Chapters (55)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- Cast of Characters
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Part Two
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Forty-three
- Forty-four
- Forty-five
- Forty-six
- A note on the Author
The day passed as had the previous one: saltines, soup, and staring. I was unhappy when I realized I was awake because I was so worried that I would have to look at the nun—worse still, talk to her. Unable to keep my eyes from opening any longer, I raised myself up onto my haunches and let the lids spring open, preparing myself for the worst.
Thirty-nine
Ethnic wisdom
Sitting in the staring chair was an African-American lady of considerable age and girth. She was not staring at me. She was doing her knitting, pulling together a scarf in tones of aubergine and pink. Aubergine and pink! Side by side in sweet harmony! Her face was generous, so I knew that she was not making the scarf for herself. But, glancing at her clothes, yellow, green, and orange, I saw the taste was her own and that the scarf would be appreciated by her and her alone. “Um, thank you,” some disappointed kid would stammer and the maker would never, ever know it wasn’t the kid’s best gift ever.
Seeing me watching her, not bothering to watch me, I was pleased when she did not act as if she had been caught out.
“Well, good morning, girl who does not love her own life! Today you will learn to love it!”
“What is happening today to make me love life so much?” I asked nervously, my tummy rumbling in support of my anxiety.
“Today you meet Jesus!”
My eyes burst wide in my slack gray skin. “What are you saying? Am I going to die? Will I not pull through? The doctor said I was fine.” I started to cry, sorry, sorry, sorry for what I had done, wanting it to become undone as much as I had once wanted to be famous.
“What you talk about, chile? Of course you going to live. You be alive until he come to take you. No choice in it for you. Today he is stopping by to remind you of that. It is not in your hands, chile, so just you lay back and relax.”
Embarrassed and a little angry, I dried my eyes on the back of the hand that didn’t have a broad bandage, from where a tube had been detached as I slept. No tube and no sense of humor.
“Should you be saying all this? I mean, isn’t this against hospital policy or something? Why am I being indoctrinated?”
I imagined my new life as a terribly serious person, easily offended but, unlike in the past, offense acted on, rather than forgotten in the glint of a hot-fudge sundae.