Page 33 of It’s Me They Follow

Sister gripped the side of the pool and bent over in an agony that brought her to her knees.

The pool was filling up fast. She had already changed into an all-white robe and wrapped her head in a white towel.

She handed The Shopkeeper a robe to put on as well.

The Shopkeeper immediately felt her ears get hot and her palms start to sweat. She was overheating.

Their grandmother stood with her cane, which The Shopkeeper thought she might use to pop her, but instead, she balanced on it and began throwing herbs from her bra into the blow-up pool.

The water danced with the yellow of ragwort, the red of trillium, and the green of sweet flag floating on its surface.

“Where’s the calendula?” The Shopkeeper whispered.

“Hush.” Their grandmother pointed with the cane in her direction.

The room smelled like an herbaceous garden.

“Once upon a time...” Their grandmother circled the pool.

The Shopkeeper stood in the far corner, folding blankets, but her ears perked at the sound of their grandmother’s favorite words.

“But not long ago.” The Shopkeeper placed several towels at the base of the pool and then went back to stand in the corner, out of their grandmother’s way.

Their grandmother was not physically the woman The Shopkeeper had been used to, but her spirit was the same.

“There was a shopkeeper...” The Shopkeeper looked up at their grandmother with a wrinkled brow, thinking this story should be about her sister instead.

The Shopkeeper was a supporting character.

“Get in the water,” their grandmother interrupted her own story and directed her two granddaughters into the pool.

She started over. “Once upon a time but not long ago, there was a shopkeeper who did not like to be touched. Or so she thought.” Their grandmother’s hands shook.

This story sounded eerily familiar. The Shopkeeper kept her eyes on their grandmother as she circled the pool a third time.

The Shopkeeper slipped out of her clothes and into a blue bathing suit.

The water smelled like tea. Like something she’d rather drink than swim in.

“Get in,” Elle said between contractions, which were longer and more intense, with less space in between. “Please.”

The pool was bigger than a normal kiddie pool, but it didn’t look like it was made for two. The Shopkeeper fidgeted. She didn’t want her foot or leg to accidentally touch her sister.

“It’s your sister,” their grandmother said. “And she needs you. Get in.”

The Shopkeeper felt the water with the tips of her fingers, then splashed herself a bit on both arms. The water was hot but not too hot.

Her sister writhed and wiggled and splashed as she tried to find a comfortable position for herself through yet another contraction.

She finally settled by holding on to the side of the baby blue pool.

The Shopkeeper looked outside. The sun was fully beaming in on them and filled the room with warmth. The family of black bunnies was at work all across the yard, eating in their grandmother’s garden.

“A good omen,” their grandmother said, as though she could see them. “The bunnies.”

The Shopkeeper wanted to ask her how she knew, but knew that would get her fussed at.

“I don’t really want to,” The Shopkeeper began. “I don’t really want to do this.”

Her sister’s eyes shot open. “What?”

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help Elle; it was that she didn’t want to end up getting touched and passing out at the bottom of a pool.

“Did I ask you what you wanted?” their grandmother responded. “Get into the goddamned water right now.” She tapped the cane at her granddaughter’s feet.

She had to move to avoid getting her toes tapped.

“I gotta pee.” Her favorite line since she was small.

“No, you don’t,” their grandmother retorted. “You want to run, but you can’t run from yourself forever.”

As she said that Elle let out a holler that shook the entire room.

The Shopkeeper couldn’t stand seeing her baby sister all alone, drowning in pain.

She went around to the opposite end of the pool with their grandmother too close for comfort behind her.

She put her foot up and over but lost her balance and slipped in.

She almost fell onto their grandmother, who stepped back and allowed her space to steady herself by grabbing the side of the pool.

She swung her other leg over with a splash.

The warm, fragrant water tickled her legs and thighs.

“Sit,” their grandmother instructed.

There’s no place for me to sit , she thought. “I’ll stand.”

“No, you’ll sit.” Their grandmother did not stutter. She lit her pipe and took a long drag as she waited.

The Shopkeeper was annoyed—she hated being told what to do—but crossed her legs close to her body and sat down. The water felt good. Her sister squatted on the other side of the pool; even in her pain, she tried to respect The Shopkeeper’s space.

“Now, back to my story,” their grandmother continued, “about The Shopkeeper, the one who liked books more than she liked people. One day, she had to save a book.”

The Shopkeeper felt like she was being set up. And not in a good way.

“Books have covers, they have spines, and they have stories. They are alive. The Shopkeeper swore she would do anything in her power to help a book.”

The Shopkeeper listened to their grandmother with one ear and to Elle, who moaned and grunted, with the other. She placed a dry washcloth near her sister’s hand. “In case you need something to bite down on.” Then she waded back to her side of the flowery pool.

“One day, someone will read this book.” Their grandmother hobbled in circles around the pool with her hand to the sky. The phone was ringing again. “The question is, what will it say?”

“It will say I jumped out of the pool and answered the phone because I couldn’t take it any longer.”

“Don’t touch my phone,” their grandmother said. “Don’t touch my books. Don’t touch my things. Don’t touch me.” Their grandmother laughed.

The Shopkeeper was shocked by their grandmother, who let out a loud cackle, which made it impossible to know whether she was making fun of The Shopkeeper in some way.

“Don’t touch, don’t touch, don’t touch,” their grandmother mocked as the phone continued to brrerrrnnnng , brrerrrnnnng .

She threw more herbs into the water like she was cooking them in a stew.

“Now, these are for you.” She began throwing in puffs of white mushrooms. “Lion’s mane.

” The water felt like it was heating up.

Like The Shopkeeper was being boiled in a tea.

“And finally, a tip of honey.” Their grandmother let just a drop into the water too.

“I deserve sweetness,” all three said in unison.

“Are we gonna drink this?” The Shopkeeper was up to her chin in the water as she sat. Elle swayed from side to side in pain. Her big, ballooned breasts bobbed up and down through the decoration of colorful potpourri.

But then her sister stood up as if she had an announcement to make. Her eyes were closed, her big, low belly covered in flowers. She was like a goddess, beautiful and golden in the light, except as she stood up, she turned around and vomited into a bucket on the side of the pool.

“Get it out,” their grandmother said, rubbing her granddaughter’s shoulder. “Release it,” she said, over and over, which made The Shopkeeper’s stomach turn.

She searched for a joke. Something funny to make Elle laugh.

“Remember that time when you rode me on the back of your bike?” Her sister didn’t laugh like she usually would have.

She was no longer there. Pain and herbs had taken her sister to a new state—one where she was both present and very far away.

She sat back in the water with her head on the edge of the pool.

Herbs floated about, speaking out loud, but not to anything they could see or hear.

“Make pretend she’s not here,” their grandmother said, speaking directly to The Shopkeeper. “She can’t hear us. She’s where she is now, so make pretend it’s just me and you.”

And then it was. The phone’s ringing muffled; Elle’s moaning muffled. The thoughts and interruptions and distractions and mistrust muffled.

“You are finally here, at the best part of the story. The part when we find out if you can or cannot defeat the fear that has kept you from birthing this book for all these years. All these years you’ve run from it. And now here you are, with just minutes to spare.”

The Shopkeeper stared at their grandmother in pure disbelief.

“We don’t have a lot of time. I don’t have a lot of time.

Look! I’m withering away.” She pointed at her cane and then at her aching knees.

“Your parents are gone. That story died with them. You’ve been all alone.

You’ve remained safe and untouched. You have this desire to birth a new you.

But you’re the one writing the story. And it’s not so much what you will choose but what it will take for you to choose you. ”

The phone rang again. And this time, without hesitation, The Shopkeeper grabbed her towel and marched past their grandmother apologetically. She dried off as she ran and hopped over the mess and into the living room to answer the call.

“Yes?” she said.

“Yes?” the phone echoed back.

“ME, is that you?”

“ME, is that you?” her own voice responded.

“I know it’s you.”

“I know it’s you,” the voice repeated.

“Ms. Harriett?” she asked.

“Ms. Harriett?” the voice responded, but she realized she was just responding to herself.

She wanted assurance, an answer, a sign that she’d made the right decision at the right time. That she was the one who could do what she was already doing.

But when she was silent, so was the voice on the other end.

“It’s ME they follow,” she said.

“It’s ME they follow,” she heard herself repeat.