The Interruption of Everything (31 page)

I’m laughing. “Aunt Marilyn can’t do two things at once, LL.” He looks confused by this.

“Those games are for children who think fast and have quick hands and eyes. I play blackjack.”

“What’s blackjack?” he asks, suddenly aware of how to turn on the TV and trying to decide which of the two games he’s up for.

“They cards that add up to twenty-one, LL, and you too little to play it ’cause you can’t add good enough yet. But I’ll play with you, Aunt Marilyn. I’m good in math. My teachers said it and wrote it on my report card.”

“I believe you, Tiecey. But for now, why don’t you take this sandwich to Grandma Lovey for me and I’ll be in with her chocolate milk in a few minutes.”

I cannot believe that this girl is actually putting one foot in front of the other in slow motion, which to mankind is known as walking! I’m searching the pantry for Nestlé’s Quick when Speedelia Gonzales returns with sandwich still in hand. “Her sleep. Her snoring like a truck. But”—she sets the saucer on the counter—“her like it when the bread get a little hard, so please don’t put nothing over it.”

“Okeydokey, then. So do you guys like pizza or is that a dumb question?”

“It’s a dumb question!” LL yells, like he just got the right answer for the “Daily Double” on
Jeopardy!

I order the kids’ pizza but still haven’t been able to bring myself to return a single phone call. I just don’t feel like talking and explaining and repeating everything. I’m tempted to spell it all out on the machine but what on earth would I say? What I need is a shower. A long hot one.

When the pizza gets here I tell the kids that I’m going upstairs to take a shower and do not answer the phone or open the door for anybody. They nod okay. When I get into my bathroom, which feels foreign for some reason I don’t understand, I pick up the scissors lying on the sink and start cutting off these braids in clumps of five, six, ten at a time until I look like Buckwheat. I plaster my head with conditioner and wait five minutes and rake my fingers through my scalp and then pull, causing the hair that’s not mine to slip right off.

I towel dry it, then get two boxes of hair dye from my cabinet: “Red Hot Rhythm” (formerly Red Hot Mary) and “Copper Penny” and pour them into a number 40 crème developer. I put a shower cap on. While I’m waiting for the twenty-five minutes to pass, I take off my clothes and look at myself in the mirror. I don’t look so bad. But I’m going to look better. Better than I ever have. I wonder if Leon is on his way and if he is, why hasn’t he bothered to call?

He should be afraid.

He should be very afraid.

Chapter 30

L
eon has not come home. Nor has he bothered to call.

The sun is out already. I look at the clock. It’s after ten. Shit! The kids! Lovey! And my pillowcase is red! But I remember it’s hair dye, not blood. I roll out of bed and fly downstairs. “Tiecey? Lovey? LL? Are you guys in here?”

No one responds.

Please, God, don’t let anything have happened to them. I should’ve known better! Should’ve known how exhausted I was and not left them downstairs alone. How could I forget that? When I reach the bottom step I head for the kitchen. It’s empty. But Lovey’s sandwich is gone. The saucer is still there. I turn and head for Arthurine’s old room and open the door. She’s not in here either. A half glass of chocolate milk is on the nightstand.

I head back upstairs to get dressed and phone whatever number pops up on speed dial. But before I reach the top step, I see a piece of notepaper on the landing. I must’ve run right over it because now I see my toe prints. It’s been Scotch-taped to the floor. Instead of pulling it up, I crouch down to read the tiny chicken scratch that tells me it’s Sabrina’s handwriting: “Mom: You must be exhausted, so Nevil and I took the kids and Grandma Lovey for the day so you can get some rest or run any errands you might need. Don’t worry about Grandma—Nevil has had firsthand experience dealing with his grandparents and I have a pretty good rapport with her. Will call later. And answer the phone! xoxox Sabrina P.S. I might take the rug rats to Target because it looks as if they could use a trip down quite a few aisles in the children’s department. Oh, I’ve still got your Visa card! P.P.S. I love the new hair and that color is screaming!”

I am so relieved to read this. I try to run my fingers through my hair but it’s too knotty and they get stuck. I have so much I could do, or should do, today that I almost don’t know where to start. I had actually considered driving back down to Fresno today or tomorrow, depending on how much I got accomplished here—and staying there until the kids get out of school. I need to call Heavenly Creations and let them know that I might need to take a leave of absence—maybe permanently. Trudy can handle it. In fact I’ll recommend her one way or the other. She’ll be thrilled—she loves telling people what to do. I also need to find out from Child Services just what the process for getting guardianship of the kids entails. And Lovey. It won’t hurt to call some of the places she wrote down. After all, she not only had the brochures, but had apparently visited some of them more than once, if the number of brochures she had for each was any indication. Wait a minute. They’re all in Fresno. I wonder if I found a really nice one that’s close by, would she consider it? I wonder if she really understands. She probably does, knowing Lovey, which is why she did this whole thing in advance and precisely why they’re all in Fresno. Who am I kidding? All of her friends—the ones she has left—are still there. And it’s home. But how often would I—or we—be able to get down there to see her? It’s two hundred miles away.

I can’t think about all of this right now. Not all at once. First things first. I do not want to stay married to the man I’m married to. He is not the man I married. He has turned into a sneaky, lying creep, and I don’t like sneaky, lying creeps. Even with two kids to raise and being back in school, it’s still very clear to me that I’ll be better off without him. He was starting to feel like an anchor, which is why I’ve been sinking instead of floating. Without him I’ll be free to do anything I want to. I can date. Or not date. I can go dancing. Or dance with myself at home with the music blasting as loud as I want. The kids like it loud! And I can travel: sometimes solo, sometimes with the rug rats. Our worlds will grow. I can walk across the Golden Gate Bridge in the fog and not hear a complaint about how cold and damp it is. Watch the same movie twice. Leave all the lights on in the house if I want to. And say my prayers out loud. I’ll listen to the kids say theirs. And when they’re not here or asleep I can swim naked in the pool. Drive down the coast with the windows down and the sunroof open until my foot goes numb. The kids and I can plant flowers and vegetables and trees that bear fruit. And sometimes, I can do absolutely nothing and not feel guilty because he won’t know. I might flirt. If I remember how. To see if I still have “It.” And I want more friends. Rich in spirit and honest and crazy like Bunny and Paulette and even Trudy and Maureen. Plus, I want some male friends, too. It is possible, Leon. I’m going to get my master’s degree because it is important, and because I owe it to myself. I need beauty in my life and I want to be able to share it.

Maureen said she wanted things to be back the way they used to be. She wanted things to be normal again. But we can’t go back to relive one day or even a single solitary minute, can we Leon? And if we learn nothing from it, what good has it done either of us? There is, as you always said, tomorrow. But I still want right now. I have found grace in my hands and I want to follow their lead. Plus, I have two new cocoons that I hope to help spin their way into a life they are not afraid to invent. This time though, I will be a spiritual hurricane with no name, a sassy tornado that doesn’t rip apart or shred my own needs and dreams.

I will probably feel lonely sometimes, but I’m not going to worry about tomorrow’s surprise when it’s not here yet.

Chapter 31

I
hear voices.

Heated voices. Familiar voices. One of them is clearly Leon’s, and the other is unmistakably his mother’s.

I can’t believe I’m still in bed. I pick up the clock. It claims it’s 3:20. I sit up like a mummy and wonder why no one bothered to wake me, and then I slide out and walk softly toward the door and crack it open a little wider so that I can hear better what they’re saying.

“But, Mother, I don’t understand why…”

What did he just say? I lean forward a little more.

“You know good and well…”

I open the door very slowly and walk out into the hallway, grateful it’s carpeted and tiptoe down to the landing. Prezelle is sitting on the sofa next to the table with no lamp. His legs are crossed. He looks impatient, as if he’s waiting for something. I’ve never seen him look like this.

“May I speak now?” he must be saying to them both because that’s when I see Arthurine walk around the coffee table and sit next to Prezelle as if she’s protecting him or has decided she wants to be on his team, and then finally, in clear focus, in the middle of the frame, is the man I’m married to.

He does not look familiar.

“You know, Son,” Prezelle is saying. “I believe that all the energy you’ve spent trying to convince your mother and me how difficult it is for you to believe that we are in love has been wasted.”

“I didn’t…”

A finger goes up. “Let me finish. Please.”

Leon has lost weight.

“First of all, mister, I’ve been very patient sitting here listening to you tell us what we’re not supposed to be able to feel when we already feel it and don’t need you to confirm it for us. And secondly, we got married for the same reasons you did, but apparently you seem to have a memory problem…”

“You certainly do!” Arthurine says, tucking her arm through Prezelle’s sports coat. “I can tell you right now that Prezelle won’t have to catch a plane and go to no jungle to find his soul or whatever you claim you lost. You need Jesus. And that woman upstairs that you have completely forgotten how valuable she is, to you, your kids, to us, and now, to some more kids. Leon, I didn’t raise you to be a liar.”

“But I haven’t lied about anything.”

“You said you went down there with your buddy!”

“I did.”

“Was he a
she?
”

“There’s been a big mix-up, mother.”

“Yeah, well all I can say is that a half truth is still a whole lie, ain’t it, Prezelle?”

“Indeed it is.”

“You went down there with another woman which makes you not just a liar but even worser, an adulterer. Shame on you! Shame shame shame!”

“That’s not true, mother. If you would…”

“Opportunity knocks once, baby, but temptation leans on the doorbell. Ain’t you got no kind of self-control? Is that the problem?”

“No that’s not the problem, Mother.”

“Then explain it to me, ’cause you should thank God you don’t have a drug problem ’cause you’d just have to settle on being a addict for the rest of your life since you can’t say no to yourself, since you weak when it comes to the flesh, then, is that what you’re telling us?”

“For crying out loud, Mother, absolutely not.”

“So you standing here telling me you ain’t been cheating on your wife?”

I’m waiting for his answer. But there is total silence down there. It doesn’t take this long to tell the truth.

“I will admit that I’ve had one indiscretion for which I am quite sorry.”

“Ain’t y’all always? But sorry don’t get it,” my mother-in-law says better than I could.

“I thought Marilyn was bored and tired of me.”

“What’s that got to do with the price of beans?” Prezelle says.

“Well, I’m not trying to excuse my behavior, but for a while there Marilyn was so critical of just about everything I did. Nothing seemed to please her.”

“That ain’t her fault, now is it?” Prezelle says.

“I thought she was going to leave me but I didn’t have the heart to ask and I was just lonely and afraid, so I turned to someone else.”

“Yeah, and I guess she turned back. So what did it prove?” Arthurine says.

“That I sought consolation and answers from the wrong person.”

“So, does this mean you do or do not believe in the sanctity of marriage anymore? Clear it up for us,” Prezelle says.

“Of course I do. More so now than ever.”

“I beg your pardon,” Prezelle says.

“Don’t make me get up off this couch and come over there and slap you like you was ten again. I mean it, Leon, you one step away from making me forget I’m a Christian.”

“I’ve tried to be a good husband.”

“How? Explain it to God, would you, ’cause He’s listening. He could probably use a good laugh. But me and Prezelle, we ain’t laughing. We thanking about that girl upstairs who done everything she could ever think about doing to give you a glorious home, raised your children with pride, and from where I sat, looked to me like she loved you better than I’ve seen on any of the videos me and Prezelle done rented—except maybe for the
Titanic
.”

Prezelle is nodding his head up and down in agreement. I want to laugh so badly, I have to bite my bottom lip to stop myself. This is theater at its best. And I want to hear King Arthur speak.

“And the child didn’t complain once when I moved in here and tried to take over. No, she did not. Who was it that drove me to Bible study week after week? Not my son. It was my daughter-in-law. I didn’t even have to pay for gas. And who bought me the latest designer jogging suits to wear when I walked the mall so I would feel pretty, as old as I am? It was Marilyn. Your very creative wife who could put Martha Stewart out of business if she just wanted to.”

“I thank she outta business,” Prezelle says. “What happened to that lamp?” he asks, pointing to the empty table.

No one seems to know.

“Prezelle?” Arthurine says.

“Go ahead, talk the talk, Reeney.”

She looks back over at Leon, who has yet to sit down. “Do you have any idea how many meals she has cooked for you and those kids and just the two of us since some nights we was the onliest ones here? Do you know how long it takes to prepare some of those fancy dishes?”

Leon looks embarrassed because he has no idea how long it takes.

“I have watched her move around that fancy kitchen like she on roller skates some nights when I watch
CSI
and
Without a Trace
and she still ain’t finished making desserts I can’t even pronounce.”

“One was called a soufflé,” Prezelle says quite proudly.

“And when was the last time you spent time in that laundry room washing and folding sheets and towels and undershirts and your stupid boxers?”

He’s shaking his head as in never.

“How many pairs of black socks do you own, Son? Have you ever counted? Have you ever noticed how good your sheets smell? This house? Your wife? Have you?”

He nods no. Then yes.

“You young men make me sick with your lack of respect and appreciation for the people around you that do the most for you. You take so much for granted and it is a very ugly trait and I’m glad most women don’t possess it.”

“May I ask a question, if I may? And then we need to skedaddle on out of here so we can get to Bible study on time, sugar,” Prezelle says.

Arthurine bumps up against him but he doesn’t back away. She is almost under Prezelle’s armpit.

“First, may I interject something here?” Leon says.

“Please do,” Prezelle says, as if he’s imitating Leon.

“We all ears,” his mother says.

“Everything that you just said is true. I could add more wonderful things Marilyn has done to that list, but you want to know something?”

They just look at him as if to say: you’ve already got our attention, you nitwit.

“Even though I’m grateful for all the things she’s done for me and the kids and you, too, Mother, all these wonderful maternal acts combined didn’t help me to see
her.
The clean laundry didn’t help me get to know her any better. Her meals never gave me any clues as to what she would rather be doing. I had no idea how unhappy she was and why she gave us more than we needed and not enough for herself.”

“It’s called love, dummy. I am so glad I was born a woman I don’t know what to do. I’m not talking about you, Prezelle.”

“No offense taken,” he says.

“And you, Leon Grimes, you should learn how to cook and do laundry and a little cleaning wouldn’t kill you. And they do sell lawn mowers at the hardware store,” Arthurine says. “And flowers that go in the ground if somebody was not afraid to get their hands dirty.”

“Back to my original question: why’d you have to go all the way to Costa Rica?”

“Well, Prezelle, because I…”

“Spit it out, Son. We are trying not to judge you but you are making it very difficult,” he says.

“Because I was lonely and depressed and confused about a number of things going on in my—our life—and I needed to talk about it.”

“Did you try talking to your wife? She lives right here in this same house with you. You wouldn’ta had to catch a plane to nowhere that was five thousand miles away. And it woulda saved you a whole lot of money.”

“You need Jesus, I’m telling you again,” Arthurine says.

“Marilyn doesn’t understand.”

“How in the world can you stand there and say that?”

“Because she doesn’t know who I am anymore and I don’t know who she is, Mother.”

“What in the world are you talking about, Son?” Prezelle says.

“I don’t know what to do anymore to make her happy, to make her smile. So I’ve just been winging it. And guessing. But apparently these methods and strategies aren’t so effective.”

“Methods? She ain’t no building, Leon. Or no golf ball.”

“Son, have you ever bothered to ask her what makes her happy?”

“No.”

“Has she ever told you?” Prezelle asks.

“Yes.”

“And did you do any of those things?”

Silence.

“Did you ever try?”

Silence.

“You got to think about it?”

“Not very often,” he says. “Sometimes they were things I just didn’t want to do.”

“Don’t get me started,” Arthurine says. “Too late! So you didn’t wanna be inconvenienced, huh, Leon? Well let me tell you something, boy. If all women ever did was what we wanted to do, men would be—please forgive me Lord for I am about to sin—shit out of luck.”

“But Marilyn’s never really asked me either. Not lately.”

“Wait a minute, now,” Prezelle says. “So you trying to tell us that neither one of you ever does what the other wants?”

“Not exactly. She thinks the things I like to do are boring.”

“They are,” Arthurine says. “You study earthquakes, Son, now how exciting can that be? And this is what you do all day long. But that don’t mean you necessarily boring, Son.”

“I think it does,” Prezelle says.

“Well, it works both ways, but this is one of the things that was brought to my attention in Costa Rica.”

“Let me save you a stack of money for the future, Son, because the one thing you don’t seem to understand even after all these years is that a good marriage requires something folks just don’t seem to like to do, and that is compromise. Not sacrifice. But compromise. Ain’t no other way. And if you want to have a healthy strong thriving marriage, like me and your mother intend to here, then put your wife’s needs first whenever you can. If she is willing to do the same, then you two might have a much brighter future.”

“You seen a doctor about any of your problems?” Arthurine asks.

“They’re not medical in nature,” Leon says.

“How do you know that?” she says.

“Because I’ve recently had a physical and I’m in very good health.”

“Did you dye your hair, Son? It wasn’t that black when we saw him last time, was it, Prezelle?”

“I don’t remember, Reeney, but if he wants to tint his hair, that’s his prerogative.”

I guess so, Prezelle, because you’re a member, too!

“I tried explaining some of what I’ve been feeling and she just dismisses it.”

That’s not true! Is it? Is it?

“Like what?” Arthurine says.

“Well, I’ll put it this way. I’ve pretty much reached the top of the ladder at our company and I feel like I have nothing else to prove. I’m bored doing what I do. It doesn’t do it for me anymore. And I’d like to try something different.”

“Did you tell her that?” Prezelle asks.

“Not in those exact words.”

“Then what other words did you use?” Arthurine asks.

“Well, none, at least not in this regard,” he says.

“If this is how you get your point across, no wonder she don’t understand you,” Prezelle says, “because you ain’t really said too much of nothing too clearly since we been here. You beat around the bush, Leon, when you need to come on up from around it and just spit it out.”

“I’m trying to.”

I do not want to hear the rest. I would like to go down those stairs and snuggle up to Prezelle’s free side and let Leon have the spotlight at his very first Pity Party. But I’m afraid if I were to appear right now, it would ruin what he’s doing, which is talking, for a change, and being honest. Although I still want to know who the woman that was his wife who supposedly doesn’t exist is.

“We can see how you’re struggling, Son, but we are not the ones who need to hear it. She’s upstairs. Sleeping her blues away. Think about what you going to do about her blues and your blues. If you didn’t come home with no more clues than what you left with, then you should get your money back from that place and go find yourself a motel ’cause you ain’t going to do much good around here,” Prezelle says, as he and Arthurine both help push each other to a standing position.

“Jesus will wait. So you better drop down on your knees tonight and repent and beg for forgiveness for fornicating and frolicking and being downright frivolous with the love you promised to give to my daughter-in-law till death do you part. Be the man me and your daddy tried to raise you to be, Son. And keep your promises. As many of them as you can.”

“I’m going to try,” he says. “And for the record: I have not been fornicating. And what would you two know about that anyway?”