wrong turn is all.”
“We was on the freeway, Mama!”
“The freeway!”
This feels like a bad sitcom, one that’s so bizarre it’s not funny. Something is wrong with my mother.
“Can I fix you something to eat, Marilyn? You hungry?” she asks, heading for the kitchen.
“No thanks, Lovey.”
“I’m glad to hear you say no ’cause you look like you need to say it more often. You bigger than when I saw you last time.”
“Don’t remind me. Why don’t you go sit down and take it easy.”
“I’m fine. Joy, did you water the plants like I asked you to, girl?”
“Yes I did, Lovey.”
I walk in the kitchen after my mother and LaTiece follows us. “Wait out there until we come back out,” I say to her.
“Why?”
“Because I said so, that’s why.”
“But you ain’t my mama.”
I was one second away from snatching that bag out of her hand but all I said was, “I know I’m not your mama, but I’m your auntie which is almost the same thing. Now I’m only going to say this one more time. Go on back in there and leave me and your grandmother alone for a few minutes.”
“You spending the night?”
“Yes!”
“Where you gon’ sleep?”
“I don’t know, now go!”
She strolls down the short hallway and disappears. Lovey is standing at the stove, turning on all of the eyes.
“Lovey, how are you feeling these days?”
“I feel fine. Sometimes I admit I have a little trouble remembering things, but other than that, I feel just dandy.”
I hold up the envelopes. “Do you remember writing these checks?”
She looks at them like she doesn’t.
“When was the last time you had a physical, Lovey?”
“I don’t know.”
“Joy?!”
“What?!”
“Come in here for a minute, would you?”
LaTiece beats her here. “Did I call you?”
She shakes her little head, as if to say, “Too bad, I’m here anyway.”
“Joy, when was the last time Lovey had a physical?”
“Whew, let me think.”
“Well, when was the last time she went to the doctor?”
Lovey is looking at us both, waiting for the answer.
“Has it been over a year?”
“Probably,” Joy says.
“She needs to go,” I say. “Because something’s not right. And I want her to get checked out.”
“You can take her then, since you here.”
“But I’ve gotta go home tomorrow.”
“Well, ain’t that just too bad. You the one who opened your big mouth.”
“You know what I want to do?” Lovey says.
“No, what do you want to do?” I ask.
“I would like to move out of this dump and someplace where somebody can help me do things that’s getting hard for me to do. I don’t want to cook another meal or mop another floor. I want to live where I can make some friends my own age who might have health problems but can still walk and talk, anything to get me away from these brats and this trifling daughter who got the wrong name—Joy, my foot—as soon as humanly possible.”
It is hard for me to believe that this is my mother talking. In fact, she used to say she should charge extra to all the women who sat in her kitchen chair while she pressed and curled their hair just complaining away about their husbands and gossiping to no end about this person and the next, and Lovey would just say the same thing over and over: “I know what you mean, sugar,” and for some reason they always felt consoled. She never repeated a word they said because she said then she would be part of the mess and “if you don’t start no mess, won’t be no mess. ” This was one reason why she never lost a customer. “Do you realize what you just said here, Lovey?”
“Oh, she knows, all right,” Joy says. “I told you she can be herself and then turn on you like a pit bull. You didn’t believe me, but here’s the proof,” she says, and storms on up the stairs.
“You need to shut up, girl! I know exactly what I’m saying and it don’t matter if I forget this, because I got it all wrote down,” Lovey says.
“What
“We was on the freeway, Mama!”
“The freeway!”
This feels like a bad sitcom, one that’s so bizarre it’s not funny. Something is wrong with my mother.
“Can I fix you something to eat, Marilyn? You hungry?” she asks, heading for the kitchen.
“No thanks, Lovey.”
“I’m glad to hear you say no ’cause you look like you need to say it more often. You bigger than when I saw you last time.”
“Don’t remind me. Why don’t you go sit down and take it easy.”
“I’m fine. Joy, did you water the plants like I asked you to, girl?”
“Yes I did, Lovey.”
I walk in the kitchen after my mother and LaTiece follows us. “Wait out there until we come back out,” I say to her.
“Why?”
“Because I said so, that’s why.”
“But you ain’t my mama.”
I was one second away from snatching that bag out of her hand but all I said was, “I know I’m not your mama, but I’m your auntie which is almost the same thing. Now I’m only going to say this one more time. Go on back in there and leave me and your grandmother alone for a few minutes.”
“You spending the night?”
“Yes!”
“Where you gon’ sleep?”
“I don’t know, now go!”
She strolls down the short hallway and disappears. Lovey is standing at the stove, turning on all of the eyes.
“Lovey, how are you feeling these days?”
“I feel fine. Sometimes I admit I have a little trouble remembering things, but other than that, I feel just dandy.”
I hold up the envelopes. “Do you remember writing these checks?”
She looks at them like she doesn’t.
“When was the last time you had a physical, Lovey?”
“I don’t know.”
“Joy?!”
“What?!”
“Come in here for a minute, would you?”
LaTiece beats her here. “Did I call you?”
She shakes her little head, as if to say, “Too bad, I’m here anyway.”
“Joy, when was the last time Lovey had a physical?”
“Whew, let me think.”
“Well, when was the last time she went to the doctor?”
Lovey is looking at us both, waiting for the answer.
“Has it been over a year?”
“Probably,” Joy says.
“She needs to go,” I say. “Because something’s not right. And I want her to get checked out.”
“You can take her then, since you here.”
“But I’ve gotta go home tomorrow.”
“Well, ain’t that just too bad. You the one who opened your big mouth.”
“You know what I want to do?” Lovey says.
“No, what do you want to do?” I ask.
“I would like to move out of this dump and someplace where somebody can help me do things that’s getting hard for me to do. I don’t want to cook another meal or mop another floor. I want to live where I can make some friends my own age who might have health problems but can still walk and talk, anything to get me away from these brats and this trifling daughter who got the wrong name—Joy, my foot—as soon as humanly possible.”
It is hard for me to believe that this is my mother talking. In fact, she used to say she should charge extra to all the women who sat in her kitchen chair while she pressed and curled their hair just complaining away about their husbands and gossiping to no end about this person and the next, and Lovey would just say the same thing over and over: “I know what you mean, sugar,” and for some reason they always felt consoled. She never repeated a word they said because she said then she would be part of the mess and “if you don’t start no mess, won’t be no mess. ” This was one reason why she never lost a customer. “Do you realize what you just said here, Lovey?”
“Oh, she knows, all right,” Joy says. “I told you she can be herself and then turn on you like a pit bull. You didn’t believe me, but here’s the proof,” she says, and storms on up the stairs.
“You need to shut up, girl! I know exactly what I’m saying and it don’t matter if I forget this, because I got it all wrote down,” Lovey says.
“What
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