Page 7

My mother insisted I give it a facelift.

When my grandfather was alive, he wasn’t about to jump on the modern train to spruce it up.

Chipped paint and a rickety front porch with two rocking chairs that looked like they’d seen better days suited him just fine.

And the inside of the house – yikes! – it smelled like a mothball convention.

Floral wallpaper had faded and yellowed over the years, and the linoleum on the kitchen floor had died a long time ago.

When I took ownership, I had the place painted and the porch rebuilt with wide cedar planks along with two black ceiling fans above for those muggy nights and hot mornings.

I had all the furniture taken out so the place could be properly remodeled and modernized.

I reupholstered what I could, keeping a lot of the furniture they already had.

Fresh paint graced the walls of every room. The kitchen was completely gutted to make way for new cabinets, granite countertops, and up-to-date stainless steel appliances.

The two bathrooms in the place were properly modernized with subway tiles.

My bathroom – the ensuite – I had converted from a bathtub to a walk-in shower with all the handles for support.

I’ll never know when I’d need them. Sometimes I get dizzy.

Having a handle to grab is reassuring for those times.

I lean over the counter and bury my face in my hands, thinking about the day. The store was busier than normal for a Wednesday. With July Fourth weekend coming up, I’m sure people are gearing up for backyard cookouts and fireworks. Sounds nice, but I feel myself drifting into a slump.

I hate it when I feel like this – like life is leaving me behind and there’s nothing I can do about it due to my circumstances. I’ve been dealt a hand that would be difficult for anyone to deal with. And I’m so tired of hearing people say God put this on my plate because he knew I could handle it.

Why?

Why would God hand me a pill he knew I couldn’t swallow? Granted, I do my best to keep a positive outlook – to convince myself that I will be fully healed from this disease, but the science says otherwise.

It—

My thoughts are interrupted by a tap on the front door. I walk there but my mother is already letting herself in with her canvas slides and white sun visor to match.

“Good evening, Judah.”

From her behavior, you’d think she didn’t just see me at the grocery store. We work together almost every day. Well, actually, she’s back in the office reviewing inventory with my father. I’m by the registers, bagging.

“Good evening, Mother. Out for a walk again?”

“Yeah. Me and your father went for an evening stroll.”

“You decided to drop by on your way back home. He just kept on going, huh?”

My mother throws a hand on her hip and says, “Come on, now, Judah. You know your father means well.”

“Sure he does…” I say facetiously. I know my father is upset with me.

Even with my diagnosis – somehow it’s my fault.

Usually when we talk, we end up in a heated conversation about how he wasted so much money putting me through college for a degree in economics, only for me to end up working at a grocery store.

The thing is, with the radiation and chemotherapy, I almost didn’t make it out of college.

I was sick and tired – mentally and physically.

After undergoing all of that, I wasn’t about to be chained to a desk staring at numbers for however many years I had left.

I wanted to be out in nature. I craved that connection with the earth.

With God. With my inner self. I wanted to know who I really was, and economics wasn’t a priority.

My father, on the other hand, still thinks I’m wasting the years I have left by bagging groceries and, in his words, ‘hanging out with half-baked hippies in the forest who don’t have a pot to piss in’. I still love him, though. We just haven’t been able to see eye-to-eye in a very long time.

“Woo…it’s muggy out there,” Mom says, fanning her face with her right hand.

“It is. I would advise you to switch to early morning walks if you must walk at all. And I’m talking around five or six.”

“Nonsense. It’s still dark at five, and I’m getting ready for work by six.”

“The store doesn’t open until eight.”

“Exactly. What do you think I’m going to do? Hurry up and throw on some clothes at seven thirty and pop up at work? I can’t do that. I need time to wake up, stretch, eat, drink my coffee, and say my morning prayer. I have a routine.”

She steps out of her shoes, wiggles her toes, plops down on the couch, and crosses her legs.

She’s made herself at home. In a way, she is home.

This is her childhood home. She always has stories to tell me about how she grew up.

Where she fell and scraped her knee. How she used to help her mother bake cookies and play hide and seek with Uncle Reuben.

She loves this home. I’m glad I decided to keep it.

She leans forward, picks up the remote, and says, “When is the last time you turned this TV on?”

“Don’t know. I don’t watch TV that much. You know that.”

I walk to the fridge and take out a bottle of water, walking it over to her.

“Oh, bless your heart. Thank you.” She rubs the bottle across her face before she opens it and starts drinking right away. “Ahh…that’s good. Hey, I made some mozzarella chicken for dinner. I can run and get you some, if—”

“No, thank you. I had Acropolis for dinner.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I don’t want to sit down, but I take a moment to sit with her. I never know when it will be our last conversation. That’s one thing my diagnosis taught me—not to take anyone for granted. I even tried to extend an olive branch to my father, but he’s not as receptive as my mother is.

I stretch my legs out in front of me, put my hands behind my head, and close my eyes while releasing a day’s worth of a sigh.

“Tired?”

I open my eyes and look at my mother. She’s a beautiful fifty-one-year-old woman who looks like she’s in her forties.

She had me right after high school. Neither she nor my father went to college.

They had a business to run – one my father inherited from my grandfather – so, as soon as they both graduated, they got to work. Been running it ever since.

“Yes, I’m wiped out.”

“I was hoping since you left early, you were going to get some rest.”

“I desperately need it.”

I close my eyes again. Her face appears – Autumn’s – and I wish it wouldn’t. I haven’t been able to get her off my mind since we met, but I know I need to.

“I can’t help but notice you seem a little down,” Mother says, yet again interrupting my thoughts. “Care to talk about it? I’m all ears.”

Once again, I open my eyes and look at her.

I’m not annoyed. I’m never annoyed with my mother because I know her heart.

I know what she stands for. Her values. Her intentions, especially when it comes to me.

I’m more in a difficult state of mind at the moment as I think about this relationship thing – battling the thin line between what I want and what I know the other person doesn’t deserve.

I want friendship with Autumn just like I have with all the other women I know.

But with Autumn, I feel like there’s something deeper I can connect with.

I know there is. That doesn’t scare me. It confuses me.

I have nothing to offer her. So, why am I thinking about the possibility of offering her something I don’t have?

“Judah?”

I look at my mother and say, “You know I’ve always been the person to play the hand I’m dealt. Always.”

“Yes, you are.”

“People say God works in mysterious ways and He gave me this because He knew I could handle it, and since this diagnosis, I’ve been handling it, correct? I mean, it may not be in the way you or Dad envisioned, but I’m doing the best I can.”

“I know you are, Judah, and your father knows it too, no matter how stubborn he is. Is that what’s bothering you?”

“It’s, um…well, I’ve been feeling a little down for the last few days. It’s like, I know I need to go through this, right, but why me? Why can’t I have a normal life?”

“You can, Judah.”

“I can’t. It’s impossible. Anyone I meet, I have to have the conversation so I can watch them pack up and run like Emori did.

And you know what? Scratch that. I don’t want to have the conversation at all.

Why should I? Why should I give someone a choice whether they want to love me based on the fact that I have cancer?

Who would want that? Why should I want that while knowing I’m on my way out? ”

“Judah,” Mom says, placing a hand over her heart. “Please don’t talk like that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“It’s not.”

“It is. There’s no need to pretend it’s not.”

“Well, all of this is pointless reasoning, anyway. It’s not like you’re seeing someone. Wait—are you seeing someone?” she asks, each word getting louder than the preceding as her eyes brighten, awaiting my response.

I hesitate to tell her that, yes, I did meet someone. I wouldn’t hear the last of it if I did. And it’s still early on. I want to spend more time with Autumn to know that my feelings are valid. Maybe this is just a hiccup. That’s more likely than anything else.

I say, “What I’m trying to say, Mother, is that some days are good and some are not. The last few haven’t been good because I’m thinking more along the lines of ‘why me’ instead of being grateful that I still have breath in my body.”

She’s deep in thought, concentrating on her response so she can tell me something insightful that will help pull me out of this slump.

After a deep breath, she crosses her legs, leans back, and says, “You know you’re my hero, don’t you?”

“Mother—”

“You are. You’ve been handling this like only you can, Judah. I honestly don’t know if I could do it if I were you. And trust and believe God didn’t put this on your plate, son. God is love. Love doesn’t cause pain and then sit back and watch you to see what you do with it.”

“Tell that to Job.”

“But God didn’t afflict Job, did He? The scriptures say the devil did that.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re right.”

“I know I’m right!” she says with a chuckle.

I always find her connection to her faith refreshing. She raised me to have an appreciation for the Bible, but it wasn’t until I got sick that I started to take it seriously.

“I don’t know what brought this on since you’re keeping it from me, but I think you should grab whatever happiness you can, Judah.

That’s not selfish, and it’s not deceitful.

If this is about a woman, as long as she’s fully aware of your diagnosis, she can decide for herself if she wants to be with you.

I know that opens up the door for rejection, but it’s not something you can keep from someone. ”

“I know.”

She smiles.

I smile back. It’s a small one. An appreciative one.

No one knows me like this woman who birthed me.

She’s strong. Passionate. She was always the woman to do what she had to do to get the job done.

Always seeing beyond the surface. Very insightful and in tune with life.

With her family. I didn’t have to tell her my issue involved a woman, and she already knew.

She stands, bends to the left and right, waking up her body after sitting, and asks, “You coming in tomorrow?”

“Yes. I’ll be there.”

She walks over, hugs me and says, “Take a long, hot shower, be with your thoughts and I mean really connect with them, then have a good night’s sleep. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay.” She places a hand on my face and says, “I love you, son.”

“I love you, too, Mother. As always, thank you for your insight. I really needed it.”

“Anytime.”

“Let me walk you home,” I say, sauntering toward the door. “It’s getting dark out.”

“It ain’t dark yet,” she says, stepping out onto the porch.

It’ll take me all of three minutes to get home.

I’ll be fine,” she says, jogging down the steps, then skipping across the walkway to the sidewalk.

As she begins walking away from me, she looks back at me and waves.

I throw up a hand and then slide my hands into my pockets, watching her and making sure she gets home safely.

Stepping back into my home, I take her counsel under advisement.

I get in the shower and stand there while I let my thoughts take over.

While the warm water cleanses me, I remind myself of the feeling in my gut the first time I saw Autumn at the ice cream shop.

It was something, I knew. It’s why I continued to my car, willing myself not to talk to her.

But then she came to my car and all the willpower I had vanished.

I couldn’t let her walk away without making some kind of arrangement to see her again.

I shrugged it off like it wasn’t a big deal and told myself that it’s what I do.

I meet people and invite them into my life.

Not all of them – only the special ones.

It was that way with Luna, Tabitha, Moriah, and all the others who frequently gather with us.

As for Nico—we grew up together. He knew me before cancer altered the trajectory of my life, but the rest – they’re people who lift me up. Keep me sane.

My tribe.

Do I add Autumn to that tribe? That’s what I’m unsure of.

I get out of the shower and dry off. After thinking it through, I agreed that I should be true to the pact I made with myself – that I wouldn’t leave another innocent person suffering over my death. Therefore, I need to recalibrate my brain and stick to my conviction.

Falling in love is not an option, even if the woman takes my breath away.