I don’t think I’ve sat down for more than a few moments in these past two weeks. Responsibilities, family, friendships, work… everything vying for my attention and time. I’m not complaining, I’m happy to be able to do it, and I’m glad that I’ve had the ability to do it but sheesh! I need some rest.
That being said, I have been feeling HOT. Like I have been glowing from the inside out. I think it’s because I am letting me be me. I am remembering who I am. I am brave. I am resilient. I am creative. I am beautiful, standing in the light that I shine.
So yeah, I’m fine af. Get into it.
Today’s Story—
Humans usually respond to fear or conflict one of three ways— fight, flight, or freeze. I, unfortunately do all three, sometimes within the same situation. I think when we think about being brave, we think about facing our fears, the situations where we have no control, and allowing the consequences. Maybe this story is less about being brave, and more about being human. And reminds us that not every flight is a positive movement.
Last Words
by Katrina Mitchell
“I saw him again the other day,” I said, pulling the orange juice carton out of the fridge.
Des leaned over the counter. “Did you speak?”
I shook my head. “We don’t speak anymore.” I pulled two glasses from the cabinet.
Music played softly in the background. The song felt like Anita Baker, but was actually something much more recent.
“Who is this?” I asked. “Can you look at the TV and see—“
Des hopped off the barstool and walked over to the television. “Someone named Phantasy, spelled with a P-H.” Des shrugged. “I don’t know her.”
“She’s nice. I’m gonna look her up later.”
Des hopped back into her seat. “That’s sad though. I hate that things deteriorated that fast between y’all.”
I placed a glass of orange juice in front of her. She pushed it away.
“I don’t even want it if champagne ain’t in it.”
“Girl, when you go to a restaurant do you actually think champagne be in it?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes.”
I sighed and turned back towards the fridge. “I was trying not to drink today but—“
“Girl don’t drink then. I’m good,” Des said.
“Nah, nah… this gives me an excuse to open this bottle.” I showed her the fancy bottle of champagne I had in the back of the fridge.
“Oooh, yes. Well, in that case. Pop them bottles, sis.”
I tore the aluminum foil off the top of the bottle, then unfastened the metal cover from the cork. I handed the bottle to Des. “You know I ain’t got no upper body strength.”
Des pulls the cork out quickly. A loud popping sound filled the room. A couple minutes later, tiny footsteps made their way toward us.
“What was that mommy?” Eva asked.
“Just the bottle. We’re okay.” I turn my attention to the stove. “Go back to the room. I will call y’all for breakfast in a minute.”
Eva nodded, then turned and scurried back to her room. I turned on the burner to medium, then added a pat of butter to the pan. In a separate bowl, I cracked eggs, added milk, and whisked them together, before pouring them in the pan.
“So what would you say?”
“Huh?” I asked, turning to Des.
“If y’all were speaking, what would you say?”
I opened the drawer near the stove and pulled out a spatula. I grab the seasoned salt, black pepper, and garlic powder from the spice rack. I felt like I was missing something.
“I don’t know that I would have anything to say at this point.”
“Oh, you have shit to say.”
“Yeah, I mean. But what’s the point in saying any of it?” I open the seasoned salt and sprinkle it on to the eggs. Then I add the black pepper and garlic powder. “What am I missing?” I mumbled to myself while I scrambled the eggs.
“You gonna make bacon too?” Des asked.
“I got sausage links in there. You want that?”
“Yeah, that works.”
I opened the freezer and pulled the box out, placing them on the counter. On a nearby burner, I looked over at the grits that were lightly boiling. I grabbed a spoon from the drawer, opened the lid to the pot, and stirred the grits. “What am I forgetting?”
“Probably those biscuits. They probably done by now.”
“No, that’s not it,” I said as I opened the oven door to check them. “They need a couple more minutes.”
“I don’t want mines too brown,” Des said.
“I know. You like yours damn near raw.” I laughed.
“So, if there was a point to saying it, what would you say?”
“What would the point be?”
“I don’t know, girl. Maybe it would be the thing that fixed things between y’all. What would you say?”
I exhaled deeply and grabbed a cast iron skillet from the lower cabinet. I moved the eggs off their burner and put the skillet in its place. I poured a little oil in the pan, then stepped back to watch it heat.
The biscuits were starting to smell heavenly. I opened the oven door one more time, then grabbed a potholder and pulled them out.
“You gonna put cheese in the grits?” Des asked.
“I can,” I said. “Look at you, backseat cooking.”
“I’m tryna help you out. You over there thinking you forgot something.”
I shudder. “I definitely did.” I added the links to the pan.
The song changed. I opened the fridge again, this time to pull out the shredded cheese. I added it to the grits, along with a pat of butter, salt, and black pepper.
“Can you call the kids,” I said. “Then, grab some paper plates and put them on the table. I’m gonna— goddamn it!”
I spun around and looked at Des. “I gotta go back to the store. Don’t call them yet.”
“You remember what you forgot?”
“The fucking birthday cake! I forgot to pick it up this morning.”
I turned off all the burners on the stove.
“You do too much, sis.” Des said. “I can watch them if you wanna just run there really quick.”
“Yeah, it will only take five minutes. Well, fifteen. Shit, maybe 30. Not more than that though.”
“It’s cool, I got it.” Des takes a sip of her drink. I pretended not to see. I grabbed my purse and my keys from the counter, and ran out the door to my car.
In the store, I stood at the bakery counter, waiting on my cake. The attendant came back with a big box.
“Everything look alright?” he asked. He opened the lid. The cake read, “Happy 5th Birthday Eva!”
“It looks perfect. Thanks!” I said. “This would’ve been an epic mommy fail but you saved my life right now!” I took the cake and turned to exit the store.
And there he was again, not fifty feet in front of me. He stood by the gourmet cheeses, the ones that seemed more like flavored butter. I stared at him for a second. His green jacket, trusty and old, but still in good shape. His veiny hands holding the box. His dark eyes jetting back and forth, reading the label. I was sure he hadn’t seen me. He wouldn’t have been standing there if he did. I thought about what Des said. I inhaled deeply, and marched over to where he was standing.
“Hey,” I said, unsure of what to do next. He looked up at me and clenched his jaw.
“Hey,” he said. “Big cake.”
“Yeah it’s for Eva’s birthday. We’re having a breakfast party for her.”
“Breakfast? It’s 5 at night.”
“It’s what she wanted,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.
“Well tell her happy birthday,” he said. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and handed me a twenty dollar bill. “Tell her to buy what she wants.” He smiled at me. He hadn’t smiled at me in a long time. Felt like forever.
“So, umm…Des asked me this question earlier. She was like, if I could say one thing to you that would fix everything, what would I say. I don’t know that this would fix anything, really, but I would say to you that you are important to me and I miss you. And I’m sorry and I wish things didn’t turn out the way they did.”
He didn’t respond. Or, I didn’t give him time to. I backed away from him, then walked out the door to my car.
Back at the house, I watched as everyone else ate. I picked around at my eggs and my grits. Des looked at me. Finally I stood and took my plate into the kitchen. Des followed behind.
“You okay, sis?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I lied, fighting back tears. “No. I can’t fix things. No matter what I say, I can’t fix it.”
“That’s not true,” she said. “You did what you needed to do. Now you gotta just wait. You can’t force anyone to want what you want.”
“I know.” I started to clean up the kitchen.
“Leave it,” Des said. “I’ll clean up.”
I went to my room, a ball of anxiety and stress. “Why the fuck would you say that?” I chastised myself out loud. I threw myself on the bed. Soft tears began to pour out my eyes. I imagined what he could’ve said, had I stayed.
“There’s nothing to fix, we’re cool.”
“Just leave it alone. Let it go.”
“I’m not the one with the problem here.”
“I’m hurting too.”
“Maybe we could—“
Des interrupted my thoughts. “You ready to do cake?”
I sat up and wiped my eyes. “Yeah, coming.”
Des closed the door. I inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. There was nothing else to be done.
“There is nothing else to be done. There is nothing else to be done.” I chanted that as I walked out the door.
