Can't Get Enough of Your Love (30 page)

Sorry, God, but death is shitty
.

I look back at the tent. Roger has his suit jacket off, and he's kneeling down, yanking on something in the
hole. The scaffolding, or whatever it is, is stuck, and he and the other two men are working to free it … so they can fill in the hole.

“Will you ride back to the church with me?”

I nod.

Roger looks my way. I try to smile at him, but I can't. He nods. Maybe he understands. Maybe he can explain all this to me. Maybe he's the only one who understands and can explain it to me.

On the ride back to the church, I try to count my blessings. I'm healthy. My ankle has healed. It clicks some on rainy days, but it still works. I've become slim and trim. I'm eating better because I'm cooking better. I'm more organized. I have a new direction in my life. I'm coaching a sport I love. I will become a teacher someday. I have a specific future in mind with attainable goals. I have a nice house. I live where the country is so beautiful that I have no excuse to be sad or depressed. I am …

I am depressed.

But I shouldn't be! I have no right to be depressed!

But you are, Lana.

God, help me
.

Please
.

I
call Mama as soon as I get home. When she answers, I ask, “What do you know about depression?” Silence. “Hello, Erlana. How are you? Fine, Mama. How are you?”

This is no time for manners. “Mama, I'm depressed.”

Silence. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“What do
you
have to be depressed about?” she asks. What? “What
don't
I have to be depressed about?” Silence. “Do you want me to come over?” I sigh. “No. It's late. I just need some advice. I'm having trouble dealing with all this death lately.” “And that depresses you?” “Yes.”

“Hmm. Does death depress you, or is it because you're having trouble dealing with it?” Good question. “A little of both, I guess.” “I heard about Bobby. I'm surprised you didn't call me as soon as it happened.”

So am I. I called her about Juan Carlos's mama but
not about Bobby. Why didn't I call her about Bobby? “I guess I should have.”

“It's okay. Tell me about Juan Carlos first.”

“Mama, this isn't about Juan Carlos.” Is it?

“Well, tell me about his mama's wake, then.”

I tell her as much as I can about the wake and Monique. “I was keeping him away from his dying mama. I was keeping him away from taking care of her. All those double shifts he worked so he could afford to pay for her medicine and take me out.”

“He is a grown man, Erlana. He made his own decisions.”

“I just wish I had been there for him.” Monique was there for him, not me. But why would he call me to come to the wake, then? He needed me there for some reason. What?

“Now tell me about Bobby.”

I describe my last visit with Bobby at the hospital, the funeral, and the burial. “I wanted to talk to Roger so badly afterwards, but I couldn't make my legs move. He was maybe thirty feet away from me, but I just couldn't go to him.”

“Uh-huh. You just couldn't go to him.”

“Mama, I was frozen in place. I was numb.”

“Uh-huh.”

A long silence. “What?”

“Do you want to know what I think?”

“It's why I called you.”

She sighs. “It might not be what you want to hear.”

“Everything I hear these days I
don't
want to hear,” I say. “What do you think, Mama?”

“Erlana, you're feeling depressed because you feel guilty.”

I feel what? “No, I don't.”

“Yes, you do. Death isn't depressing you one bit.”

She's tripping. “But it is!”

“Oh, I'm sure you're sad, and I'm sure your heart hurts for Juan Carlos and that little boy, but sadness and hurt don't add up to depression. Otherwise, we'd
all
be depressed
all
the time. We couldn't function at all if we were depressed all the time. This world wouldn't function, either. You have moments of happiness, don't you?”

“Yes, but they don't last.”

“And neither does the sadness and hurt, right?”

I feel like a child. “Yes, but—”

“Most depression is caused by unresolved issues in your life, things from your past that you can't let go.”

“That's not it, Mama. That's not—”

“I know what I'm talking about, Erlana,” she interrupts, her voice louder. “I've been in the place you're at now, and I know how awful it is. I know how it is to feel guilty for years,
many
, many years. I took you away from your daddy. I still feel guilty about that. I will always feel guilty about that. But what I feel guilty about most is leaving your daddy in the first place because I was afraid he would leave
me
first. There are days, even now, when I say to myself, ‘I never should have left that man.'”

I don't know what to say. Mama has been depressed … since I was eight. Why didn't I pick up on that?

“I didn't know you were depressed, Mama. You always seem … okay.”

“On the outside, I am okay. But inside …” I hear her sniffle. “Inside, I relive that moment I left Norfolk. I go over and over and over all the regrets I have. All of
the regrets. And what has it gotten me? Nothing. Not a damn thing. And the only person on this earth I have to blame for it all is me.”

“Mama, you can't blame yourself for—”

“The hell I can't!” she interrupts. “I made a decision to leave your daddy,
I
found a job far away from those damn ships,
I
moved us out without him knowing where we were going,
I
cut him off completely from our lives. If I can't blame myself, who
can
I blame?” She clears her throat. “Now listen, and listen good. Your past is depressing you, Erlana. You still haven't put those three men behind you.”

“But I have!” Haven't I?

“They may have put
you
behind them, but you're still holding on to them.”

“But I'm not! Until Juan Carlos called, I hadn't thought about them at all.”

“You're still holding on to them, Erlana. Juan Carlos's mama died, a woman you have never even met, and all you can talk about is how it's affecting Juan Carlos and how much you wish you had been there for
him
. You didn't say boo about his mama at all.”

She's right.

“And then Bobby died, a little boy you took care of for a long time, and all you can talk about now is
not
talking to Roger.”

She's right again.

“You need to go to them.”

“That's not going to happen.”

“It has to happen. Otherwise, you're going to be depressed like me for a long time.”

I hate this feeling, but… “What do I say? What do I say to three men whom I have hurt so badly?”

“Say what I wanted and
still
want to say to your
daddy. I made a terrible mistake, a terrible, terrible mistake. I'm sorry, and I want you back in my life to stay.”

Whoa. I can't say all that! “But Juan Carlos has a fiancée, and I'm sure that Karl and Roger—”

“Erlana Joy Cole, will you just shut up and use your head for a moment?”

Damn. “Sorry.”

“If they're seeing any women, it's on the rebound, right? If they loved you as much as you think they did, these women are only temporary fixes, right?”

Mama didn't see Monique kiss Juan Carlos. That looked like a permanent fix to me. “Right.”

“So go to them.”

Damn, my hands are sweaty just thinking about it. “I'm scared, Mama.”

“I don't believe that for a second. You've never been scared of anything.”

“But I am,” I say in a small voice.

“Okay, Erlana, what is the worst they can say to you?”

In Spanish? Plenty. “That … that they never want to see me again.”

“Right.”

“But I don't want them to say—”

“They
might,”
she interrupts, “and you can't blame them if they do. You hurt three men you claimed to love. One, two, or all three may tell you to take a hike. Could you handle that?”

“I don't know, I just …” I just don't want to think about it. Losing them once was hard enough. Losing them forever? Can I risk that? “How is all this supposed to help me become undepressed?”

“You'll be able to get your life back from the past,
Erlana. You'll be able to live again in the present, and you
will
have a life in the future.”

I want to live again, but I'm still so scared.

“Now I'm … I'm sorry I yelled at you,” she says.

“It's okay. I'm used to it, and don't take that the wrong way. I've been yelling at myself quite a bit these past four months.”

“Well, don't listen to yourself too much, okay? You say things to yourself long enough, you'll start to believe them. Don't be like me. And, if you ever need to talk about anything, anything at all, just … call me, okay?”

“I will.”

“And not just when you're depressed, you hear? I want to hear good things, too.”

“Okay.” I close my eyes. “I love you, Mama.”

I hear a sob.

“Mama, I just told you a good thing. You're not supposed to cry.” And now I'm crying. Geez. I need to buy Kleenex in bulk.

“You'll just have to say it more often so I don't cry so much.”

“Okay. I love you, Mama.”

“I love you, too, child. Now … go get ‘em.”

I read once that a good friend is someone who hears the song in your heart and sings it to you when you forget the melody.

Mama is and has always been my friend, humming the song in her heart.

I
have to go to the men who used to come to me.

And then I won't be depressed anymore.

It seems like a simple plan, but I bet it's not that simple.

I have no idea what to tell them.

God
, I pray,
please give me the words
.

Oh yeah.
And God, help me shut up and think sometimes, and if I do yell at myself, help me not to listen
.

I start with Karl. He was my boo first. He should be the first man I see.

I first try paging him on my lunch break at PH, but the number is no longer in service. I try directory assistance and come up empty for a Karl Henderson. “What about K. Henderson?” I ask.

“There are seven of those.”

Whoa. “Um, I don't have a phone book handy.” The ones at PH are at least four years out-of-date. “Are all seven in the most recent phone book?”

“All but one.”

Maybe that's him? “Is that the most recent listing?”

“Yes.”

“Please give me that one.”

“Hold for the number.”

So, now I have a number for the most recent “K. Henderson” in Roanoke. I know it doesn't mean it's Karl, but what if it is? I punch in the number, hoping he'll answer.

“Hello?”

I am so floored by Karl's voice that I can't speak.

“Wait a minute. Lana, is that you? It sure is.”

How did he—

He has caller ID. Karl has a phone with caller ID. Karl, who only used his pager long after it was considered cool to do so, has a
real
phone. Has Karl, my “Wind,” blown into town for good? Maybe that deal he was hoping for came through. Maybe he already has his own store. “Uh, yeah, it's me, Lana. How you doin'?”

“All right.”

“Good. Um, that's good, Karl. Listen, I really want to talk to you sometime soon about what happened.”

“So come over.” He gives me an address at Buck Run, an apartment complex in southwest Roanoke County near the Blue Ridge Parkway.

I blink. “You live there?”

“Yeah.”

No way. “Um, my friend Izzie lives somewhere over there. You remember Izzie, don't you?”

“Sure, I remember ‘Grandma.'”

I laugh.

“So,” he says, “you coming over, or what?”

“I'm working right now, and I have practice after school, so—”

“I saw you on the sidelines during the PH-Fleming game.”

Which we lost badly, and since Karl graduated from Fleming, he's bound to gloat. “You did?”

“You were so pissed!”

Ha, ha, very funny. “They were crackback and cut blocking on us all night, and the refs wouldn't call shit.”

“Even if the refs made those calls, y'all still would have lost.”

True. We still don't have much of an offense, and our defense gets tired from being on the field for most of the game. We're exhausted in the fourth quarter. “I can come by around six.”

“That'll work.”

I really shouldn't say this, but… “Should I bring dinner?”

“Nah. I've got that covered. Later.”
Click
.

That went
much
better than I expected! And I'm in such a good mood later at practice that I have my defensive ends only run ten sets of hills after practice. I usually make them run twenty after a loss.

Buck Run is nestled in the woods, which is the last place I'd expect to find citified Karl. I pull into an empty spot and get out, expecting to see Karl's Blazer somewhere. I don't. Hmm. Maybe they have garages somewhere around here, too.

Or he's not here. Hmm. Maybe this is a way for him to get some revenge on me. I hope not, but he might still be trying to be hard to find.

I walk up to the door with the number he gave me and knock. A moment later, Karl is standing at the door looking all good with his six-packed, tattooed—

“You know we have nothing to talk about, right?” he says.