A Deeper Love Inside (40 page)

Momma was looking at me strangely, like she was crazy or like she thought I was crazy. I Love You Momma, I gestured with my arms wide open. “I hope you’re hungry. I’m gonna cook for you.”

• • •

“What happened?” I asked Siri seven hours later. She came down the cement stairs, the cart wheels clanking at 10:00 p.m. She was hiding her smile, bursting with energy.

“I cleaned everything,” she said. “I put detergent, this much . . .” She gestured with her fingers. “And I put fabric softener this much . . .” She gestured again. It seemed as though she had used more fabric softener than detergent. I walked to the cement stairs to meet her and pulled the cart the rest of the way. I opened the laundry bag, bent over it, smelled inside. It smelled pretty like lavender, and like the inside of the flower shop three doors down.

“Good job, Siri. How much did they charge for the machines and which Laundromat did you go to?” I asked her.

“I didn’t go to the Laundromat. I didn’t have to,” Siri said.

“What do you mean?” I asked her sharply.

“I went to Elisha’s apartment. He offered. He said, don’t waste your money. We can wash it down the block at my house. He even pulled the cart for me.”

“Oh no!” I said, throwing my hands up in the air.

“What’s wrong?” Siri asked.

“I never go to Elisha’s house,” I told her.

“Why not? It’s really close to the organic market. It’s a really nice apartment, too. I met his mother.”

“What did she say?” I asked Siri. I was at the beginning stages of getting red.

“She said that I was even prettier than I was the day she first met me in the market. She admired my dress and asked me to spin around
so she could get a good look at it. She even liked my Joan and David heels. She asked me why I never came by for dinner when Elisha offered so many times. Then she turned to Elisha and said, ‘You did invite her. Didn’t you?’ Elisha said, ‘Many times . . . ’ She asked me about Momma and if I was going to keep her all to myself or bring her over to dinner to meet Elisha’s family.”

“What did you say?!” I asked, my voice growing a bit louder and losing patience.

“I said that we could set a dinner date and Momma would come, but it had to be a couple of weeks from now because Momma had the flu. I did good, right?” Siri asked me. I thought about it. I didn’t want to be red at Siri. That was unfamiliar to me.

“You did good,” I said, my voice softening some. “Momma will be okay in a couple of weeks. Right, Momma?” I turned and asked Momma. She rolled her eyes at me.

“Help me brew some tea for Momma,” I told Siri.

“Okay I’ll help, but why is Momma shaking like that?” Siri asked, looking frightened.

“She’s okay. Big Johnnie is about to close for the night. We’ll remove the tape, wash Momma’s face, and give her this tea. This tea will make Momma’s muscles relax. After she gets used to having the tea, we will feed her the chicken broth with the chopped garlic,” I explained to Siri.

The truth was that I was using a “detoxification recipe” that I pieced together from my lessons with NannaAnna and from the small book section at the organic market. I had all kinds of ingredients, many of which were very difficult to locate. With Elisha’s help, I found passion flower, kavakava root, skullcap, valerian root, licorice root, Siberian ginseng, and so much more. I also was using what NannaAnna had given me in her magical sack gift when we first met: shea butter, aloe vera leaf, lavender, and a special mix of sleeping tea that could put a person to sleep for a short or long period of time. Wrongly used, it could put a person to sleep permanently.

“Okay, I hope it works,” Siri said.

“Me
too.
It will work, Siri,” I said confidently. When I removed the duct tape, I ripped it off real fast so it wouldn’t hurt Momma like it would if I peeled it off slowly. Momma gasped for air.

“Water,” she said. I ran and got it, thrilled that now Momma was asking for water herself, instead of spitting it on me. I held the bottle to Momma’s dry lips and helped her drink without choking. She drank it all. She cleared her throat.

“Who the fuck are you talking to?” Momma asked me.

“Huh?” I said, really not understanding.

“Who the fuck have you been talking to for the past hour?” Momma asked.

“Oh, sorry, Momma,” I said. “She is Siri, my closest friend ever.” I introduced Momma. Silly Siri curtsied. I laughed.

“Hello, Mrs. Momma,” Siri said.

“Oh, my fucking god,” Momma said angrily.

“Momma, Big Johnnie’s is closed now. No matter how much noise you make, no one can hear you. All the shops are closed. Let’s be friends at least at night. Talk nice to me, please. And be nice to my friend Siri.”

I begged, sort of.

“Let’s be friends at night!” Momma said. “Just how long does your crazy ass plan on keeping me locked up down here?”

I walked over to the blackboard and I pointed. “Momma, step one is for you to get clean. I will know when you are clean. You’ll be nice to me like you always was before. You’ll talk right and look right. You’ll be eating right and drinking right.
Then
I can trust you,” I said. Momma made a horrible face, stuck her tongue all the way out down below her chin. She began to scream and holler. It didn’t matter. No one could hear her.

“Siri and I made this tea for you. It’s important for you to drink it,” I said.

“I don’t want it. I’m not drinking that. I know what I wanna drink!” Momma said.

“Pinch her nose,” Siri whispered, her lips pressed against my ear in secret-telling mode. I squeezed Momma’s nose and held it. Her mouth dropped open automatically. I poured warm tea down her throat with one hand and held her head tilted back some with the other hand so she couldn’t do anything but swallow. It went in. It went down. I was relieved. The valerian root tea did what nothing else could. It had Momma sleeping like an infant. I washed her with
a damp washcloth sprinkled with Dr. Bronner’s Peppermint Soap. I cleaned a deep-sleeping Momma from head to toe. Then I opened a tub of shea butter. It looked thick as wax, but in my hands it melted the same way butter does. I began spreading the shea butter on the soles of Momma’s feet. Her feet had been swollen, bruised, ashy, and hard. I massaged her feet nicely to keep her heart from racing too fast. These are the gifts and lessons that NanaAnna gave to me. How could she know what a bitter fight I would have ahead of me?

After massaging Momma’s feet, which changed her face from its irritable scowl to a look of deep peace, I washed my hands. Next, I massaged the shea butter everywhere on her body. I shaved her armpits and combed her hair. I chopped up raw garlic and dropped it inside two socks. I placed the socks on each of Momma’s feet as she slept. I sprinkled small pieces of garlic all over her body, even her neck so she could inhale it. I placed a sheet over Momma first, then a blanket.

I flipped through the old songs I had collected for Momma. For me, part of getting Momma back, was getting Momma’s stuff back. She had an incredible record collection. I remembered the colorful and unique album designs from back in Brooklyn. I even memorized some of the lyrics to songs she played over and over again. I collected the songs by memory, spending some evenings in the record shop singing a few lines of each record I recalled Momma playing and loving. The older shop owner would “name the tune” and then tell me who performed it. Then he would sell it to me. It seemed like the record shop owner took a liking to me playing this game with him. Slowly, I had already gathered more than fifty-two of her favorite songs.

I turned the music on soft and low. I was playing a song titled “Sukiyaki,” performed by a group named A Taste of Honey. Momma would like this song if she only could remember herself.

• • •

Siri and I sat on the bed together.

“So, what was his apartment like?” I asked her.

“Very nice and really big. It takes up two floors,” Siri said. “He’s not rich like you thought he was, though.”

“How do you know?” I asked. But I didn’t really care that Elisha was not rich, not anymore. I had made a good amount of money on my own, and Elisha meant more to me than money, which meant he means a lot.

“Well, you thought he owned that brownstone. But there are four floors and two families living in the two apartments above his,” Siri said.

“Maybe his family are owners and they make a pile of money from the renters upstairs,” I guessed.

“Nope, his family is renting, too, and he goes to that rich private school on a scholarship because he’s really freaking smart. He has an older brother named Azaziah and an older sister named Sheba and, of course, his mom and dad. Strange names, right?” Siri asked me.

“You met his dad?” I asked, surprised. Elisha never mentions him.

“Yep, but his dad didn’t say nothing, just kept reading the newspaper like the house was empty, when we were all in there!” Siri said.

“And what did you two do while the laundry was washing and drying?” I asked. Siri giggled.

“Well, he kept saying my name, Siri, Siri, Siri!” she said, smiling.

“Why?” I asked.

“He seemed to think it was really funny that I insisted he call me Siri. Then he suddenly agreed.”

“He asked me if I wanted to do a little play acting. I told him no, but we can sing,” Siri explained.

“He got really excited and asked me if I needed music or if he should play his guitar. I told him I did not need music. He said let’s go to my room. We were walking down the hall to his room. His mother said, ‘Make sure you two keep that bedroom door open!’ He agreed, but when we got inside his bedroom, he closed it at first.”

“Why did he close it?” I asked Siri.

“I’m not sure but his room was nice. He has his own bathroom. And, he had a a picture of you by his bed from last year when you were dressed up like an alley cat. I saw it. We should dress up in some different costumes again even if it’s not the holiday,” Siri suggested. “That was fun and you looked so nice, like you were a real cat in an exciting movie,” she dramatized.

“Get back to Elisha . . .” I pushed.

“Well, he said that he couldn’t believe that I was going to sing him a song for the first time in more than a year after we first met,” Siri told me.

“And what did you say?” I asked Siri.

“I apologized to him,” Siri said.

“For what?” I asked.

“I confessed that it was me, Siri, and not Ivory who pushed the shopping cart into him that day. I told him he shouldn’t blame you for the way it happened,” Siri explained. “Then Elisha asked me, ‘Siri, why did you do it?’ I told him, ‘Because I knew that Ivory wanted to meet you and I wanted to make that happen real quick before you disappeared.’ ”

“What did he say?” I asked, my whole body shivering with curiosity.

“He didn’t say anything else about it, but he looked like he understood. He asked me if I wanted to sing sitting down or standing up. I told him he could lie down and I could stand up. So he laid on his bed like this with his hands behind his head and his head on his pillow,” Siri acted it out. “I stood next to his bed like this. I smoothed out the pretty dress you lent me, and got ready. Then Elisha jumped up really fast!”

“He asked if I minded if he recorded it so he could listen to it even when I wasn’t there,” Siri confessed. “He took me upstairs to his father’s ‘music room.’ It was filled with everything music, albums, CDs, microphones on mic stands, and all kind of equipment.”

“Did you let him record you?” I asked with disbelief.

“Just once. I only sang to him once. He was sitting in a leather chair that leans back. He had his feet up like this. He looked really comfortable. The room was so pretty and peaceful. It was super quiet. I
thought of you, Porsche, and I sang, ‘Lovin’ You,’ by Minnie Riperton. First I hummed the melody, then I sang the song,” Siri explained.

I mashed my face in the pillow and muffled my scream. I couldn’t believe what Siri had allowed. That song was one of Momma’s favorites. I had just played it the night before. Siri was quick. I don’t know how she memorized the words to that song so swiftly.

“And what happened?” I asked.

“Well, right afterwards, he stood up and touched my hand. He put my hand against his chest,” Siri said.

I, Porsche L. Santiaga, threw myself to the floor. Siri looked at me lying there.

“Are you okay, Porsche?” she asked truly innocently.

“Then what happened?” I asked Siri in a loud whisper.

“Well, my hand was lying there like this.” Siri put her hand on my breast. “Then Elisha said to me, ‘Can you feel that?’ ”

“I answered him, ‘Yes.’ ”

“Then Elisha asked me, ‘What do you feel’?”

Then I told Elisha, “I feel your heart racing.”

“Oh . . .” I dragged the sound out from my gut. “Then what?” I asked Siri.

“Then his mom came in without knocking and she said, ‘Elisha, it’s not like you to disobey me. Even though you are thirteen, you still have to respect what I say.’ Then Elisha apologized to his mom and said he had the door closed only because he was recording. But by that time I moved my hand from his chest. We kept the music door open. We were in there listening to music. He knows all kinds of songs that I never ever heard of. He played a couple of songs that have nice-sounding instruments and no singers. Then he let me choose some songs. Right before we left to go fold Momma’s laundry, he played a song and said it was for me.”

“What song!” I yelled.

“‘Adore,’ by Prince.

I met his older sister and his older brother. Elisha is the baby. It seemed like the whole time, they were taking turns checking on us. They didn’t have to check. I know you like him, and I like you Porsche,” Siri promised.

Chapter 37

Three more days came and went of the same sweating, vomiting, shaking, pissing, shitting, washing, and feeding before Momma finally stopped cursing at me. On the fourth night, she called me gently by my full and right name, Porsche Luxurious Santiaga.

We ate together. She was tired of water, teas, and soups. She especially hated the organic vegetable juices. So I prepared wheat pasta in a thick, homemade tomato sauce. She wanted fried fish and fries. I told her I would bring some fresh fish back from work when I was done and clean and cook it for her as long as she ate it with a salad and piece of fruit. I promised I wouldn’t duct tape her as long as she stayed calm during the daylight hours. I told her, “Momma, you got to move around, do a little exercise, so your blood can circulate. We can even dance together when you are feeling better.”