“All I’m saying is, don’t take your friendship for granted. You have something special, and a whole lotta history. That counts for something. I would hate for y’all to have to wait for something awful to happen to find each other again and then be sick to death at all the time you’ve wasted. And anyway, something awful already happened. Gigi died. And for anything that can be said about Jenny, that girl loved Gigi like her own grandma, and it’s awful to think of her up there grieving all alone without a soul to talk to about her. And you need to talk too.”
I do. I want to talk to Jenny. I want to call her up right now and say, “I don’t know what to do with Gigi gone, Pony. I’ve never felt a loss like this. I don’t know how to live in the world without her.” I want her to say, “We’ll figure it out, Puff. We’ll never stop talking about her.” I don’t know why I keep pulling out our old nicknames now. Pony and Puff. It’s like I’m clinging to the strands that connected Jenny and me so long ago in the hopes that they’ll be enough. It’s almost 1 a.m. though, I can’t call her now.
I point this out to Momma.
“Darn, I didn’t realize it was that late. We gotta get to bed. But you call her tomorrow, then. Call her when you wake up. Don’t make excuses. You always keep everything so bottled up, Riley. I swear that’s why you had so much constipation as a child. So much so Dr. Lexington told me you needed a therapist more than a laxative. I told him you needed Jesus, but heaven help me, you put up a wall with even Jesus. Always all up in your head trying to reason everything to death. Sometimes you can’t think your way out of a thing. You have to feel it. And sometimes you just have to let it out. You can’t just push it away and pretend it’s not happening. Like with you and Jenny. Who knows what happens with you two from here? I’d like to think y’all find a way through this. I don’t know how that happens. I’m struggling myself. When I think of Kevin pulling that trigger…” She stops and shakes her head. “But I also believe that he gets a chance to explain himself, Jenny too. Bad things have always happened in the world, especially to our folks, but we can’t shut down every time they do. No choice but to keep pushing forward. It’s the same for you and Jenny—you gotta talk and see where you go from here. See that she understands your pain and why. But one thing’s for sure, just shutting down and shutting her out ain’t going to accomplish one thing, ’cept leave you all stopped up.”
Mortifying constipation references aside, I know there’s truth to what Momma says.
She yawns so wide I can see the pink flesh at the back of her throat.
“Get my night stuff, would you?”
I go to her small suitcase and retrieve the same floral silk scarf Momma’s been wrapping her hair with since before I was alive and her giant jar of Noxzema. I stand behind her and wind the threadbare scarf around her soft curls, trying not to notice the thin patches. She opens the Noxzema jar, takes a big scoop, and rubs it all over her face. The smell of it, the way it burns the inside of my nose, will forever remind me of my mother.
“I miss her.” It just comes out of me. I’m not sure if I mean Jenny or Gigi, but the ache is strong enough to cover them both.
Momma sighs and touches my cheek, the warmth of the fire in her hand.
“I do too, baby girl. She loved you something fierce, and I do too.” She leans over and kisses the top of my head.
It’s only when I can hear her slippers shuffling down the hall that I realize I didn’t get to tell her about my visit to the memorial. I sit back in the chair and listen to the quiet hum around me, Daddy’s snores, the crackle of the fire. There’s a stillness and a peace inside me all of a sudden. If only I could bottle this feeling. That reminds me. The promise I made at the museum. The dirt, the tribute. Fueled by moonshine, sugar, and grief, I root around in the musty cabinets, searching for a jam jar.
A near full moon casts a glow across the yard, lighting my way as I walk barefoot to a spot near the tree line. The air smells different down here than in Philly—muskier, earthier, like burnt embers and riverbeds. I squat and dig into the earth, scooping the rocky dirt into the jar, letting it coat my palms and gather beneath my fingernails. A few specks dot the pearl bracelet, catch in its clasp. I dig and dig. I won’t go back inside until the jar is full.
Chapter Ten JEN
December 22 6:07 pm
From: [email protected]
Riley:
This doesn’t seem right for text. It’s weird on email too, but I’ve been trying to call you all week and keep getting voice mail. It’s like the only way I know about your life right now is by stalking Shaun’s Instagram.
I’m sorry and so, so sad about Gigi. I still can’t believe she’s gone. I also can’t believe I didn’t get to say goodbye. I kept meaning to go to the hospital to see her, but then… everything. But I really don’t understand why you didn’t call me. It feels like you’re pushing me away. Maybe you’re not, but that’s how it feels. And that hurts, because Gigi was a grandma to me too, you know. I mean, not like with the rest of you, I get there’s a difference, but she was the closest thing I had to one, and you of all people know how much I loved that woman. I really wanted to be there for the service. I looked at plane tickets. I mean, even if you didn’t want me there, I wanted to come and pay my respects, but they were too pricey. How was it? Please tell me you buried her in the purple hat. I remember her saying she was going to wear that hat one day when she shook hands with President Obama and then she did when he came to church that time. Talk about the tingles. God, I already miss her so much.
But you know who else I miss? You, Riley. I miss YOU. I’m sorry for all the reasons you’re upset or anything I did to upset you.
xJ
PS: I made miracle bread. It wasn’t as good as Gigi’s. I can’t believe we’ll never have her miracle bread again.
December 23 7:13 am
From: [email protected]
Jenny, I did call you about Gigi! I called you from the hospital that night, at least five times, and your phone must have been off. I wanted to talk to you, to hear your voice, and I didn’t want to tell you in a message either. And then after that, it was just so hectic between the funeral and work and the holidays. It’s not right, though. I’m sorry. I’m devastated about Gigi too. I keep accidentally turning to drive to the hospital… and then I remember she’s gone. The funeral was nice, hard, beautiful, and terrible, all of the things funerals are. And yes, we buried her in the purple hat and her favorite dress, the one with the giant lilacs all over it. One of the last things she said to me was, Make sure I look nice, ya hear. I want to look fine when I meet Jesus. And she did. She looked… peaceful. I got to be right there when she passed on, holding her hand. I swear she had a smile on her face. Like she and Jesus already had an inside joke. It made it easier to know she was ready to go. She even said it a few times that last week, I’m ready to get on outta here to the other side. It’s just that we weren’t ready… we were never going to be ready.