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Farewell - 2006-03-15 |
2004-01-20 - 10:45 a.m. I listened to the sour notes of the piano from below. Weird rhythms were forming and moving back and forth the way the suasage balls had in my mother's hands. I could hear a husband's loafers punctuated by his wife's high heels as they dumped their coats in the room next to me. he said he'd be here. With this promis leading my limbs, I slowly descended the stairs. I lost my right slipper on the last step, and when I turned to slide my toes back in, I was grabbed from behind. It was great-aunt Peony. "Ohhhh I'm so glad to see you," she said, her hands on my hips. "Your brother is gigantic. Are you through growing?" I couldn't believe it. Fresh from the stairs and I was already bait. "I think so. Are you?" I said, manufacturing my all-around-holiday smile. "Okay, smartie, Okay. but seriously now, I hear you've won an award." Her eyes were suddenly a great deal larger than before, and got watery. They were blue, not the sparkling kind, but dead, like they came from a coal mine. "Yeah. From the English Department. It was nice." "I guess I'm looking at the next Roberta Roundtree." "I guess." My escape was going to be difficult. I noticed with som displeasure that my great-aunt's hands were still on my hips. "Well, I think I'll go get something to eat now," I said, backing away. Before I rounded the corner, I glanced out the side window. It was getting darker. The truth was, I was hardly hungry at all. Once I saw the table, full of turkey, ham, biscuits, quiche, buffalo wings, deviled eggs, broccoli and cauliflower salad and something that had the consistency of yams but not the color, I lost what little appetite I had. I grabbed a handful of peanut M&M's and tried to find a seat when I spotted Barry by the cheeseball. "Hey, hear you won an award..." "Yeah. How are you?" "Oh, I'm alright... yeah I..." I forget what relation Barry is to any of my family. He apparently has had a few brushes with death, and that quite evident in his apprearance. He's YELLOW. My mom told me it was his liver. It doesn't help that he walks like a corpse and every sentece he makes breaks off at the end. I started to laugh though, because I was imagining Barry singing Karioke but with an I.V. in and everything. I really could't help myself. "What's so funny? What's so..." "Huh? Oh, nothing, nothing." I knew I had to get out of there fast, and fortunately, I heard my mother calling me. "Listen, Barry, take care." "UM hmmm. I will... Ro..." I didn't stick around to determine what he said, but I heard something about Roberta Roundtree. I found my mother the ringleader in a circle of six women. My soul groaned. They were like a pack of sharks. These women struck a fear in me that was hard to place. It was mostly a fear of the unknown. I knew the worlds they lived in. They were worlds filled with concern about things like tact and stripes and plaid and scratched linoleum. I was odd woman out. "Hey," my mother said. I stood speechless. All the ladies took synchronized sips from their punch. Finally, one spoke up. "Your mother was telling us you won an award. Good for you." "You bet I won an award," I said. "I'm the best writer around. In fact, if I was Miss Roberta Roundtree herself, I couldn't be more talented. My next step is to become poet-laureate of the United States of America. Gosh darn, I'm amazing. I'll turn all those so-called scholars off their heads and wear jackets with felt elbow patches and..." "You have a phone call!" my mother said. "What?" I hadn't realized that I had been shouting. "You have a phone call. Take it upstairs." My shock gave way to relief. I was a few minuets shy of a breakdown. I went upstairs. "I thought you were coming. We had cashews and everything." "Sorry. I really am. I just don't know how to act at those things. So how's it going so far?" "I don't know, got a gun? I don't write like Roberta Roundtree at all." "What?" "They keep comparing me to Roberta Roundtree." "Oh. Ha. Well do you want to hangout tomorrow maybe?" "Of course." "Good thing I'm friends with the greatest writer of this century." "Shut up." "I'm sooo sleepy." "Me too."
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