It wasn’t nothing to clean-up in Mrs. Hope’s house. It was spic and span. The room that she supposedly kept her and her late husband’s things in was practically empty, except for some old records, hats and boxes. I didn’t touch any of it; I just slipped off my shoes got in the bed and let sleep take over.
I was hoping I could sleep the day away, which is what I had been doing. I only woke up to see what time it was. Not only did I sleep the whole day away, I was prepared to sleep the night away as well, but Mrs. Hope killed that when she came in the small room I was in and turned the light on. I turned over and shielded the light with my hands, not bothering to uncover them as she spoke.
“Why don’t you come in here and sit with me. I bought a cake from the store; red velvet. You looked like a red velvet kind of girl; with all that red hair and freckles and all. And I got some cold milk too.” She turned and walked away, letting me know she was not asking.
I slipped my pants and tee shirt over my head. All I had was two outfits, the one on my back and a dress. It was all I grabbed when I got thrown out. I didn’t care about that material stuff. All I wanted was to be with my babies. I did managed to grab two photos of Tricie and Jo Jo though. I kept them hidden in my bra. I slipped on my shoes, stood to my feet and walked into the living room. Mrs. Hope was already seated and slicing a huge hunk of cake that she placed on her plate. Across from her plate was an equally large slice on another plate and some milk in a champagne glass.
“Go on and sit,” Mrs. Hope ordered.
I did. When I made no move to grab the piece of cake, she pushed the plate my way. “Thank you,” I whispered hoarsely.
“Um humph. They say this supposed to be some good cake. I never had cake better than sock-it-to-me, so we’ll just have to see.”
“Red velvet cake is good,” I said flatly.
“Oh, you have had it before?” she asked without looking up. Her eyes scanned an Ebony magazine that had a man and a woman on it, which she tossed to the side on her end table. She picked up her fork and started attacking her piece of cake.
“Yes.” I didn’t tell her that it was the kind of cake me and my husband had at our wedding.
“What you think about that Jay Z and Beyoncé?”
If I were in better spirits and wasn’t so numb inside, I probably would have cracked up laughing at this woman old enough to be my great-great grandmother asking me about Hip Hop’s most famous couple. I probably would have even engaged myself in her pointless, but fun, conversation because we all at one point in our lives gossiped about the stars. Some wishing they were them. Funny though, when things were the way they were before Joshua’s addiction, and I was raising the kids in our house, I wouldn’t have traded that for any amount of riches and fame.
“That girl sure can pop that bubble-behind of hers. You built up like her too,” Mrs. Hope said matter of factly, biting into her cake.
I nodded and gave a dry “Thank you” for the compliment. Over the last month and a half I had lost so much weight I definitely didn’t feel like I looked like Beyoncé’. She was just trying to be nice-make me feel better than I knew I looked.
“That boy Jay Z sure know how to push out those rhyming words too. I try to listen to it when my grandson comes over, but I gotta admit,” she chuckled and waved her hands, “I can’t keep up.”
I thought, I’ll never have grandkids.
“You think he really loves that girl?”
“Look, Mrs. Hope, I don’t want to be rude, and I thank you for opening up your doors to me.” I swallowed hard. “And after I say what I’m about to say you may close those same doors. But I gotta say it. If you’re looking for a companion and conversation, then I’m the wrong person. You ain’t gonna get it from me. And it’s not because I’m rude or have a bad attitude. It’s simply because I don’t have nothing in me to give.” I pointed to my chest with my right index finger. “I’m dead on the inside. I appreciate everything you offering me. I mean, you are genuinely kind. But that deadness in me is nothing pretty or engaging, and can’t nothing change it.”
Silence came next. There was a long, pregnant pause that was awkward but I didn’t care.
Mrs. Hope bit some more into a hunk of her cake, chewed and swallowed. She said, “I gotta admit something to you. I know who you are, and I know about the situation with your husband and kids. I’ll admit, I ain’t never heard anybody go through anything worse than that. I’m not gonna sugar coat it. It had to be painful to lose your kids.” My blank stare must have been the reason her eyes widened. “Don’t it make you cry anymore?” she asked.
I bit into a piece of my cake to avoid answering her question. What if I told her that I hadn’t shed a tear in these past weeks? Don’t think I knew how to anymore−to show emotion that is, because I was empty on the inside. Would she think I was a bad mother who didn’t love her kids, when really I loved Jo J o and Tricie more than I loved air? I loved them more than life; more than I loved myself. I cursed inwardly as I chewed, because the cake didn’t have the same affects on me that it had on her. She was already cutting herself a second piece while I pushed mine away.
She finished off her last piece and said softly. “Well you already made the first step.”
My head shot up. “First step in what?”
“My daughter works with them girls down in juvenile hall. She talks about stuff like what you’re dealing with: Loss. She taught me this.” She chuckled and slapped her knee. “Isn’t that something? My daughter teaching me? It should be the other way around. Anyhow, she used to call it the steps to healing.”
“Really?” I said sarcastically. You couldn’t be healed from something like this.
“Yes. Disclosing is the first step. The next step is grieving.”
Did she really think I was going revisit the pain I felt that night all over again? For what? Just to be hurt again? Wasn’t nothing about confessing and grieving gonna bring my babies back to me. It was a waste, so I cut her off when she attempted to tell me the next step.
“The third thing is−”
“Mrs. Hope,” I stood to my feet and said, “I don’t want to be rude, but I was wondering if you need me to do anything for you? Chores? Cook? Buy groceries? Because if not, I just want to be left alone so I can go back to sleep.”
She looked at me grimly, gave me one of those smiles where her lips were outstretched but she showed no teeth. It was a pity smile.
She nodded. “Go ahead and relax…Shortcake, right?”
I nodded. “Thanks for the cake.” I left the barely eaten piece on the table and left her sitting there alone. I walked quickly to the bedroom. I was a few steps shy of grabbing the doorknob when she stopped me.
“I was gonna say forgiveness is the next step.”
Thinking she was about to go into preaching about how the Lord forgives, I was about ready to curse her out. The last thing I wanted to hear about was God. But she didn’t.
She surprised me when she said, “Forgive yourself.”
I kept walking, ignoring her words and grabbed the door knob. I turned it and opened the door. Before I stepped inside I turned back to her and said, “I don’t know if I can.” And truly I didn’t know. If I hadn’t been so weak and had forbidden my husband from coming to our home in the state he was in, this would have never happened. The first time Joshua became violent towards me, I should have went to the police and filed a restraining order against him and not allow him back into our home until he got the help he needed.
My mind was full of woulda, coulda and shoulda’s. So much made sense to me now that did not before. Before, I thought if I went to the police it would make Joshua feel like I had given up and turned my back on him. Now I realize that if I had it may have pushed him to get the help that he needed, and my kids, they would still be alive. They were dead, all because I had been weak and stupid. As long as I lived I could not and would not forgive myself. It was like I had been the one to pull the trigger. Not enough praying or church visits could rid me of the guilt and pain that I felt.
The last words I heard before closing the door to my room were, “Forgiving is what’s gonna ease your soul. You can’t start healing until you do.”
The next morning, yet again, Mrs. Hope switched the light on in my room. I sat up in the bed quickly.
“Lord, I done forgot your name, or did you even give it to me? Yep, you gave it to me but just that fast, I done forgot it.” She chuckled to herself. Well, either way, it’s time to get up for church.”
She was telling me what to do again? I sat up in the bed and stared at the old woman. “I should have told you this beforehand. I don’t go to church anymore.” I glared at her and waited for a response. She was probably going ask why. And I really didn’t feel like getting into it. Maybe I should have just taken my chances out on the street.
She didn’t question me but stated firmly, her hands clasped together, “If you stay in this house, no matter how long, you go to church or you can go back to the streets. And as much as I don’t want to send you out there, for the Lord, I will!”
She tossed a dress my way and sat some heels at my feet. “You can fit that. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”