by Tia Paul-Louis

Ginger-root tea was a pain to boil every morning. Gloria warned me to leave it uncovered, as she would warn me about other things through her fierce and flawed wisdom. As usual, failed to listen and covered it. Now the stove was stained with ginger tea. Thank God when the electricity went out. I could return to my charcoaled grill outside, flip some pork ribs and sneak through the corridor for a smoke and some Scotch.

I poured what was left in the pot in a tiny bowl. I didn’t have time to wash cups today. Too busy sweeping and…occasionally entertaining the men playing dominos next door with housewife tales and promiscuous jokes. Gloria warned me not to, but she was a nun in red pantyhose.

“You spilled the tea again, Mara,” she exclaimed in her deep tone.

“Leave me alone,” I set the bowl of about four ounces of tea in front of her then headed for the corridor. I watched through the window as she shook her head and pushed it aside.

Stan lit my joint that was rolled on the chair I made with pine wood palm leaves. He seemed to have lost another tooth and through the gaps rushed the smell of garlic and goat milk – that old folks’ remedy for heart problems. We were the only two there, in that skinny hallway. Loud jazz echoed past generators gathered in the neighborhood at a nearby park. Stan choked, smoking his cigarette. I told him, “Negro, if you’re `bout to go into the light tonight, take this with you.” I locked him between my knees.

Stan twitched, and attempted to escape while I held him. His sweat posed a challenge to my grip. At first, I used to think he was having seizures, but somehow, those locks and twitches have only increased our satisfaction. Well…mostly his satisfaction.

Next morning, Gloria’s cough awoke me. With her clothes soaked in what I first presumed was sweat til I smelled otherwise, I attempted to sit her up, but she pushed my hand. I touched her forehead and never felt a human being so hot. “I’m taking you to the hospital,” I said. She grabbed my arm and signaled for me to get her a small plastic bag of herbs and a piece of cloth with tiny writings from her drawer. “After this, I’m taking you to the doctor.”

“The only place I’m going any time soon is to my ancestors,” she spoke slowly. I handed her the bag. She inhaled the herbs’ fragrance, mumbled a silent prayer, and kissed the cloth.

“Quit that ancestry meeting nonsense,” I commanded. “I’ll call Dr. Watson to come over.”

Gloria pinched my arm. “Doctors can’t heal me and I’m not wasting my money. Listen here,” she propped herself up carefully. “You’ll do better than any rich doctor by simply doing what I ask you. The next several days, I will need your help more than ever. Ok?”

I nodded then started her ginger tea in the usual pot but this time, uncovered. I searched the cabinet for the finest cup to pour it in. Right then, Gloria approached the table using her cane.

“What in God’s name you think you’re doing?” I almost dropped the tea then helped her sit at our petite dining table which Stan built last year as a Christmas gift.

“I’m not gonna lay in a bed all day while alive. Save it for when I’m dead,” Gloria responded, sounding much clearer than she was minutes ago.

“You’re one sick woman, Gloria Chang, and I don’t mean physically,” I served her the tea.

“Speaking of ill physiques, where’s that tooth-decaying troll of yours?”

“Stan should be the last person on your mind right now.”

“And he’s certainly not the last one in your--”

“Gloria!” I stumped my foot. She nearly choked while giggling then sipped on her tea.

A week passed and Gloria showed little improvement. Today she attempted to walk but she was safer in bed, so I tucked her back inside a quilt I had finished from being in the house so much. Stan complained about not seeing me, but Damien understood. He was the thirty-year-old neighbor across from Stan with all his teeth accounted for…and other characteristics. Oh yes. We understood each other quite well, but I made sure I was close enough to attend to Gloria. Close and quiet. Damien was the first man I let cover my mouth and cuff me at the same time.

That negro slept. I mean – he actually slept til the break of mother-effing dawn! I wanted to drag him off the bed and would have had my body not been so achy from…roaming the house so much. He tried sneaking out the doorway but there sat Gloria at the table with her cane in hand. She resembled a stiff ghost while the wind, through the screenless window, blew her gray locks on one side. Had lightning struck, I would’ve screamed. Damien gulped down loudly at the sight of Gloria while I tied my robe.

“Miss Gloria,” he smiled. “Lovely to see you – this very early morning.”

 “Sit down, young man,” Gloria pointed her cane towards the chair randomly placed in the middle of the living room.”

“But I’m --"

 “Sit!”

 “Gloria,” I said, “Damien needs to go home. He has work in a couple of hours.”

 Gloria spoke with Damien. “Now, this woman here is old enough to be your mother. Nowadays, probably old enough to be your grandmother.”

“That’s enough,” I interrupted.

 “Which would make me appear as ancient history,” she continued.

“You’re her mom, right?” Damien asked with hesitation.

 “Do you seriously see any resemblance between us?” I asked him with my hands on my hips.

 “Well, families come in all shapes, sizes, and races. So – you’re adopted. No shame in that,” replied Damien.

“Boy, get out of here. Now,” I shooed him away, but Gloria stopped him and grinned at me.

“I know you didn’t just call him a boy after what y’all did in that room. And yes, son,” she looked at Damien. “You’re right about families. I guess you can say Mara’s my daughter.”

“You told me I was a perfect example why you never had kids,” I scoffed.

 “Give the young man some cocoa…Wait, you did already. Make a couple of sandwiches and some coffee for me and Damien, would you? Nothing wrong with him being here. He is grown, after all.”

“I don’t think you should have caffeine,” I crossed my arms. Gloria scolded me with a cold stare.

I had not touched the grill in days and though I consumed plenty of stew, bean puree, pumpkin soup, and vegetable broth, my stomach growled for steak and a nice, chilled glass of liquor. Any liquor. Having lost weight, my skinny jeans were a tight fit and Stan – poor Stan was starving, too, with his eyes penetrating every inch of me. I felt sorry and let him in the room after Gloria fell asleep. I cho     se the floor this time, but - those darn wooden tiles squeaked louder than the bed!

It was Friday morning, and Gloria sat upright on her bed, holding her plastic bag of herbs, and staring at the wall as if something had captivated her. I feared disturbing her, but it was breakfast time.

“Hey Glo,” I greeted her. “You want your breakfast in bed today?”

“It’s been a while since we chatted,” she answered.

“We’ve been talking all week and even stayed up late last night laughing about when we first moved here. Remember?” I pulled the bed cover up to her waist.

She patted my hand. An emotional silence somehow stretched the one hundred square foot bedroom.

“I’ll go get your breakfast,” I said.

 “How `bout checkers?” Gloria inquired. “We could play checkers.”

We’ve not owned a checkers game in years, but at this point, I didn’t know what to say.

Despite moments of stomach and bowel issues throughout the day, Gloria and I entertained ourselves. The electricity lasted longer due to an annual festival and soccer game which the city demanded be aired for those unable to attend. I banged the TV a little harder than usual and there rose a live broadcast of the festival taking place just miles away. We missed the soccer game which didn’t matter since Gloria found the kids’ version in the neighbor’s yard more amusing. Soon, the sky folded into an early night with rain and Gloria had fallen asleep on the couch before I bathed her. I called for Stan to carry her to her room. He came swiftly and even helped clean the kitchen. I smiled to thank him. He returned a smile and headed home. I laid down on the floor, next to Gloria’s bed that night til morning.

Gloria stayed in bed the following morning. She had me turn on the radio to some 1980’s French music. She refused breakfast even after I offered to feed her. Later, she asked that I buy some lemongrass and cinnamon sticks for tea from the nearby market. The rain calmed down, but I still had Stan take me there on his motorcycle.

I placed the lemongrass and cinnamon in the kitchen then headed to Gloria’s room. The radio’s static interference disturbed, not just my hearing, but my whole being, so I shut it off before checking Gloria who was fast asleep. Too deep, too fast, too long. Through the opening of the clouds, sunlight sprayed her complexion with an essence no herb could compose. I uncovered her body, and let the light reign a little longer before I let her go.

Tia Paul-Louis grew up in Florida and began writing at age eleven. As a teen, she read Edgar Allan. Poe’s “The Raven.” This broadened her interest in fantasy and mystery-related artwork of all forms. Paul-Louis earned a BA in Creative Writing then pursued an MFA in the same field. Her works mainly highlight family life/values, gender role controversies, spirituality, mental and emotional health. Apart from writing, she enjoys music, comedy films, photography, and acting.