I still can’t believe they all came out of my body. Grew up in the same house. I tried my best to spread my love around so none of ’em would feel left out. Even lied to ’em so each one would feel special. I’ve tried to steer ’em in the right direction, but sometimes they just didn’t wanna go that way. They had their own destiny in mind, which was okay, except when ain’t no clear path in front of ’em you kinda wonder where they headed.

I’ve watched ’em make all kinda mistakes over the years. Been scared for ’em. Worried myself gray. Prayed like a beggar. But I done finally learned that you can’t carry the weight for everything that happen to your kids. For the longest time I have. But not no more. I’m letting go of the coulda-woulda-shouldas and admit that I was not the perfect mother, but I broke my neck trying to be a good one. I’m tired of mothering ’em. It’s time for them to mother themselves. I can’t do no more than I already have. And from now on I’m standing on the sidelines. I’ve made too many trips to this hospital from worrying about husbands and kids, which is why from now on the only person I’m worrying about is Viola Price.

That’s me.

I’m pushing fifty-five. Twenty-three more days and I’ll finally qualify as a senior citizen. I can’t wait! April 15. A day don’t nobody want to remember but can’t nobody forget. Hard to believe that me and Charlotte was born on the same day. Them astrologers don’t know what they talking about. We different as night and day. All I know is when I get outta here this time, things gon’ be different. I’m about to start living. I can’t wait to start doing some of the things I’ve been meaning to do but never have for one reason or another. The day after my birthday, I’m going straight to Jenny Craig so I can lose these thirty or forty pounds once and for all. When I look good, maybe I’ll feel good. By then, maybe I can figure out what I’m gon’ do with the rest of my life. Selling Mary Kay ain’t exactly been getting it. I just did it to get away from barbecue and smoke—to stop myself from going completely crazy being home. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t take the smell of all that perfume they put in their products, and at the rate I was going it woulda took me about twenty years before I ever sold enough to get me one of them pink cars.

That phone could ring. Paris shoulda told Charlotte’s evil ass by now, and I know she called Janelle first, and somebody shoulda put out a SOS to Lewis, and Cecil of all people should know I’m in here. I just heard it through the grapevine that he over there living with some welfare huzzy who got three kids. He must really think he John Travolta or somebody. But his midlife crisis done lasted about twenty years now. Hell, he pushing fifty-seven years old. I can’t lie. Cecil was driving me nuts after he took early retirement from bus driving for the school district, and on top of that, he had to quit putting in time at the Shack altogether, ’cause his sinuses took a turn for the worse. We had to hire strangers to run it, and we didn’t need no bookkeeper to see that they’d been robbing us blind. Cecil didn’t know what to do with so much free time on his hands. Vegas being a desert, and where our little stucco house is, ain’t no grass to cut, no hedges to trim, no weeds to pull, no pool to clean, so this is when he started hanging around the crap tables and at the same time discovered he could still drive his truck: ram it into some little dumb cunt who probably thought she’d found herself a genuine sugardaddy. Unfortunately, Cecil’s truck ain’t had no pickup in years so what this chile is getting I don’t know.