“Lotta good you did for her in the end. She prayed. She went to church and pretended things was fine and you stood by and acted like you was a good person, a holy person and people in church pretended right along with y’all.”
“So, you asked me to come here to fill out paperwork and talk shit about me and Alice?”
“Umm. I—I’m just saying you ain’t important. I ain’t either. You’re money in the collection plate. If you honest with yo’self, the real reason you even go is to make people think you a good person. It’s the only reason anyone goes. You go and dress up nice and pretty to cover up all the ugly things you do. Like God even hear us anyway. Remember, he the bully holding the magnifying glass—”
“And we’re the ants. Yep. You know everything.”
“Hmph. You just mad about what happened to Alice.”
“What do you know about any of it?”
“Just what I saw on the news. Caught Jackson on the TV talkin’ to a reporter. He looked nice, downright regal. They say they ain’t ruled out any suspects yet.” Her eyes hold mine searching for something deeper, an answer she won’t get from me. Not today. Not ever. “You don’t gotta say nothin’ to me about it. What goes on in your house, stays in your house. What goes on in my house, stays in mine. Am I right?”
“Yeah.” It’s the only thing I can say to her. Remembering that night. Ruby holding Alice in her arms as a small pool of blood became a red sea. The sirens and the questions. The bulging eyes and flapping mouths up and down the street.
“How’s Ruby? Not like she even know about me. Don’t know why I’m even asking after her.”
“You think I’d bring Ruby around you the way you act?”
“I’m still her family,” she fumes.
“She ain’t seen you since she was five.”
“Alice and you invited me to her birthday party. Well, Alice did—I know your ass didn’t want me there.”
“You drank too much like you do and damn near ruined the party, slurring your words, falling down everywhere.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“I do. I remember. I’m happy Ruby never saw you after that.”
My throat burns. I walk up to her bed. She stuffs the last wedge of orange into her mouth, a bit of juice leaks from the left side of her mouth and she smiles. Like we’re having some pleasant conversation. Talking about good ole times.
Sara’s hooked up to all manner of machines, tall and short, skinny and wide. Blood and medicine and oxygen pumping through collapsing vein and deteriorating bone. But no doctor can remove whatever it is that made Sara so angry, so mean. No cure for that. It just is. Malignant.
“Well, Alice still came and saw me. Careful she was, careful about what she said and didn’t say, careful how she moved.”
God, just let her shut the hell up. Please!
“You always was a little shit. A little shit who thought the world owed him—”
I grab her sunken face with my right hand. I tighten my grip ever so slightly and watch her eyes grow wide. “The world didn’t give me anything I didn’t damn near kill myself trying to get. And even when you’re here, even when you’re dying, you can’t even pretend to act like you give a damn about me. So stop talking about shit you don’t know about.”
I let her face go. She massages her jaws staring at me more like an enemy than a son, but we are more foes than family.
She hisses, “I talk about what I goddamn well please! You don’t scare me. I seen monsters like you before. Ain’t nothin’ you can do to me. Nothin’ you can do to Alice anymore either. You tore her away bit by bit. You’re good at that.”
“Like mother, like son.”
“Bastard,” she mumbles.
Sunlight doesn’t shine on this side of the hospital yet, but I make out my reflection in the window to the right of Sara’s bed. Gray pinstripe suit, white dress shirt and a coral tie adding a pop of color. This shirt isn’t as crisply pressed and starched as I like it. Alice always ironed them better than I could. She knew I could be difficult when I didn’t get my way. But we gotta fight for everything we want. Sometimes kill for it. Everything. A nice suit. A friend. A good job after a five-year bid for manslaughter. A life.
Fight and kill. Those are your weapons. That’s how you live.
“Hello, Mr. King?” A doctor comes in the door, chocolate-tinged skin with a white coat. “The nurses told me you were here. I wanted to stop by and introduce myself, Dr. Liza Savoie.” I barely hear the click of high heels on the floor as she extends her hand to shake mine.
Walking over to Sara she gushes, “I also wanted to check on my favorite patient before the end of my shift.”
I’ve never known Sara to be referred to as a “favorite” anything. Ever. Maybe favorite pain in the ass. Favorite drunk. Favorite hell-raiser and child beater.
Dr. Savoie scans her chart; thick lips form a smooth grim line, and then a tight smile.
“Let’s talk about the latest results and our options,” she begins. “First, I’m sorry to say, but the cancer has metastasized to your liver and both kidneys. Now, we can continue with chemotherapy. However, with the current pace...”
“How much time I got?”
“I can look at some other options, Ms. King, if you’ll allow me...”
“How much time?”
“Two months. Probably less.”
Sara takes Dr. Savoie’s hand and, with more care, fake or otherwise, in her eyes than she could ever muster for me, says, “I made my peace with my God. I’ll take whatever comes.”
I’ve never seen Sara in a church. I’ve never seen her touch a Bible. Never heard her mention God’s name except to take it in vain. But it’s something to say to a doctor who thinks this old woman is someone worthy of saving, and if she can’t be saved, someone whose memory is worthy of keeping. And I see how good Sara is getting people to believe she’s vulnerable and sweet and loveable. Human.
We’re both good at pretending.
Sara never gave me much, but she taught me the shit that can help you survive in a world where dark skin and no money are liabilities. How to make people think you are what you’re not. Getting others to give what they wouldn’t willingly if they knew, really knew, who you were.
“I truly wish I had better news, but I’ll be back tomorrow so we can go over some more options including hospice care, if you want to go that route.”
Sunlight streams through the window now and I make out the thin watery film of tears as Dr. Savoie shakes my hand again and hurries out of the room.