I take a long shower, shave, brush my hair a thousand times, put my same clothes back on, go in the kitchen, and microwave myself some Campbell’s potato-and-bacon soup. I eat it and then try to figure out what to wash it down with. My eyes zero in on one of those coolers. I decide against it, but before I know it my right hand is unscrewing the top and the cold rim is pressed against my lips. I consider pouring it down the drain, but it ain’t but a couple of ounces and it’s only 7 percent, so I polish it off, dig a hole in the bottom of the trash under the sink, and bury the bottle.

I get my cigarettes out of my shirt pocket and go sit out on the front porch to smoke it, when this white lady comes strolling up the sidewalk. I think I know who she is. “Hello,” I say.

“Hello, son. And you must be Lewis.”

“Good guess. And you must be Miss Loretta.”

“I am indeed. Where’s your mom?”

“Her and my sisters went to the mall.”

“Well, she must be feeling much better.”

“She is.”

“What are you doing sitting out here all by yourself?”

“You want the honest-to-God’s truth?”

“Of course.”

“I’m in somewhat of a dilemma.”

“What kind of a dilemma?” She looks interested, genuinely concerned.

“Well, I’m waiting for some furniture to be delivered for Mama, and I just received a phone call that’s somewhat of an emergency and requires that I leave right away to go back to California, but I’m a little short on cash and not exactly sure how to handle this situation.”

“Well, how much do you need, Lewis?”

“About forty or fifty dollars, but, Miss Loretta, I’d mail it back to you, I promise I will.”

“Don’t you worry about that. Is anybody hurt?”

“No, thank goodness.”

“Well, I’ll just run and get my purse and be right back.” And off she goes.

Just then the furniture truck pulls up, and when they get out to ask me where the stuff goes, I realize that Mama’s bed is all made up and her dresser is full of stuff and I don’t know what to do with it, so I just tell the men to leave everything under the carport in front of Mama’s car, where nobody can see it. While they’re doing that, Miss Loretta comes back.

“Well, Vy finally got herself a new bedroom set, huh? She’s been praying for one for years! See, prayers do get answered.”

“Sometimes,” I say.

“Here you go, Lewis,” she says, handing me three twenties.

“I only needed forty or fifty.”

“It’s okay. You don’t want to get there empty-handed, do you?”

“No, ma’am. Thank you.”

“Can I give you a lift anywhere?”

“Would you mind dropping me off at the Greyhound station?”

“Of course not. Just let me get my keys.”

On that note, I go in and write a quick note on the first thing I get my hands on, which happens to be a napkin, and place it under a magnet on the refrigerator. Then I lock the front door and pray we don’t pass my family on the way.