I ease out the bed and go on out to the kitchen and open up the refrigerator. It’s some leftover spaghetti and meatballs in here, and that sauce was good. It ain’t been in here but three or four days. It should taste even better now. I put some in a bowl and microwave it and sit at this raggedy table that I can’t wait to get rid of once I get my new set outta layaway. I’ma put some of my horse-winning money on it to lower my balance.

After I finish, I put the plate in the sink and get a can of ginger ale and take it back to the bedroom. Shanice done turned her back away from me, thank the Lord. I take a few swigs and lay on back down. My chest is still tight, and I ain’t feeling no better. Shit. I ain’t in the mood for this. Not tonight. I reach over and take a puff off my inhaler and lay on back down. And wait. It ain’t helping. I know I should call 911, but if I lay here for a few more minutes, maybe it might let up. Sometimes it do. You just never know. I feel like turning on the TV, but that might wake Shanice up, and I don’t wanna do that when she gotta get up and go to school. Wait a minute. No she don’t. Tomorrow is Saturday. Maybe if I turn it down real low she won’t hear it. I pick up the remote control and some old movie is on, something I almost remember but I can’t put my finger on right now. I need something to take my mind off my chest. It ain’t working. Shit. My throat is closing up and I can’t hardly get no air. Shit. I push Shanice as hard as I can and say as loud as I can, “Call 911.”

But it came out like a whisper. She rolls over, wipes the sleep outta her eyes, and when she see me looking like I’m gasping for air, she screams, “Granny!”

I grab her arm so hard I know it must hurt but it’s the only way I can say, “Call,” again, and this time she jumps over me and dial 911 and I hear her yelling: “My granny is having an asthma attack, please send an ambulance right now to 4807 Bledsoe Avenue! It’s a light-blue house! Hurry up, please!”

Seem like I feel a little relief. “It’s okay, Shanice,” I say, fanning myself with my hand. “I just need to sit up and try to be still. They’ll be here in a minute and it’ll be all right. It’s gon’ be all right.” I sit all the way up and fall forward, ’cause it’s the only way it helps you feel like you can breathe easier. Sweat is starting to run down my face and my nightgown is getting sticky. I wish I could take it off.