you won’t be going to another one, I can tell you that much.” When I hear these words come out of my mouth I can also feel them vibrating on my tongue. But this is the way it is. And this grown but resourceful and intuitive and smart little girl is
my
niece. And that future geek is probably a miniature version of
his
twin cousins, except I don’t know if LL has a personality yet.

“Yay!” Then she starts singing. “We moving to Oakland! We moving to Oakland! We get to swim in the swimming pool. We get to go to a nice school where they don’t got no guns!” She stops singing. “Do they?”

“No guns.”

“I always wanted to live with you, Aunt Marilyn. LL, too.”

“Well, there are a lot of things that need to be sorted out first.”

“Do I get to pick out the color I want my room? I want pink!”

“You probably can, but if you thought your mama got on your nerves, you haven’t seen anything.”

“Please don’t tell me you do drugs, too, Aunt Marilyn?”

“No, I don’t do drugs. But you guys are going to learn to live by a whole new set of rules.”

“I already know that.”

“And how do you know it?”

“’Cause you always making us say words right. And now I know why so it won’t really get on my nerves no more. I don’t want to say things wrong. But ain’t nobody but you never told me not to.”

This is so fucking unbelievable I just say: “Come here, Tiecey.” She walks over to me and I put my arms around her and hug her and she sinks into me and the next thing I know, she’s patting me on the back.

“It’ll be all right, Aunt Marilyn. Don’t worry. I’ma try to do everything you tell me to do. I promise. And I’ll make LL promise, too.”

“It’s been a long time since Aunt Marilyn has had little kids in the house, Tiecey.”

“We still be growing, you know.”

“I know.”

“I like doing homework. I like washing dishes. I don’t like to vacuum but if you want me to, I will. LL hates taking out the trash but he’ll get used to it. Hide that Nintendo from him and I betcha he’ll do it really really fast.”

“You guys are the least of my worries right now.”

“What about Grandma Lovey? She coming, too, ain’t she?”

“Do you think I’d leave her here?”

“No. She been had her suitcases packed. Look under this bed and look in that closet over there. She been ready to go.”

“Well, I have to take her to the doctor tomorrow and see what she says might be the best thing for Lovey.”

“That doctor is a lady?”

“Yes, she is, and she’s also black.”

“I could be a doctor when I grow up if I wanted to.”

“I know that. You can be anything you want to be when you grow up.”

“Is Mama gonna have a whole funeral?”

“I’m not sure what kind of service it’ll be.”

“You mean they have more than one kind?”

“Sometimes family members have a small memorial service where you can say good-bye.”

“But I don’t wanna say good-bye to her when she dead.”

“I have to look into it tomorrow.”

“When will the memory service be?”

“I don’t know yet. Why?”

“Do we
have
to go?”

“I would think so, Tiecey.”

“I don’t like funerals. And I don’t think I’ma like no memory service either.”

“How many have you been to?”

“Just one, and I was scart. I don’t like ’em. Neither do LL. Mama won’t know if we there or not, will she?”

“I think she would. We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

“Okay. Well, right now, can I go get some of our Easter candy before LL eat it all up.”

“You go on and eat some. In fact, give Lovey a few jelly beans and I’ll be out in a minute to eat a few, too. I could use something sweet about now.”

She bolts out of the room. I sit on the bed and read every word of this document. This is Lovey’s handwriting, for sure. She must have done this when writing wasn’t a problem. Under “Health Care Instructions” she wrote:
“First of all, if for some reason I get sick with something they can’t cure and the only way to keep me alive is by swallowing handfuls of pills day after day and whatever I got keeps pulling the life out of me, do not get no refills. And if I’m looking like that Scissorhands boy in that movie with tubes coming outta me every which way, unhook them things and let me go. Or if it so happens that my mind starts leaving and I can’t seem to make decent decisions for myself, I want my oldest daughter, Marilyn Grimes, to make them for me. Under no circumstances do I want to be a burden to anybody, but especially my daughters, I don’t care what they say. I do not want them to fix up a room for me and especially if I have to sleep in a hospital bed. Take me where I can live around my own kind, with other folks who done made it through one side and ready to go on about our business. We all have lived long enough to do as much as we could for ourselves. Here we won’t have to struggle. We won’t have to pretend. We might be able to reminisce with each other or hell, just in our own mind I don’t much care, but ain’t no need in my daughters feeling an ounce of guilt for putting me in one of these places. I done read enough about them and even picked out three or four I believe I might enjoy. I wrote their name and phone numbers on the back of a sky-high cable bill I got right before Christmas of 2000 and could not bring myself to pay but thank the Lord they all have cable and one got satellite though I don’t know the difference. I’d like to think of them as Club Med for elders. We get room service and breakfast in bed I suppose and this way my daughters can visit me when it’s convenient for all of us. By the way, Joy can have this house and everything in it. It’s all paid for. What else? I can’t think of nothing right now so you can consider this my will and this is the end of it.”
She signed her name.

I fold the papers back and just sit there. So, Joy, you’ve known all along what Lovey wanted. But I suppose you thought if you just took care of her and I didn’t have to find out what her real condition was, then everybody would be happy. But it got too hard to cover for her and even harder to lie to yourself. Wasn’t that how this happened? You had to start numbing yourself with drugs because watching your mother, our mother, disappear, was too painful. Is that it? Well, I’ve been doing the same thing, really, except I think I used my children, my home, food—even my husband—to hide mine. I allowed myself to become unimportant. An imposter. I’ve been impersonating myself for so long that even I almost bought into it. But maybe you haven’t lost, Joy. Even though you’re too young to leave this world, maybe you’re better off. Shit, you’re free of pain. You don’t have any worries. Don’t have to figure out where you’re going to get your next fix or how you’re going to feed the kids or wait to see if you’re going to get your mother back the way she was. And, Joy, just for the record: kids do count.

Double.

Chapter 28

R
ead this,” Tiecey says, shoving a piece of paper into my hands. I barely remember falling asleep on this couch. I spring up to a sitting position. “What time is it? And where’s Lovey?”

“It’s six-thirty and Lovey still sleep. Snoring loud as always.”

“Thank you, Tiecey. What is this and what are you doing up so early and is there any coffee in this house?”

“You sure ask lots of questions at one time. This paper is the same as Grandma Lovey’s.”

“I already read it.”

“But this is Mama’s. Her got one, too. She a copy cat. I always get up early to make sure we ain’t late for school and if I have to iron something to wear and make sure LL is clean and that Grandma Lovey eat and then hide all the knives and stuff she can hurt herself with. I think I saw a jar of crystal coffee in the cupboard a long time ago. Want me to go look?”

“No, that’s okay. Has the phone rung at all? I left quite a few messages for my kids and some other folks but I haven’t heard the phone ring.”

“Sometime Grandma Lovey act like she calling somebody and forget to put it back on the hook. I’ll go check.”

And off she goes in the dingiest undershirt and fading floral underpants I’ve seen in a long time. I can’t wait to take these kids to Target.

“Did Joy come ho…” I utter and then catch myself. Shit. Sometimes, there’s only so much tragic stuff you can register at once and a part of you rejects some of it so you don’t have to absorb the pain all at once. Joy is dead and is never coming home and I’m taking Lovey to the neurologist today and I pray to God I hear from my husband or kids or some grown-up.

“Her had it under the covers. Here it is,” Tiecey says and hands me the white portable. “It’s dead ’cause ain’t no sound or lights coming from it. It need to be charged up,” and she snatches it back and runs to put it in its cradle. Where’s my purse? And my cell phone? I don’t see either one of them.

Tiecey comes back and plops down next to me. “What it say?”

“I haven’t had a chance to read it yet.”

“Well, go on and read it.”

“Who are you talking to?”

“You, Aunt Marilyn! You know that.” And she smiles. I think she has a loose tooth. The top two are huge and come together like a pyramid. I don’t understand why I didn’t notice it before. Orthodontist, here we come.

“Did you eat breakfast?”

“Yep.”

“What did you have?”

“Instant oatmeal. The same thang I always eat. You want some, Aunt Marilyn? I hid one with peaches. You can have it.”

“No thanks, Tiecey.”

“Do we gotta go to school today?”

“No. I don’t think so. But I have to take Grandma Lovey to the doctor and make arrangements for your mother and please don’t ask me what kind of arrangements, Tiecey, because Aunt Marilyn has a lot on her mind right now.”

She pats me on the shoulder. “I know how it is. Sometimes I got so many thangs on my mind I can’t thank about nothing.”

“So what do you do?”

“Color.”

“That’s good. Have you seen Aunt Marilyn’s purse or my cell phone?”

“Yep,” she says, bending over me and the arm of the sofa so that her legs fly up and she almost falls off but I grab her ashy legs and pull her back up to safety. In her hands is my black bag. “That was fun! Can I do it again, one more time, please?”

“Okay,” I say, as she dives forward this time. She is tinier than I thought after touching her like this. And she is really just a little girl with grown-up concerns. I’m glad there’s still time for her and LL to be children.

Now she’s lying on my lap like a big red snapper. I kiss the top of her nappy head and then pat it softly three or four times. “Okay. Up you go, cutie.”

She jerks up and looks me in the eye so close I can smell her breath, which smells more like jelly beans than oatmeal. “You really thank I’m cute?”

I look at her like how could you ask me such a ridiculous question, but I follow it with: “Not really. You’re cuter than cute, which makes you a very pretty little girl, Tiecey.”

“You lying. I ain’t pretty.”

“Okay, let’s get something straight right here. Right now.”

“Okay.”

“First of all. You don’t ever use that tone of voice with me or any adult. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“And second of all: I don’t lie. So if you don’t believe something someone is telling you, then say it in a manner that doesn’t make it sound like you’re calling them a liar.”

“How’m I ’posed to do that? I don’t get it.”

“Okay. What just happened here. The
polite
thing would have been something like this: ‘I don’t believe you, Aunt Marilyn, because nobody ever told me I was cute.’”

“That’s true,” she said. “That’s why I said you was lying. But I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Now get your
pretty
little behind up from here and go run some bath water for Grandma Lovey and let me read this to myself, okay?”

“Okay.” And off she scampers again. I wonder if this girl knows how to walk. As I unfold Joy’s papers, I see now that it’s not the same document as Lovey’s. It’s actually a last will and testament form that was notarized at a Parcel Plus three days after Lovey’s health care directive. Joy’s handwriting is big and round like a child who’s just learned cursive: “
If I die and my kids is still kids, I want my sister, Marilyn Grimes, to raise them the way she raised hers so they will have a chance to grow up right and live their life with somebody who ain’t scared to show them what love feel like. I hope she knows how important this is to me. I know I’ve been a pitiful excuse for a mama but I don’t think I was meant to be nobody’s mama, really. I can’t even take care of myself. I don’t want my kids to mess up her life or her plans if her kids is grown and out the house. But please don’t let LL and Tiecey go to no foster homes. They good kids. They can be bad, but even good kids is bad sometimes. They smarter than you might think just by listening to them. Teach them how to think and how to solve problems and let them have some fun. Spoil them for a week or two if possible. They don’t know what it feel like to do what they want and get what they want. Anyway, I put they trifling-ass daddy’s last address on the bottom of this will form but if he ain’t locked up he might be dead by now the way he was going and since people don’t seem to change when it come to doing drugs, unless he been born again or something, I don’t want him near my kids cause he was crazy and mean and it might take at least two or three Gods to straighten his ass out. Anyway, please don’t have no damn funeral for me and do not bury me nowhere. I knew a long time ago I wanted to be cremated so won’t nobody have to be looking at me and feeling sad, or mad. I ain’t got no friends worth calling so please don’t have no corny memorial service for me so folks can lie about how wonderful I was. And I don’t care what they do with my ashes. I love you, Marilyn, cause you always made me feel like your sister and that’s about it. Oh yeah I forgot. If anybody I owe money to come around Lovey’s house trying to bribe you, don’t fall for that shit. Just tell them they gone have to wait a little longer than I thought to get paid. But don’t hold they breath.”

I fold it closed. I’m smiling. And shaking my head.

“Was it funny, Aunt Marilyn? Huh?”

“No, it wasn’t funny, Tiecey.”

“Then why come you laughing?”

“I’m smiling. When you laugh you make a sound. And before you ask: I’m not going to read it to you because it was meant for me. But I will say this: your mother said that she loves you and LL very much and wants you both to grow up to be happy and smart and make her proud.”

“Did she already know she was going to be dying?”

“No, but sometimes when you have something you want to protect—like children—some people write down how they would like them to be raised in case they were to have an accident or something that didn’t allow them to be able to raise them.”

“Good thang Mama could see into the future, then, huh?”

“Sure is. Now go wake up LL and Lovey.”

See how she runs runs runs.

I have six messages. Sabrina: Mom, I’m sorry to hear about Aunt Joy and wish I could drive down there to be with you and the children but our transmission is shot so we have no wheels. Although this isn’t a good time to bring it up but Nevil said this is clearly a case of wrongful death and negligence and he wants to make sure Joy’s legacy is preserved and that her children benefit from this tragedy. Oh, we are not moving to London. The short version: I told Nevil he’s already got two degrees. I’m not going anywhere until I get mine. He said “fair enough.” It’s why I love this man. Call me. I’m here. Love you. From Paulette: Girl, just say the word and I’ll do whatever you need me to do. You still have two sisters, you know that. From Spencer: Mom, sorry to hear about Aunt Joy. I bet the folk who caused this don’t have a scratch on them. This angers me more than you know. Remember how my friend Angelo lost his life? Drunk drivers get away with murder. Maybe I shouldn’t have said this now. Sorry, Mom. Anyway, I wish we could make it home for the service, but we’ve got finals in three weeks. Let me know if you need us there and we’ll work it out. Love you. From Simeon: Mom, not happy to hear the news. What exactly went down? Anyway, I’m not in school. I’m in Amsterdam. We got a major gig. But I can’t afford to come home until we get paid. I’ll be there in spirit. Oh, they’re taping some of our sessions, so I’ll send a DVD to you and Dad. Love you. Peace out. From Bunny: Paulette just told me what happened and I can drive down there right now and stay as long as you want me to, to help you get things handled. Just buzz me back. If I come, can I bring my cats? And don’t forget to breathe. From Arthurine and Prezelle: Baby we feel your loss but know that she’s in the Lord’s hands and they are the best hands to be in. Where is my son? He better not still be in Puerto Rico or wherever he went. He should be there. Do you have a number for him over there? I got words for him that God might not approve of. Me, too! This is Prezelle. We love you, Marilyn, and let me know if you want us to do anything over at the house. And finally, the voice of an alien who sounds a lot like my husband: Marilyn, I’m sorry to hear all that’s happened there and you’ve been given a lot of misinformation about my stay here, but I won’t bother explaining it over the phone and especially under the circumstances. I will say this, however: I’m a new man. And I’ll let it go at that. I’ve been trying to get on a flight since last night and have been at the airport for sixteen hours and just gone on standby. Hello? Because of the time difference, I won’t get there until tomorrow night. I know I’m probably not the person you’ll be seeking comfort from, but I’m coming to offer it anyway. Will call when I get to SFO.”

“Fuck you,” I say to the cell phone and turn off the power.

“Auntie Marilyn, did I just hear you say a bad word?”

“No, you did not, Tiecey.”

“Yes, I did. I thought you was nice and didn’t say those bad words.”

“I’m sorry. And I just lied. I did say a bad word, but I promise you will never hear me say another one.”

“Do you keep your promises?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I’m glad somebody do.” She slides down the hallway. I drop the cell into my purse and just sit there on the couch looking at the map of my face between the gold veins on the mirrored wall. I don’t want anyone to come down or do anything. I just want to do what I need to do and take my mother and these kids home.

She’s had strokes. Probably more than one. They’re called ministrokes. They’re sneakier. That’s what the MRI showed as the main cause of my mother’s dementia: it’s only going to get worse. The neurologist suggested that I honor Lovey’s instructions and consider placing her into an assisted-care facility since technically she is unable to care for herself. But I’m not sure that it needs to be done so soon. She conveyed her concerns to me because she said I was already going to be a caregiver to two youngsters and Lovey would probably require even more supervision and patience than they would, and that I would most likely not have much energy left for myself or my husband. I had forgotten all about Leon, but since he’s going to be out of the picture soon anyway, I didn’t bother to say anything about him or our situation. Whatever it is. In fact, she said that many adult children of Alzheimer’s parents very often end up suffering from depression and guilt because there’s not much they can do to help restore their parents back to the healthy beings they once knew, and watching them deteriorate mentally is not only painful, but often so heartbreaking that in the long run the adult children appear to suffer more than the parent. This frightened me. It’s what I’d spent the last twenty-two years of my life doing: taking care of everybody and seeing to it that most, if not all, of their needs were met to the point that I ended up not having much left to meet my own. Did I clear the table only to have to set it again?

I’m confused about my devotion. Lovey is my mother. LL and Tiecey may not share my bloodline but they might as well. Hell, they’re just babies. And my babies are grown. This time around I have to learn how to nurture Marilyn or I’m going to resent these kids. It has taken me a long time to recognize that I’ve never put myself first, I’m always on the bottom of my things to do list and I keep getting carried over to the next day/month/year. But not this time. I think I finally get it. You don’t have to give up everything to own your life. And you don’t have to give everything you own to fuel someone else’s. This time I’m not going to pretend I’m the quarterback or the goalie or the last handoff in a relay or the referee. I’m just an older, more experienced member on the team who wants to do her part to make sure we all win. Volunteers welcome.