Excerpt:
It’s
February 12th and I’ve made my one hundred and first circle around the sun. I
was hoping, when I opened my eyes this morning, to be in the bosom of Abraham
or to be trying to possess the body of a newborn baby, or at least be
sunbathing in a flowery field in another dimension; but I’m still here on earth
celebrating another birthday. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. I am
able-bodied and in my right mind. I can still dance when I hear a song that
takes me back to times when the winding of my hips could hypnotize any onlooker
into a helpless trance. Now the winding of my hips sounds like a
twentieth-century watch being wound. My lined face is but a shadow of the woman
I used to be. The mirror lies; showing me crow’s feet and laugh lines as deep
as canyons; muddy eyes and a turkey neck. When I close my eyes, I see taut
skin, gypsy eyes, voluptuous lips, and a neck like a swan’s. I am still that
woman inside.
My health is good. Well, most of the time anyway. My blood pressure gets a bit
high when I eat too many potato chips or take a week off from walking. My knee
gets a little stiff at times and occasionally low energy levels force my
bedtime to start with the evening news.
I
could do the average old lady thing and offer a list of my ailments, but I
won’t because for the most part, I’m healthy and happy. I’m surrounded by
my family, who loves me. I live in a cozy home that I share with my eldest
granddaughter, Saige, and her family. Saige and her husband Kevin have been good
to me. Life is pleasant.
Sadness
creeps upon me from time to time because my heart still yearns for my husband.
It has been ten years since Josiah transitioned. According to him, he’s
probably in a new body trying to learn the lessons he missed his last lifetime.
I never believed much in reincarnation, but he did, and I am sure that he lives
on somewhere in the world. Josiah had a knack for being right or so he claimed.
My luck, he’s right about reincarnation and I’ll have to come back to this
godforsaken planet. Not that I do not love living, but I have been on this
earth a long time and I am ready to be gathered to my people. The ancestors are
calling me. Their beckoning plays in my ears like a song stuck on repeat,
fluttering in the distance but growing louder each day. I can hear them calling
my name; a melodic whisper that never stops humming day or night.
“Ma
Lily!” my ten-year-old great grandchild yells from the other side of the door.
Violet
is a loud one. Her voiceis deep and full sounding like a chorus harmonizing
every note. It would be perfect for the voice of God in a movie.
“Ma
Lily, can I come in?” she asks as she taps the door like her finger is
vibrating. I see the shadow of her toes dancing underneath the door.
I
tell her to come in and Violet pushes open the door like she is trying to test
her strength; causing it to fly open like a tornado is spinning in the hallway.
Every time I see her, which is every single day, I laugh inside. She brings me
delight in the richest form. Violet looks the most like me out of all my great
grandchildren, light brown with freckles. A cloud of thick black hair sits on
the top of her head like a beach ball which is held in place by a giant purple
ribbon tied into a perfect bow with its ends framing the sides of her face. She
has the most intoxicating smile on this side of the world. She is radical, nonconforming,
fearless and ostentatious like a ten-year-old should be.
“Whatchadoin’?”
Violet asks plopping down in my rocking chair as I push myself up into a
sitting position. I pull the covers off my legs and toss my legs off the side
of the bed. I look down at my ashy feet as my toenails scrape the floor. My
toenails look like talons. One day, I will take the time to clip them. Maybe I
was turning into a wild thing like a creature in one of Violet’s story books. I
voice activate the lamp and instruct Violet to open the curtains by pushing a
button on the nightstand.
Sunlight changes the entire energy of the room. It instantly renews every cell
in my body. Suddenly, a new birthday didn’t seem so annoying.
“Just
waking up,” I answer looking at the digital holographic clock hovering over my
nightstand. It was 7:59 a.m. “Why are you up so early?” I ask her as she rocks
back and forth swinging her legs like she is on a playground swing. The chair
groans like an old man. “It’s Wednesday. Why aren’t you in school?”
“Because
it’s your birthday!” Violet exclaims. “Mama says that turning one hundred and
one is a big deal. Aunt Cleo once told me that one hundred and one was the
angel number for happiness and prosperity. Do you believe that?”
“Could
be. Anything is possible,” I reply with a yawn.
“She
also said that today we’re gonna party like it’s 1999!” Violet says scratching
her head confused about what that meant. That song is nearly a century old. I
am surprised her mother knew the lyrics, but then again, Prince is and will
always be my favorite musical artist of all time. My children grew up on his
music and when my grandchildren and great grandchildren visit me, they too
became familiar with his ear-piercing falsetto and his sacrosanct sexuality. I
love everything about that little musical mastermind. If I had any musical
ability, Prince is who I would channel. For a moment, I consider placing my
music microchip into my ear and playing Prince’s greatest hits, but I’m sure
Violet will not let me listen in peace. Per her request, I would have to blast
it loud through the ceiling speakers and frankly, it is way too early in the
morning for that kind of noise. Way too early for any type.
“What
does your mama have planned?” I ask, a little anxious about Saige’s plans.
Saige
always went over and beyond what was humanly necessary to do. She is a
perfectionist in the worst way and habitually slunk away from gratification
like it was the plague. Watching her frown and fret over every single detail
was torture. Saige could make a person feel guilty about having a birthday
because of all the trouble that celebrating it would cause her. I’m glad I
won’t be around to see her plans for my funeral.
When
I turned one hundred, she made a movie about my life consisting of old videos
and photographs. It was a nice sentiment until she rented out a local theater
to show it and invited everyone in town. I had to wait in line for thirty
minutes to see my own movie and she stressed herself out over cold popcorn and
incorrect digital tickets until she fainted and had to be fanned back to
consciousness.
“I
can’t tell you,” Violet says as she hops off the rocking chair onto my bed.
The
bounce nearly catapults me across the room. I grip the mattress to balance
myself and exhale.
“Can
I do your hair?” she asksas she twists my silver dreadlocks into loops and pin
them to the top of my head. I lift myself so she can pullthe ones free that I
am sitting on, and I sit back on the bed.
“Looks
like you’re already doing it,” I retort while yawning. I sit as still as I can
as my great granddaughter styles my hair. My dreadlocks are floor length. It
amazes me how she effortlessly gathers my big blue-gray ropes of hair and turns
them into flower petals. She pulls the last bobby pin from her pocket and places
it in my hair.
“Done!”
she exclaims and bolts back over to the rocking chair.
I
stand up and walk over to the cherry wood vanity that sits in the corner of my
room, pull the emerald cushioned seat out and sit down. I look in the mirror
and smile. Violet does exquisite hair just like her grandmother, my daughter,
Chloe.
“Thank
you, baby,” I reply as I put on a thin coat of pink lip gloss and give myself
an air kiss in the mirror. I swear the lip gloss and hairstyle takes twenty
years off my face. I don’t look a day over eighty.
“You’re
welcome Ma Lily,” Violet replies as she rocks like a mad woman in the chair.
“Bring
me my owls,” I instruct while admiring my hair in the mirror.
Violet
hops off the chair and crosses the room and opens the top drawer of my jewelry
armoire. She pulls out two sterling silver necklaces, both with large owls
hanging from them, and a matching pair of earrings. After she hands them to me,
I put on both necklaces, one owl hanging lower than the other and put on the
dangling earrings.
I
look at myself once again in the mirror and smile, extremely pleased with
Violet’s handy work. I feel beautiful.
A
shadow moves on the opposite side of the room, its dark reflection appearing
like a man made of smoke. My chest constricts as I gasp aloud. I spin around.
Nothing is there.
The
room falls silent. The screeching rocker squeals no more. Violet sits in the
rocking chair as if time has stopped; her small face flushes red and her back
is as stiff as a board.
“You
okay baby?” I ask her as a shiny tear makes its way down her cheek.
“Did
you see it?” she whimpers.
“I
saw it,” I confess. I want to deny it, but it is no use. Violet and I both were
born with a veil; born with two crowns on our heads like the ancestors used to
say. It was one of the things that helped us forge such an intimate
relationship. Her mother cannot see, but her grandmother Chloe can and so can
Violet’s older brother Uriah.
“It’s
coming to get you Ma Lily. I saw it,” Violet whines. “I don’t want you to go.”
I
stand up and walk over to my great grandchild. I instruct her to stand up so I
can sit down. My knee is hurting a little. Rain must be coming. Violet sits on
my good knee. She feels heavier than she did yesterday.
“There is a season for everything under heaven,”
I reply. “A time to laugh and a time to cry. A time to live and a time to die.”
