The Interruption of Everything (25 page)

“This must mean you about ready to say fuck it then, huh? I can see it all over your face. Ain’t but a few of ’em worth a damn and I ain’t met one of them yet. They stupid. Selfish. And most of ’em is thugs. Don’t get me started, girl. So this is why you need a new do, ain’t it?” She’s laughing. And so is Blue, who’s now back and working at the sink.

“How many of these do we get a month, Blue?”

“A lot. Get a brand-new hairstyle and trade your old husband in for a new model. They go together.”

“Are either of you married?”

“Nope,” Orange says, wrapping a towel around my shoulders and then a black nylon cape on top of that. “I’m waiting for somebody in particular to ask me. And not my kids’ daddy. I hate his ass.”

Lexus is walking the struggling baby boy in my direction and gives me his hand. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, Lexus. Is this your little brother?”

“Yeah.”

“Both of you are quite handsome.”

He blushes.

“How old are you?”

He holds up four fingers. “This many.”

“Are you on your way to school?”

“Yep.”

“You ain’t. So stop lying, Lexus. You get to go in September to be in kindergarten.”

“In September I get to go,” he says to me.

“Well, he sure looks nice not to be going to school.”

“He don’t like to be dirty. He’d take two or three baths a day if I let him. And he likes to look good at all times. He got it from his daddy. But he ain’t going nowhere.”

Orange eats three doughnuts with sprinkles from a Krispy Kreme box and washes them down with her white coffee. Lexus watches cartoons on TV. The baby stares at me for about an hour and my arm feels like it’s about to fall off. When he gets a serious look on his face and begins to grunt, I smell what he’s doing. I mention this to Orange and she tells me she’ll deal with him in a minute. That minute lasts an hour, and then she just gives him a bottle and sets him on the floor. He crawls over to the wall and holding on, stumbles over to his brother and lays his head on his back.

At noon, they’re not even close to being half finished but Orange has to run to the grocery store. I remind her that the baby’s diaper needs to be changed. She tells Blue to change it. Blue continues to braid but not as fast as she talks on the phone. Orange walks in the door close to an hour later and I help her bring in six grocery bags and watch her put them away in slow motion.

“The baby still needs to be changed,” I say.

“Blue, why come you didn’t change him like I told you?” But Blue spreads her fingers and pushes her hand against an invisible wall.

At one o’clock, Blue stops to make the kids a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She eats two herself. She’s not as talkative as I thought she was, not until she walks outside to get some fresh air and comes back fifteen minutes later with an entirely different disposition. “Is your mama dead or alive?”

“Alive.”

“We just found out that our mama is a dyke. Can you believe that shit?”

“I can believe it.”

“You got a big mouth, you know that, Blue. Don’t nobody care what our mama is or ain’t.”

“She don’t think we know it, but we do. She been living with her girlfriend and her husband for going on five years—right after she put me and Orange out—but her girlfriend’s husband sleep in his own room. I finally got to thinking and I said to myself, ‘Hey, what’s that shit about?’ So last week I just came on out and asked her. I said, ‘Mama, you’re a dyke, ain’t you?’ and she said, ‘That ain’t none of your goddamn business now, is it?’

“Which was a yes. I’ve been trying to figure out how Orange and me even got here. Mama never would tell us who our daddies were and we just assumed they were the same man since we look so much alike. But one day we look up and our mama done started dressing like a man. Talking like a man. Walking like a man. And I think she believe she is a man. I thought Orange told you?”

“I just met the woman a few hours ago. Why I wanna tell her some shit like that?”

“I think somebody should change that baby,” I say.

“Orange, he your baby. Anyway, I still love her. Or him. She changed her name from Lurlene to Lawrence. That’s some deep shit. Do you love your mama?”

“Yes, I do.”

“That’s good. Was she a good mother?”

“Yes, she was. Still is.”

“Some of ’em need lessons. Myself included. But at least I try.”

At three, Blue has to make a run. Orange has to go to the bank to get a money order. I babysit. I ask Lexus to find me a Pamper and I take the baby in the bathroom. His diaper is full and soggy but that doesn’t bother me half as much as knowing he’s been sitting in this mess for five fucking hours. I wash his little behind and then I change him.

By four, my hair is just barely half done. “What time do you think you guys might finish?”

“Two more hours. Maybe less.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Blue says. “I ain’t got nothing else to do but your hair.”

“Cassius is coming over here about five and I promised him I’d fry him some chicken. Blue, go turn the eye on low under that grease and get that bag of chicken wings out the refrigerator. Good thang I seasoned ’em last night.”

“Would you mind if I make a quick phone call?”

“The phone still ain’t working unless the phone company came and didn’t tell us.” She picks up the wall phone and places it back in the cradle. “They ain’t been here yet.”

“You can use mine,” Blue says. “I just need to unlock it.”

“It’s okay. I have mine. Thanks.”

“And what is it you do for a living?” Orange says.

“Not much.”

“And do you get paid a lot for doing not much?”

“I make stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Like chandeliers and pillows and I redo old hats and furniture and occasionally make a piece of jewelry.”

“No shit. Why didn’t you bring us something? You can see we could use a pillow or something around the crib. Ain’t this some of the ugliest shit you done seen in a long time?”

“It’s not bad.”

“Yeah, right. Find a page in
Metropolitan Home
that look like this, okay? Anyway, we do the best we can with what we got. So you make creative shit then, huh?”

“I suppose.”

“You sell it?”

“Sometimes.”

“So you ain’t got no real job?”

“I work part-time at an arts and crafts store.”

“You sound like you could be a rich white woman.”

“Blue, shut up and turn on Oprah would you.”

And she does. When I go outside to call Arthurine, the kids are coming down the driveway back from school. Her new husband answers. “Hi, Prezelle. This is Marilyn.”

“I know who this is.”

“I wanted to know if it would be a problem if I’m an hour late because I’m getting my hair braided and they’re running a little behind.”

“Take your time, baby. We’ll wait. Oh, and by the way, we got your wedding gift. We love it!”

“Good. See you in a bit.”

“Hold on a minute! Arthurine wants me to tell you that she heard from Leon!”

“What? When? You mean he called her over there?”

“No. She was at the house getting the last of her things and her private line in her bedroom was ringing so she answered it and it was Leon calling to see how she was doing.”

“Oh, really.” That motherfucker.

“She’ll tell you all about it when you get here,” he says.

“Did she tell him you guys got married?”

“No, not to my knowledge. She’s saving that for when he gets home.”

I go back and sit down and close my eyes until I hear one of the sisters say, “We hope you like it.”

I get up to go look in the bathroom mirror. The kitchen smells like fried chicken and burned grease. The man Orange was expecting is sitting in the living room eating and watching BET. He looks like a thug. He’s bigger than her. I say hello to him and he just nods. I step in front of the mirror and stare. I don’t look like me. I look like the “me” I was about five or ten years ago. I like it.

“You work out?” Orange says when I come back.

“What would make you ask that?”

“You look like you do something.”

“I just started.”

“I been saying I was gon’ start exercising for about two or three years now but I just ain’t never got around to it.”

“It makes you feel good.”

“You do look good,” Blue says, dropping the last of the wings into the smoking grease.

“What exactly do you do?”

“Walk on the treadmill and do weights. And I just started doing yoga.” I’m prepared to be laughed at or made fun of, but I don’t care.

“I heard that shit can do wonders for you. Where you go? Anywhere near a bus stop?” Blue asks.

“Right off Shattuck in Berkeley.”

“We might look into that. I need to get up off my big ass and do something.”

The guy in the living room who wasn’t listening says, “Then you should start today.”

Orange just rolls her eyes in his direction.

“Me, too,” Blue says. “’Cause if I can look like you when I’m your age, I won’t mind getting old half as much.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. But girls, forty-anything is far from old. I’m just getting my second wind.” They don’t get it and I don’t feel like explaining it. I go through my wallet and count out two hundred dollars and hand it to Orange, who is obviously the cashier.

She counts it. Smiles. “This is too much.”

“There’s a tip in there.”

“A tip? We don’t usually get no tips.”

“Keep it. You earned it. And I really do love this. Thanks a lot.”

“We sorry for making you a little late for your appointment, but sometimes it’s hard to guess right when it come to these micros and your head is bigger than it seems.”

I look at my watch. It’s a little past eight o’clock! Shit! I mean, shoot! “It’s okay. You did a great job.”

“Cool. So you should come back for a touch-up in three or four weeks. We won’t charge you nothing. And tell Paulette hi and tell all your friends.”

“Do you guys have a business card?”

“Just give ’em our name and number. I promise the phone won’t be cut off and this house will be spotless when you come back. And please bring us a pillow. We don’t care what color it is.”

“I’ll do that. Promise. Tell Brittany and Ray Ray I said good-bye. Bye, Lexus.”

“Bye-bye,” he says, walking outside with me. “Can I go home with you?”

“Maybe another time,” I say.

“Get your little butt back in here,” Orange says. “That lady don’t want nobody’s little kids when she done been there and done that. I pray the years go by fast. Blow Miss Marilyn a kiss, Lexus,” and he does exactly what she tells him to, including slamming the hell out of that front door.

Chapter 24

I
call Arthurine and Prezelle as soon as I get away from these barking dogs and this dark-ass driveway.

“Arthurine, look. I’m sorry for calling you so late, but they just finished braiding my hair. It took forever and they totally underestimated the time. Can I please get a rain check?”

“No, we just been sitting and waiting, sitting and waiting, so you better get your behind on over here. The food is cold, but we can heat it up in the microwave. You ain’t got to stay but a minute.”

I decide to try whining. “But I’m tired, Arthurine. Can’t we have leftovers tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is bingo night.”

“Not even Saturday?”

“We bowl on Saturdays.”

“Since when?”

“Since we started bowling on Saturdays, that’s when. You have to drive right past here on your way home, so come on!”

“Arthurine, wait a minute. Aren’t we going to church together on Sunday?”

“God willing.”

“And I thought you said you were making Easter dinner?”

“Don’t go putting words in my mouth. I don’t cook on no holidays. Especially on the day He rose.”

“Then I misunderstood you.”

“It won’t be the first time. And won’t be the last. But I had the impression that you was planning on surprising us by making a reservation at a restaurant like that one me and you went to on the water.”

“Well, I can try. But what about tonight?”

“We’ll be listening out for you. And just so you know, Jesus is my final answer,” she says and hangs up.

That woman! When I get there, I park in one of the many empty spots for visitors. A white-haired white man with gigantic teeth opens the door for me. “Hello there, young lady!”

“Hello there, young man!” I say back. “And thank you for holding the door.”

He blushes. His eyes look glazed. “My pleasure,” he says and literally bows. I look for “Goodenough” on the pad and press it. After I’m buzzed in, I realize that the gentleman is still standing at the door. In fact, he’s looking outside to see if anybody else might be coming. I wonder what it feels like to be that lonely. I hope I never have to find out.

The lobby is nice. Tiled. It looks just like a regular apartment complex, actually. I don’t know what I was expecting. There are a few older folks sitting in what looks exactly like the lounge area at a ski resort. There’s even a fireplace, but it’s not lit. They all notice me and wave. I wave back. I take the elevator up to the ninth floor. Before I can even get close to #903, Arthurine is poking her wigless head out of the door and motioning me to hurry. “Come on in, chile! And just look what you done gone and did to your hair!”

I give her a hug. She’s in one of those mumu-type things. Her wardrobe is going from bad to worse, I swear. “I told you I’ve been getting it braided all day, Arthurine. Why are you acting so surprised?”

“I just didn’t expect it to be so many of ’em,” she says raking her fingers through them over and over. “And this ain’t your real hair color, neither.”

“You’re so observant!” Wow! From over her shoulder I see San Francisco and what everybody in these hills covets: a three-bridge view! “I am sorry for being so late. And I won’t stay long.”

Prezelle comes out of nowhere. Walks over and gives me a hug as well. He’s in a red plaid bathrobe with green plaid pajamas underneath. At least he’s consistent. “Hello there, Marilyn. You can stay as long as you like but I’ll be asleep by ten. That means I’ve got about forty-five minutes to enjoy your company. I like all those plaits in your hair,” he says. “How in the world are you ever going to get those things out?”

“It took all day to put them in. And right now, I don’t want to think about how long it might take to get them out.”

“I have to get used to it,” Arthurine says. “You look too young. Come sit,” she says, waving her arm like Vanna White does when she’s showing contestants what the showcase prize is.

I sit on my second plaid couch of the day, but this one is modern and clean. The cocktail table is some kind of veneer, as are the two side ones. The lamps are white porcelain with clusters of spring bouquets on the front and back. The base is gold. I saw them at Target. Everything in here is shiny and clean. The floors are a pale gray tile. The walls a warm white. The kitchen is L-shaped. I don’t think two people could walk by at the same time. In fact, as I look around this feels a lot like a hotel room. “What a nice apartment,” I say to them both.

“Thanks. I liked it a whole lot more until Arthurine came in here complaining about everything.” Prezelle is now sitting in his blue recliner. Arthurine’s is right next to it, except hers is burgundy and has ruffles. She’s over at the refrigerator, taking Tupperware containers out and placing them on the smallest countertop I think I’ve ever seen. But it fits in with all the other round corners and right angles and smooth surfaces.

“It is a nice place, but we just too cramped up in here.”

“But I told you that would be the case, Mrs. Goodenough, now didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did, Prezelle Goodenough, and all I’m saying is that I got a house full of lovely furniture in storage and nowhere to put it. Nice things. And as you can see, this place came furnished. Ain’t it boring?”

Of course I agree with her, but I can’t agree with her. Prezelle seems quite proud of his home. “Well, I think it’s quite livable. Can’t you guys get a bigger apartment in here?”

“We’re on the waiting list,” Prezelle says.

“But we also looking at other complexes. This ain’t the only nice one out there.”

“But you just got here, Arthurine!”

“She can’t sit still for moving,” Prezelle says. “But I’m on her side. She wants to get a bigger place. We’ll get a bigger place and that’s all there is to it.”

“You hungry?” Arthurine asks.

“Honestly?”

“No, tell me a big fat lie.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“No problem,” she says, and puts the containers back inside the refrigerator. “You want something to drink?”

“I’m fine. I just really wanted to stop for a minute to say hello.”

She takes about five steps and is sitting in her chair. They push their wooden levers back and are immediately reclining. I swear they look like they’re about to take off. But what a couple. What a delight to find love at this stage of their lives. I envy them.

“The more I look at ’em, the more I think I like them braids,” Arthurine says. “But something is different about you. Stand up.”

Without even thinking, I’m standing up. She looks me up and down. I look down to see what she might be looking at since I’m just in jeans and a pink T-shirt, the neckline of which is full of hair particles that are starting to make my neck itch. “You losing weight?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Don’t she look like she done lost some weight, Prezelle?”

“I can’t really tell,” he says. His eyes are starting to droop and his head is headed to the right.

“Well, I can. I been around you long enough. Your face look thinner.”

“Maybe it’s the braids.”

“You ain’t over there depressed and can’t eat are you?”

“No, Arthurine. And I’m not depressed. I’ve been going to the gym. I’m working out with a personal trainer and I started doing yoga.”

“Well then, that’s it! I knew you was doing something. Sometimes one or two pounds can change the way a person look, especially when they wasn’t fat to begin with.”

“I’m not too far from it.”

“Don’t make me get out of this chair and slap you, girl. You can’t be but a what? Twelve.”

“On a good day.”

“Enjoy it while you can.”

“So, are you still going to Bible study?”

“Not like I was. I don’t enjoy driving as much as I thought I would. And traffic is so bad, I’m scared somebody might hit me from behind or head-on and sometimes I feel like letting that steering wheel go and just pray that car will drive me right on through it. I don’t trust myself all the time. It’s just entirely too stressful when you old.”

“We do read scriptures to each other before we turn in,” Prezelle—back from the dead—says.

“That’s sweet.”

“So you heard my son called.”

“I heard.”

“He sounded good. Too good if you ask me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Arthurine?”

“Well, he wasn’t really talking about the things I thought he shoulda been talking about.”

“Which was?”

“You. And him. Your marriage. What the heck is going on? I asked him if he had found his soul yet and he said in a manner of speaking, yes. I asked him how in the world did he manage to find it so soon when he still got more than a week left before he comes home. And guess what he said?”

“I can’t, Arthurine, not tonight.”

“He said he learned that he’s free to move on if he wants to.”

“Really? He said that, did he?”

“Wait a minute. So I said, ‘Move on to what, son?’ And he just said, ‘To a higher level.’ I still didn’t know what he was talking about. He ain’t at one of them cult-type places, is he?”

“Not even close. Did he say anything about me? Like why he hasn’t bothered to call?”

“No. He didn’t mention your name. Which I also thought was strange. He just said he needed to do this, and he’ll be a new man when he gets home.”

“And that’s it?”

“Oh, he said he wants to have a birthday party.”

“A birthday party?”

“That’s what he said. He said it’s time for him to start celebrating his life.”

“No kidding.”

“I ain’t making this up. You don’t think Leon could be using any kind of drugs, do you, Marilyn?”

“Of course not. He’d have found his soul by now if he were. But maybe he should. Since he’s been such a frozen little flower who needs to thaw out. Forgive me, Arthurine,” I say and stand up.

“The bathroom is over there,” she says, pointing to a white door. “I know you just upset.”

“I’m not upset and I don’t need to go to the bathroom. I’m tired. But more than anything, I’m tired of your son and his bullshit.”

“I might have to agree with you on that one,” she says. “Tell me something, Marilyn. Do you want a divorce?”

I stop dead in my tracks and then turn to look at her. I wonder what she wants to hear. I wonder what I should say. I wonder what I honestly feel. I wonder what difference it will make one way or the other. My mouth opens and out comes: “I think I do.” I can’t believe what a relief it is to hear myself say it. To finally admit it. And to the woman who happens to be my husband’s mother.

“But what would you do without him? Have you thought about that?”

“I’ve been giving it some thought. Yes.”

“You think you won’t mind being by yourself?”

“What difference does it make? As things stand, I feel like a pot of water that someone left the fire under and now it’s all evaporated.”

“Well, I certainly know what that feels like. But do me a big favor, baby? Don’t go doing something you might regret.”

“Well, I’m going back to college, I can tell you that much.”

“That ain’t got nothing to do with your marriage, do it?”

“I think it does. You don’t know how many years I’ve spent doing everything for everybody and neglecting myself.”

“Yes, I do. We all do it.”

“We?”

“Women. We give up entirely too much for men, and in some cases, for even our children.”

“I’m not saying I regret what I’ve given them. I just feel like nobody really cares what I’m doing as long as I keep doing what I’ve always done for them.”

“I don’t know how true that is, Marilyn. But I care.”

“And I appreciate that you do. I’m also not claiming that my feelings are based on facts, but acts, or I should say the lack of them. Ever since the twins left, I’ve just been existing, somewhere between one day and the next. I never had to think about how to fill up empty space before. I’ve always been concerned about the kids. Leon. My mother. And out of nowhere Leon tells me he needs a break. And then you up and get married and move out without preparing Leon or me for it. My kid comes home for spring break and I’m like an afterthought—and a bank—and now here I am all by myself and I’m just beginning to understand why I’ve felt sad, but I think I need to pay attention to all the signs.”

“What kinda signs you talking about?”

“Don’t you remember how you felt after your husband died?”

“Of course I do. Like I was in quicksand and didn’t care if nobody tried to save me.”

“But you didn’t sink to the bottom. It just felt like it. And eventually you didn’t need to be rescued by anybody, you just had to keep on living until it felt good again, didn’t you?”

“I guess. But it was a little at a time.”

“Well, that’s all I’m doing. I’ve lost a baby that I didn’t want in the first place and I truly believe that God did that to shake me up because between that, this whole menopause business, and my husband and kids not really needing me to mother them anymore, I’ve come to see that I’m all I have left. And that’s not a bad thing.”

“You can still count on the Lord. He don’t have no Plan B and He never lets you down.”

“I know that, Arthurine. But sometimes the Lord gives us gifts we don’t use or opportunities we ignore simply because it’s easier. I need to start taking better care of Marilyn, as well as I have of everybody else. I may have to learn how to live alone if that’s the only way I can do it. People don’t usually die from loneliness.”

“But sometimes folks just need to get reacquainted. Like me and Prezelle did. Right, Prezelle?”

He is out cold.

“Anyway, when Leon gets home, I think you two need to go off somewhere quiet and try to figure out if what you got is worth saving instead of throwing it all away.”

“Or, maybe I should go somewhere exotic for a month or so—all by myself—to see if I can find my center.”

“Now you starting to sound like Leon. Just try to do this: write your plans in pencil but give God the eraser. Be still and stay put.”

“I’m not going anywhere anytime soon except to Fresno to check on my mother. But I’ll give what you said some thought.” I give her a kiss on the forehead.

“I will say this. Regardless of what happen, you gon’ always be my favorite daughter-in-law. You understand me?”