But I couldn’t sleep. Not with Mama rustling through the house, asking my cousin Veronica, did she have her book bag? How many times had Aunt Diane told her if she put it in the big basket by the foot of the stairs, she’d always know where it was? And didn’t Veronica know she should listen to her mother sometimes?
My only escape was when the phone rang. It would be the old man calling during the day, even before the rates went down. He wasn’t worried about running up his telephone bill. What future was he saving his money for? He was going to spend like there was no tomorrow, because actually, there wasn’t one for a man who was almost ninety.
“Sugarfoot, you should come down for a visit. You can stay as long as you like.”
“You don’t have to feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t, Ailey. I’m feeling sorry for myself. I really miss you.”
“Uncle Root, are you turning soft on me?”
“I’m in my dotage. It makes me very emotional.”
“You’re going to live longer than me.”
“No, I’m not, child. My time is coming. That’s the cycle of life.”
“Permission to speak freely?”
“Permission granted.”
“Uncle Root, the cycle of life can kiss my natural, Black ass.”
“There’s the spirit!”
We’d talk for a few minutes until he told me, he guessed he should stop wasting my time. I was a young person and didn’t want to spend all day talking to a senior citizen. He knew I had things to do.
The morning I finally came down for breakfast, Mama didn’t make a big production. She handed me a cup of coffee, and asked, did I want grits? It was Aunt Diane’s late morning at the counseling center. She’d already taken my cousin to school, and her first client wasn’t until noon. She and my mother had their heads together as usual, but this time, it was their regular argument.
My aunt believed in deep breathing to dissipate anger. That’s what she counseled her clients. She’d found that over the years, keeping one’s mind calm really helped with anxiety, but Mama had different ideas about rage. You had to allow your anger to have its way, and cuss out folks who got on your nerves. Now that she was in her fifties, she was tired of being nice. So anybody that messed with her needed to know, it was the cuss-out or the get-run-over. And that’s what my aunt should have done last Saturday, when she and Mama saw my uncle at the community flea market with that girl that was young enough to be his daughter.
“Diane, did I not tell you these nonconfrontational strategies don’t keep a man in line? You should have cussed Lawrence out, like I told you to. And then kicked his ass right there in the flea market.”
“Honestly, Belle, it wasn’t that upsetting. I can’t even remember her name.”
“It was Cherise.”
“Thanks for that.”
“You need reminding because Lawrence is disgusting. That girl looked like she had her first period last year.”
“She was of age, Belle. I’m pretty sure.”
“Did you see that girl’s birth certificate?”
“Belle, he’s a free agent. We’re divorced. Lawrence can do whatever he pleases.”
“Y’all have two kids together. Two.” Mama held up the peace sign, jiggling each finger. “That man won’t ever be free of you. Plus, you’re the best woman he’s ever had.”
Aunt Diane laughed. “Now, I can agree with that!”
“And you don’t act free, going out to dinner with him. Coming in all times of the night. I hope you’re using condoms with that hound dog.”
“Belle, you’re being inappropriate in front of my niece.”
“She’s a grown woman. She ought to know what a condom is, and if she doesn’t, we got trouble.”
“You know, I do feel sorry for Lawrence. A middle-aged man like that, rubbing against someone so young and pretty. Just imagine him putting on a condom in front of her.”
“Imagine if his thing couldn’t get hard in the first place.” Mama laughed. “The man is over fifty years old!”
“Don’t I know it?” My aunt giggled, holding her stomach, and I marveled at their rhythms. They were each other’s true life mates, not like the husbands to whom they’d once pledged themselves, one dead and the other exiled.
“Ladies, I hate to break up an important discussion, but I’ve got a busy day. I’m back at the clinic today.” I twirled in the dress I’d pulled from the back of my closet, a pastel blue that my mother had given me for Christmas. “How do I look?”