Second House from the Corner (28 page)

“Looks like a family tie, tragic, something that you need to wash out of your system. You've been deceptive. But that doesn't have to be the end. Wash it out of your system and make amends. Once you do that, see here?” She flipped another card, the nine of pentacles. “Look at this. The clarity starts to flow. This card means that you can have the life you want, with all the trimmings. But you have to start moving forward.”

Tears are in my eyes.

Shira picks up the cards, stacks them back into one pile, and then places them back in the velvet bag. Her eyes are still low, almost hooded.

“I'd like you to lay down here on the rug and I'll give you a Reiki healing to cleanse your aura. It won't hurt.”

I do as I'm told.

“There is a strength in you that wants to come through. I'll do my best to clear the blockage.”

Shira appears with another velvet bag. This time she shakes three small crystals varying in color and size and tells me to close my eyes. I do, and then soon I'm somewhere else. Floating.

*   *   *

I'm not sure how much time has passed when I hear Shira singing my name softly, and then I hear the beautiful song of the singing bowl and my eyes are open. I feel like fresh air.

“Bring your awareness back to your body gently. I'll go get you some water.”

When she returns with a Dixie cup, her face has a filmy shine to it, like she had run up a flight of stairs.

“What did you do?” I sit up, feeling a little unstable.

“I cleansed your chakras and balanced you. You were very clogged. Be sure to drink a lot of water and pay attention to your dreams for the next seven days. Usually a cleansing is followed by strong images, even premonitions and warnings. Will you come to class again?”

“Yes.” I thank her and lean in for a hug. “That was wonderful. I tap, but I've never experienced anything like this before. What do I owe you?”

“First session is free.” She smiles and I hope I can see her again.

 

THIRTY-EIGHT

The Fan

I walk to my old car feeling brand-new. That was the most wonderful gift I've ever given myself, and I feel a little skip in my step. The windows are rolled all the way down. When I turn the radio on, my favorite Michael Jackson song is playing, “Don't Stop Till You Get Enough.” I sing, shake my shoulders, and do every dance I can manage while driving a car. When I pull up to the church, I'm happy to see that Gran is standing outside with two of her church sisters, Ms. Marie and Ms. Evelyn.

I get out of the car. “Hi there.” I wave.

“Faye, it's good to see you, girl. What in the world have you done to your hair?” Ms. Evelyn motions for me to come over and give her a hug. I do.

“Just something different.”

“Well, if anyone can pull it off, it's you. How are the kids?”

“Fine. Getting big.”

“Well, you take care of yourself.” Ms. Evelyn pats my arm. I squeeze Ms. Marie and then take Gran by the hand. She lowers herself into the passenger seat. Her breathing is heavy.

“Gran, you're breathing hard. You want me to stop for some water?”

“I'm all right. Just praised the Lord with all I had. So much to pray on.”

I slide behind the wheel.

“I took the papers down to discuss my will with you. I'm going to call Chrissy over tomorrow to tell her. She ain't gonna like it one bit.”

“Why?”

“I'm-a leave the house to you and make you power of attorney over what I have. It ain't much, but it's something.”

“Gran—”

“Let me rest my eyes. I'll show you everything when we get to the house. Every time I look at you, can't believe you chopped off all that pretty hair.”

“I needed a change.” I protectively run my hand over my head.

“A change would have been a press and curl. That what you did is drastic, girl. Women cut their hair when they desperate. You talk to Preston?”

“Go on and rest your eyes, Gran.”

I pull the car onto Broad Street and take the slow way from South Philadelphia to North with easy sing-along music playing on the radio. Gran dozes, which gives me a chance to think over some of the things that Shira said in my reading
. What do I want? What is my purpose?

When I park in front of the house, the front door is wide open. Gran doesn't have a screen, so you can see clear to the kitchen.

“What the devil?” Gran hobbles up the stairs. “Crystal?”

“Yeah, Mama.” I can hear the substance.

“Why is the front door like this? You know Precious had a cat run into her house the other day. And it took two days to get the darn thing out.”

“I was hot.”

The television is blasting a reality show. When I walk into the living room after Gran, one girl on the show throws a glass of red wine on the other girl's white dress. They start fighting.

I close the front door.

“Where y'all been? What you best friends now? Going to church and whatnot like two peas in a pod? Always been like that. Always leaving me out.”

Gran moves heavily into the living room. She leans on her cane. “Don't start no mess.”

“Mama, why you always taking up for her?”

Gran sinks into her favorite dining room chair, the one that's between the living and dining rooms so she can see both ways.

“Ain't 'bout sides. It's 'bout what's right.” She pulls at the bobby pins in her hair and unpins her wig.

A forty-ounce of Old English sits between Crystal's legs. She clutches it with both hands. “What about me, Mama? I wait on you hand and foot while this hussy is away living the good life.”

“Hussy?” I interject.

“Hush, Crystal.”

“Why I got to be quiet? I saw your little will.” Crystal flings her words at Gran like marbles.

“Why you in my stuff?”

“Ain't fair that Faye always gets everything.”

“Stop it, Crissy.”

“I'm tired of playing second to her.”

Gran sighs, like she has the burden of the whole family on her collarbone.

Crystal takes a long swig from her bottle and snarls. “You fucked Mr. Orbach to get her into that fancy college in New York City. You didn't even try to get me into community college.”

“Crystal!” I'm exasperated. “Don't disrespect your mother like that!” I shout.

“Mind your damn business.”

“And you watch your mouth in my house. 'Sides, you ain't cared nothing about school. Too busy chasing those boys,” Gran mumbles. “Fast ass.”

Crystal jumps to her feet, spilling a slurp of her beer on the floor. “Fast? Faye got pregnant right behind me. You always favored Faye and I'm yours. I'm your child. Why? Just 'cause your crazy son tried to kill her mama?”

Gran slams her fist on the table. “Cut it out.”

“You ain't never want to talk about that. Sweeping Faye's stuff under the rug but letting mine hang all out. Now she gets the house I grew up in and I get the crumbs as usual. Faye don't even need the house. That's bullshit, Mama.”

“Girl, if you don't watch your mouth—”

“Faye's mama was a whore, and the apple don't fall too far from the tree.”

“Who you calling a whore?” I turn my head and push my chest forward.

“You. A stank-ass whore, at that.”

“You better stop it, Crystal,” I say, fists balled.

“Mama, bet you didn't know that Faye been sneaking around with the old man who got her knocked up in high school. You smuggle her off to Virginia in the middle of the night to get rid of her baby, and then it's like nothing happened. You ain't do that when I got pregnant with Derell.”

Gran looks at me with disbelief. I look away.

“That was different.”

“Only difference was that it happened to me!” Crystal screams at the top of her lungs, and the framed photos on the piano shake. I consider moving toward her to calm her down, but then I remember her pocketknife, so I stay near the steps.

“You can give Faye this old funky house. I don't want it anyway.” Crystal swings her bottle as she slams out the front door. I close it behind her and lock up. My new and cleaned aura is back to being muddled.

*   *   *

“Go get me a beer.”

I look in the fridge and grab the last Schlitz Malt Liquor. I place it in front of her with a red straw.

Gran reaches for her package of cigarettes. Her fingers shake. I take the package from her and then flick her lighter, holding it until the tip burns brightly. She nods her thanks and motions for me to turn up the fan. It's already on high.

“Crystal got the devil in her, same as her father. Tsk. Can't do nothing with her when she goes off like that. All you can do is try not to feed the fire.”

“Gran, you don't like Corona or Heineken?”

“Stuck in my ways, gal. 'Sides, neither one of those give me my buzz. Just makes me piss every five minutes.”

I sit down, across from Gran at the dining room table and fiddle with the end of the tablecloth. The motion calms my nerves. Crystal's energy still owns the air. The telephone rings and breaks the silence. I wait the required three rings and then ask her if she wants me to answer it. Gran shakes her head no.

“I've always felt responsible for you, Faye, baby. Since you was a little girl. Come 'round here with your mama. Had to have you sleep in my bed. My first grandbaby. I died a little on the day Franklin tried to kill your mama. Broke my heart into a thousand pieces. I knew then if there was anyone I could save, it would be you. They say as long as you save one, well, that's all you can do.”

I twirled my wedding band around on my finger. I missed my family, my safe space where none of this ever mattered.

“Then you got yourself into that mess.” She drags on her cigarette, and the mess comes out in two syllables instead of one.

“I died a little bit again. But I vowed you was gon' make it. I wasn't gon' lose you to these Philly streets. These streets can swallow you piece by piece until there ain't nothing left. Chile, I done seen it.”

She takes three drags on her cigarette and inhales sharply. “That's why I sent you down South to have the baby. At the time it felt like the only way to give you a fresh start.”

“Gran, we don't have to talk about this. The past is the past.”

“Orbach did give me the money for you to go to college, paid your tuition for all four years, but it ain't what Crystal thought. Me and that white man had been lovers for years.” She cracks up laughing and shows all of her dentures.

“What?” I crack up, too.

“Since his wife passed. You know she died of some type of throat-swallowing problem. We took up with each other and it was a real romance. He was sweet as pie.”

My eyes are big like buttons.

“Yes, honey, I have lived my life and then some. Been around the block and seen more than you'd ever know.” Wickedness played on her face.

She stubs her cigarette out and then reaches for her Bible. Rubber-banded to the back is a folded paper. She removes it and slides it across the table.

It's the birth certificate for a baby girl born on June 13, 1989. Behind it is a handwritten letter. The ink is faded and edges of the yellow lined paper are frayed. I let my eyes move over the paragraph.

Gran talks while I read. “She lived for five days. When I talked to your Aunt Kat, she said the cousin who took the baby told her it was sudden infant death.” Gran brought her Bible to her lips. “Just let this give you some closure, gal. Move on and take care of your family. They all you got.”

 

THIRTY-NINE

The Light in the Tunnel

I take the papers from Gran and carry them up into my little hot box of a room. I stare at them so long my eyes cross and glaze. Five days. God gave me a second chance, and what am I doing with it? I think about Shira. What do I want? What is my purpose? How can I serve? I slip into the bed and lay on my back. The papers that Gran gave me are on my chest. I imagine those healing crystals that Shira used retuning my body. I search for peace. I search for that brand-new feeling. I'm ready to move on. But first I need to rest.

I close my eyes but my stomach is queasy. It's not long before I'm sitting up in the bed with the covers around my waist. Sweat is all over me. My cell phone is ringing. I've left it on the living room table again. I scoot out of bed and run toward the sound. Preston's name is flashing across my screen and I say hello a second before it rolls to voice mail.

“Felicia, it's Preston.”

“I know.” Why is he being so damn formal this time of night?

“Um, Rory…” He pauses.

“What? What happened to him?” My voice is seven octaves higher than usual.

“He isn't in his room. I've checked the whole house. I thought he was hiding. I know I put him to bed.”

I toss the phone in my purse. Write Gran a quick, sloppy note. It's not until I get into my car that I look down and realize I'm in my pajamas.

 

PART 3

Although I can't live inside yesterday's pain, I can't live without it.

—TOPSY WASHINGTON FROM GEORGE C. WOLFE'S
THE COLORED MUSEUM

 

FORTY

The Five-Alarms

I've watched the sky go from gray to pink, and now the sun is blaring right at me. The traffic on the New Jersey Turnpike is bearable, but I'm only a few minutes before rush hour, so I foot the gas to stay ahead of the congestion. I'm hot, so I turn on the air conditioner. I'm cold, so I turn it back off. I'm restless but confined to the width and length of the driver's seat in the Nissan. I switch to 1010 WINS for an update, but it's filled with static. Panic pumps through my veins. I need a cigarette. I flip to a classical music station in an attempt to calm my nerves.