Burn for You

Like caring for a special needs child who isn’t your own, I thought pensively.

Then I pushed the thought aside and got to work.

Three days later I was sitting in a hospital room that smelled like antiseptic and desperation, holding my mother’s hand as poisonous chemicals dripped into her veins from a clear plastic bag elevated on a metal pole.

My mother treated the whole thing like it was an outing in the park, chatting with the nurses, flirting with the doctor, reading gossip rags, and laughing.

I, on the other hand, was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Mama was being filled with poison!

Cancer-killing poison, but poison nonetheless.

“Buck up, child, you look like you’re at a funeral!” Mama scolded, smacking me on the arm with a rolled-up magazine.

“I’m sorry.” I sniffled and sat up straighter in my chair. “You’re right. What can I do for you? Can I get you anything? Water? A snack? Something else to read?”

A male nurse came over, silently checked the catheter inserted into Mama’s arm, then nodded and left. Watching him go, Mama muttered, “Hoo! There’s my snack right there. You think he likes older women?”

I had to laugh. “I think those chemicals are going to your head.”

She pretended to be offended. “Are you saying you don’t think I could hit that?”

I grimaced. “Hit that? Are you a rapper now?”

Mama went all practical. “If I were, I’d want to be Jay Z. Married to Beyoncé, can you imagine? That boy has no idea how lucky he is!” She tapped me on the arm with her gossip rag. “And if he doesn’t watch out, Kanye West is gonna get all up in there and steal his woman.”

I blinked at her. “I’d ask if you’ve been drinking, but I’m afraid of the answer.”

“Speaking of drinking,” she said, watching me from under her lashes like she does when she has something scandalous to reveal, “I got a real interesting phone call the other day.”

“Oh?” I said, watching an old man with a walker shuffle by the door. His blue hospital gown was open in the back, exposing his wrinkled, white butt. I looked away, embarrassed for him.

Lord, hospitals were depressing.

“Mmm-hmm,” said Mama. “From Trace.”

My head snapped around so fast it almost flew clear off my neck. “Trace! You’re joking!”

“I’m serious as a car crash, chère.” She pursed her lips, tilting her head to look more closely at me. “Why didn’t you mention you saw him?”

“Because I was trying to forget, obviously,” I grumbled. “And what business did he have calling you? The nerve!”

“Oh, don’t you worry, I gave him a good piece of my mind.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “Funny, he agreed with everything I said about him. And then he apologized.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, Mama, you know better than to listen to that snake oil salesman. You should’ve hung up the second you recognized his voice.”

“I did,” she said, nodding. “Until he called me back and told me that losing you was the biggest mistake he’d ever made.”

“Gag,” I said.

“And that he’d do anything to get you back.”

“Oh, for the love of God.”

“Which was his other point.”

I glared at Mama. “Please don’t tell me you believe his whole ‘I’ve been saved by Jesus’ spiel!”

She looked at me for a long time, not saying a word. Then she lifted a shoulder. “For some people, hitting rock bottom is the only way they can start a new journey toward the top.”

“Rock bottom! He’s a ho, Mama, not an alcoholic! Land’s sake, he slept with my best friend! In my bed!”

That last part might have been a little loud, judging by the way the nurse walking by the open door snorted.

Mama patted my hand. “I know he did, baby, and that was an awful thing to do. All I’m saying is . . . occasionally good people make stupid mistakes.” Her eyes grew misty. “And honestly, lately I’ve been thinking a lot about all the mistakes I’ve made in my life. Sometimes it takes something really bad to put all the good in perspective.”

“Sweet Jesus,” I said, staring at her. “He’s put a spell on you.”

She waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Nobody’s put a spell on me. I’m too thick-headed for it to work.” She sighed, toying with the glasses on a chain around her neck. “But after sixty-four years on this earth, I know when a man’s lying, and I know when a man’s telling the truth. And when Trace said he still loved you and would do anything to get you back, he was telling the truth.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. You saw how devastated I was after we broke up. You remember how much weight I lost and how I cried every day and how I couldn’t get out of bed for weeks, right?”

“I remember,” she said quietly. “But I also know you haven’t even looked at another man since him. Which makes me think all those feelings you had for him might still be there.”

Something awful occurred to me. “Oh, no. Please tell me you didn’t tell him that.”

She pulled a face, like, Oops.

I shot up from my chair and stared down at her. “Mama! You didn’t!”

She leveled me with her own version of The Look. “Don’t you raise your voice to me, young lady. I am not gonna leave this earth without seeing you settled, you hear?”

“You’re not going anywhere!” I said, horrified she was talking about dying.

She ignored my interruption. “And I’m gonna tell you something else—your own daddy wasn’t the saint you think he was. Before we were married that man chased every skirt he saw, and when I found out, I left him flat as a penny run over by a freight train. But he begged me to forgive him, and I’m glad I did because we were happily married for more than thirty years and he gave me the best gift I’ve ever gotten—you.”

I stared at her with my mouth hanging open.

She continued. “Men aren’t like us, baby. They’re dumb as doughnut holes when it comes to love. But once they decide to commit—not say they’re committing, but deep in their heart actually make the commitment—they never waver. Your father didn’t waver for thirty years, even when his own parents cut him off without a cent because he married me. He didn’t waver when we found out I couldn’t have any more babies, even though he wanted a big family. He didn’t waver through good times or bad, sickness or health, for all the years after he took a vow to love and cherish me. In the end the only thing powerful enough to put us apart was death.”

Her voice grew quiet. “And sometimes I’m not sure that did it, either. I can still feel him when I’m low. Every once in a while I smell his cologne, even when I’m in a room all by myself. Just this morning I rolled over in bed and felt a hand on my forehead, but when I opened my eyes there was no one there. I don’t know what that means, but I do know this. If your father, God rest his soul, could turn out to be the honest man and true friend and loyal husband he was for all those years, chère, there’s hope for anyone. Even a scallywag like Trace.”

Rattled to my core, knees shaking, I sank back into my chair. I whispered, “You never told me any of that before.”