Читать книгу Selling My Soul - Sherri L. Lewis - Страница 10

Six

“Tree!” My mom reached out for me. I was so shocked by how she looked that I just stood there. Her face fell, and I shook myself out of my stupor to hug her.

“Moms! It’s so great to see you. I missed you so much.” Hugging her felt like hugging a skeleton. My arms could have wrapped around her twice. I pulled away from the hug and looked at her closely.

Her eyes were sunken, and her skin was pale gray rather than peachy brown. Her usually plump, round cheeks were sickeningly thin. I reached up to touch her head covered with a scarf. I rubbed my fingers over it and realized it was flat on her scalp. Her beautiful, thick hair was gone. She had always been much shorter than both me and Tiffany at five foot five, but now she seemed even shorter, smaller. My mother had always been “a looker” as they called her back in the day. It hurt me to see how much the sickness had stolen her beauty.

She forced a weak smile, but I knew my inspection of her was making her feel awful. Somehow I’d have to find a way to act like nothing was wrong.

“Come in, girl. Look at you. Your crazy sister said you looked like . . . Monica! Is that you?” My mom’s eyes traveled downward to Monica’s belly. “Oh my word. Look who done swallowed a watermelon seed.”

Monica laughed, and we both followed her into the house. The house smelled like sickness—the same smell I had experienced on the few trips I made to the hospital to sit with some of the children from the village.

Moms’s usually immaculate house was cluttered and messy. Hers was the kind of house where you could stand in the front door and see pretty much everything there was to the first floor. The small kitchen crowded by a large breakfast table. The living room with the old floor model television serving as a stand for the new television. The worn couch that Moms had reupholstered every few years for as long as I could remember.

Upstairs, there were three small bedrooms. Unless something had changed since I left, me and Tiffany’s rooms looked like we never left. Still had the same beds, dressers, and little school desks. Tiffany’s room probably still had her New Edition posters all over the walls. As always, pictures of me and Tiffany graced the walls everywhere throughout the house.

As I followed Moms, I realized how slow she was walking, like moving through the house took all her strength. I looked at Monica with a million questions in my eyes. She squeezed my arm and tried to smile.

This was one of those times it was good for my best friend to be a nurse. I would be sure to have her help me ask Moms about her condition, and then I would grill Monica with more questions later. Maybe she could help me talk to the doctors tomorrow. I was sure I wouldn’t get the straight truth from Moms. In spite of how bad she looked, I knew she’d try to gloss it over and assure me that she would be fine.

“Tree, you hungry?”

I started to say no until I felt the grumbling in my stomach. I realized it had probably been a good eight hours since I had eaten.

Moms looked at my droopy jeans. “They ain’t got no food over in Africa? Girl, you skin and bones.”

Look who’s talking. “The food is different over there, Moms. Plus we walked almost everywhere we went. Got a lot of exercise.”

“Well, I knew my baby was coming home, so I had Aunt Penny come over and cook. We got a real welcome home feast for you.”

She started taking covered dishes out of the refrigerator. It pained me to see her get short of breath as she carried the dishes to the counter. I knew it would hurt her feelings if I offered to help.

Monica walked over to the refrigerator. “Let me get that, Ms. Michaels. You sit down and visit with Trina. You guys have a lot of catching up to do.”

I could have kissed Monica. She winked at me when Moms turned her head.

Moms came over to sit down with me at the kitchen table. I remembered the bills I had been clutching since I came in the door. “I got the mail. It looked like it was about to spill out the box.”

My mother looked down at the pink envelopes and late notices and grabbed them out of my hands. “Thanks, Tree. I’ll just put them in the drawer over there.” Her eyes didn’t meet mine. When she sat back down, she reached across the table and grabbed my hands. “So tell me about Africa.”

My heart warmed a little at the sparkle still in her eyes. Typical Moms. We weren’t going to talk about the big, stinky elephant in the middle of the room. Her question made me know I wasn’t to ask about her health or the bills. I was to tell her about my journey, and we were all supposed to act like nothing was wrong.

As I recounted some of my experiences in Mozambique, she stared at me, eyes wide with wonder. A few times she reached over and pulled her fingers through my afro. She smoothed her hand across my cheeks and squeezed my leg. She kept touching me like she couldn’t believe I was sitting in front of her. At one point, I could see tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

“What’s wrong, Moms? Are you in pain?”

She sat back and waved away my fears. “Of course not, Tree. I’m just so proud of you. I can’t believe everything you did. You sacrificed so much to help those people over there. Our people. You make a mother’s heart proud.” Her voice choked up, and tears spilled from her eyes. “You make me feel like I’m leaving an awesome legacy.”

I felt a knot rise in my throat. “Eventually you will, Moms. But you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. I’m not gonna let that happen.”

She chuckled. “How you figure? They got cures for cancer over in Africa?”

“As a matter of fact, they do.”

The microwave dinged and Monica opened it and pulled out a plate heaped with food. The smell of down home, southern cooking filled the room. Even before she brought the plate over, my nose told me there were collards seasoned with pork, candied yams, sweet corn, and fried chicken on that plate. “Goodness, Monica. That’s enough to feed a tribe.”

She looked down at the plate. “I figured you must be hungry.” She brought it over to the table.

I pushed the plate over between me and my mother. “You guys have to eat some of this with me.”

Monica shook her head. “I pretty much eat only organic food.”

I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. I respected her wanting to be healthy, but it seemed crazy to be picky about food when people were starving in other parts of the world.

Moms pushed the plate back over to me. “Ain’t got much appetite these days. Chemo done messed up my taste buds.”

I pushed the plate back toward her. “Please try to eat a little bit. For me?”

Moms smiled and picked up the fork Monica had set on the table. I wished I had brought enough clothes with me to stay for a month. Maybe if I lived here and made her eat and encouraged her spirit, she’d get better. I knew people with positive attitudes fared better with illnesses like cancer.

Monica walked toward the kitchen door. “I think I’m gonna step out to the grocery store and see if I can find something I can eat.” I knew she was giving me and Moms some time to talk. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

I walked her to the front door. “Be careful.”

“Girl, I know these streets. I’ll be fine.” She lowered her voice. “You okay?”

I nodded my lie, and she gave me a hug before walking out the door.

I went back and sat down at the table with my mom, leaning over to kiss her on the forehead.

“So tell me about this cure, Tree.” My mother looked skeptical already. “Some tree bark or roots they got over there?”

“No, actually it’s the power of God. You wouldn’t believe—”

She put the fork down, pursed her lips, and rolled her eyes. “Tree, don’t come in here talking that Jesus stuff. You know I ain’t trying to hear it.”

“But Moms, you wouldn’t believe all the miracles I saw in Africa. Tumors dissolving, deaf people hearing, blind eyes opened. There was this baby that had been dead for hours, and we laid hands on it and prayed for it, and it woke up crying. Cancer is no big thing to God.”

She shook her head and got up from the table. “Girl, you know I don’t believe in all that Jesus stuff. If it’s my time to go, it’s my time to go. God left this house a long time ago.”

I knew she was referring to when my dad walked out on us twenty something years ago. She walked over to her purse and took out a pack of cigarettes and her slim gold lighter she’d had for as long as I could remember.

My mouth fell open. “You’re still smoking?” I could barely say the words.

She shrugged. “I got the cancer already. What difference would quitting make now? I might as well enjoy myself.”

She clicked the lighter and put it to the end of the cigarette. She inhaled, and then blew out a puff of smoke.

Without thinking, I rose and snatched the cigarette out of her mouth. “Are you crazy?”

My mother’s eyes blazed, and she looked at me like I had lost my mind. “Am I crazy? You the one crazy. Girl, I don’t care nothin’ ‘bout you going to Africa. You ain’t that grown to be steppin’ to me like that. Asking me if I’m crazy.”

I stood there, towering over her. She pulled another cigarette out of the pack. I snatched it from her before she could get it to her mouth. I snatched the pack, crumpled it and threw it in the trash. “I can’t believe you’re still smoking. I’ve been telling you about this since I was a little girl, and you still insisted on smoking. Now look what happened.”

My mother stood there staring at me. She looked like she wanted to smack me. I had only gotten a beating once growing up. Tiffany, on the other hand, acted like she couldn’t make it a week without feeling the sting of the belt or switch.

I stood my ground, daring her to pull out the other pack of cigarettes I knew were in her purse. Instead, her shoulders slumped and tears streamed down her face. She leaned into my chest and wept. “I’m dying, Tree. Dying. Durn cancer done spread all over my body. Doctors say I ain’t got much longer to live. The chemo can’t save me. It’s just enough to shrink it a little, but there’s too much to get rid of. The chemo can only push the time away. If it don’t kill me first.”

I took her in my arms and held her while she shook. “You’re not gonna die, Moms. I’m not gonna let that happen.”

It felt weird to be comforting my mother. She had always been my rock and strength. Had inspired me that there was nothing in life I couldn’t conquer. Now here she was, skin and bones. A shell of her usual strong, feisty self. I refused to look at the situation in the natural. The God I had come to know in the last two years was awesomely supernatural. There was nothing impossible for Him. Not even terminal cancer.

I led my mother back to the table and sat her down. I smoothed my fingers across her cheeks, wiping away her tears. “You’re going to be fine, Moms. Even if you don’t believe in Jesus, I have enough faith for the both of us. He’s not gonna let you die. He knows I couldn’t handle that. So if for no other reason, He’s gonna heal you just for me. And for Tiffany. Who’s gonna take care of her lazy tail if you die?”

We both laughed. I grabbed both of her hands and squeezed them tight, then leaned over and kissed her forehead.

“Speaking of . . .” I got up and walked over to the mail drawer where she had stuffed all the overdue bills. I pulled them out and brought them over to the table, spreading them out in front of her. “What’s going on?”

She looked down at the table, then back up at me. “I had to leave work three months ago. You know the COBRA on my insurance is crazy high. Plus . . .” She looked down and to the right and I knew I didn’t want to hear what was coming next. Moms rarely did the eye thing because she rarely lied. She was one of those straight up people that always told the truth no matter how much it hurt. In fact, the only time she lied seemed to be when it had something to do with my father.

“Plus what, Moms?” I gently lifted her chin so she’d have to look me in the eye.

“Well . . . Tiffany ain’t worked steady in about three months. Since I was the one that begged you to let her stay in your house instead of renting it to somebody reliable who would pay the rent on time, I . . .”

My heart sank. “Oh, Jesus. Moms, tell me you haven’t been—”

She nodded and looked down at the table again. “I’ve been covering your mortgage and bills and helping Tiffany out with other stuff.”

I let out a deep breath. “When are you going to let her grow up? The longer you take care of her, the longer she’s gonna need to be taken care of.”

“I know, Tree. But I couldn’t let your house go under. I shouldn’t have talked you into renting to her. Just shoulda let her be on her own. Or stay here.”

We looked at each other and cracked up.

“Yeah, right,” I said. “Like you and Tiffy could stay in the same house for more than a week without killing each other.”

“I know, chile. I don’t know what we gon’ do now that you’re back. I know you’re gonna be ready to put her out soon.” A worried look filled her eyes.

“Don’t worry, Moms. We’ll work something out.” I didn’t need her concerned about Tiffany being homeless right now. I’d find a way to deal with her just to give my mother some peace.

I fingered through the bills one by one and groaned. “Moms, why didn’t you tell me sooner? I would have come home and taken care of you and the bills and everything.”

“And what would have happened to all those kids in Africa?” She stacked the bills and pulled them away from me. “I’m not your responsibility. I’m the mother, you’re the daughter. It’s not your job to take care of me.”

I pulled the bills back toward me. “If I took care of you for the rest of your life, which will be years and years, I could never repay all you’ve done for me. Everything I’ve ever done, anything I’ve ever accomplished, I owe it all to you. The best mother in the world.”

She held up her hand. “Stop with all that, girl. I ain’t done nothing but raise y’all in the ghetto and make sure you didn’t starve.”

“Whatever, Moms. You know you’re the greatest.” I rubbed my hand over her scarved, bald head, trying to make myself get used to it. “I wished you had called me. Or at least when I called you to let you know I was staying an extra three months, you should have let me know what was going on then. Why would you let me stay longer?”

“I figured whatever was going on was important if you decided to stay.” Her eyes twinkled. She picked up my left hand and held it. “I was hoping you were staying longer because of that man you told me about. Thought sure you’d be coming home with a ring on your finger.”

I pulled back my hand and swatted her. “Now I know you’re sick. You encouraging me to get married? What happened to ‘men ain’t no good’ and ‘you can’t trust them for nothing but to be untrustworthy?’ ‘Give them your heart and they’ll break it for sure.’ ‘If you let a man—”

She held up a hand to stop me. “Was I that bad?”

My eyes bugged out. “Yeah, Moms. Worse.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, baby. I guess that’s why neither one of y’all can keep a good man. I done filled your heads with all that poison.” She let out a slow deep breath and intertwined her fingers with mine. “I guess staring death in the face makes you think. I’ve been thinking about my life and the mistakes I made. Thinking about you girls and what I want for you. I want you to be able to get married and have a family and live a good happy life. I don’t want you to end up lonely and bitter like me. You don’t want to die alone, Tree.” Her voice cracked and her eyes teared up again. “Ain’t nothing worse than dying alone.”

I rubbed her back and wiped her tears away. “You’re not going to die anytime soon. And when you do die, years and years from now, you won’t be alone. You’ll be surrounded by all the people in your life that love you.”

She grabbed my shoulders and made me look at her. “Promise that will include a son-in-law and some grandchildren. And from you—not Tiffany. I’m scared of what man she might bring home. And God knows she doesn’t need to bring any kids of her own into this world.”

I laughed and rubbed her arm, hoping she wouldn’t force me to make that promise.

There was a knock at the door. “Monica got back quick. I didn’t know there was a health food store close to here.”

I opened the door and couldn’t believe what I saw. There were about six kids standing there.

“Where Miss Michaels at?” one of the smaller boys said.

“You gotta be kidding me.” I muttered under my breath. I stepped back and let the kids in. They flooded into the kitchen and gathered around my mom.

Two of the girls walked over to the table and hugged her and kissed her sunken cheeks. The boys didn’t waste any time opening the refrigerator. “What you got to eat?”

I stood in the kitchen doorway with my hands on my hips. “I can’t believe this. Moms, these kids don’t need to be hanging around here still.”

Moms scowled at me. “Leave my babies alone. They keep me happy.”

I didn’t fuss too much because I knew she was right. As I watched the kids swarming around her, eating Aunt Penny’s soul food and talking animatedly about their day and the goings on in the neighborhood, I saw my kids in my village in Mieze gathered around me eating beans and rice. I guessed I came by it honestly.

I smiled and leaned against the counter watching them. “Make sure you guys wash these dishes when you’re done.” I pointed a threatening finger at each one of the kids. “Y’all better not be bringing Ms. Michaels no cigarettes. You hear me? If I catch any one of you bringing her a pack of cigarettes, you’ll have to deal with me. Understand?”

Each one of them nodded at me with wide open eyes, probably terrified of the scary giant with the big afro.

While Moms was distracted by one of the little boys showing her the latest dance, I picked the bills up off the table and took them into the living room and put them in my bag. Hopefully, she wouldn’t notice they were missing. I would go through them later and see how bad things were.

I called Monica to say I was too exhausted to go back to Silver Spring and that I wanted to spend some more time with Moms. She was glad to be able to spend the night at her parents’ house, about twenty minutes away. I had thrown a couple of things in an overnight bag before leaving my house, knowing I would want to stay.

After an hour or so, I chased the kids out of the house and told my mother it was time to go to bed.

“You just get back and you bossing me around already?” Moms kissed my cheek and gave me the biggest smile to let me know how glad she was to have me home.

As I sunk into my twin bed in my old bedroom, gratitude washed over me again. It wasn’t as comfortable as mine at home, but it wasn’t a hard hut floor or a luxurious rope bed. After tossing and turning for about half an hour, I realized that it was too comfortable. My body was used to sleeping on a hard surface.

I also couldn’t believe how alone I felt. In Africa, I either slept in a small hut with several other missionaries or surrounded by clusters of African children who wanted to be close to Auntie Trina. And it was weird sleeping without my mosquito net. I felt exposed and almost . . . naked. The sounds of the cars and buses passing by and people talking and arguing on the street outside were strangely disturbing.

After another half hour, I could hardly stand it. I took the comforter off the bed and tipped into my mother’s room. I laid on the floor next to her bed, right up under her.

“Tree, baby, you okay?”

“Yeah, Moms. Just weird sleeping in a bed by myself.”

She reached down and rubbed my back and I almost cried. The exhaustion of the trip, Mom’s illness, and her financial problems weighed heavy on me. The culture shock of being home had hardly started.

I took a deep breath and imagined myself lying on the beach on one of my visits to the mission base in Pemba, looking up at the expansive, clear sky with low hanging clouds, serenaded by the swelling waves of the Indian Ocean. In a place where everything displayed God’s beauty and splendor.

Right before I drifted off to sleep, I thought of the bills downstairs in my purse. I might have to take a job sooner than I’d planned. Whatever it took, I was gonna make sure Moms was well taken care of.