Red Hats (6 page)

“We’re never going to make it in time if you don’t walk a little faster, Alma.”

“These shoes are hurting my feet, Harold. Why don’t you carry me?” she’d joked.

Harold hated being late. Alma didn’t mind making an entrance.

“We’re already ten minutes late. Mr. Raven said we had to be on time for this thing,” Harold had reminded her.

When they’d finally arrived at the Majestic, the doors were closed, and the usher told them they would have to wait until the intermission to be seated. That would be in an hour.

“One hour!” Alma had exclaimed. “What are we supposed to do for an hour?”

“You are welcome to go to the bar area,” the usher had offered.

They’d gone to a bar but not the one at the theater. Alma had needed to sit.

Now, she placed a couple of pairs of Harold’s shoes in a box and noticed for the first time that the heels on both right shoes were worn down more than the left ones. In fact, all of his shoes were worn like that. It must have been from the scoliosis, which tilted his spine slightly to the right as he grew older. Harold had been able to mask the defect by shifting it into a cool gait in his walk.

His shirts, sweaters, ties, and socks—even his underwear—all had the same smell. They smelled like him. The scent God made just for him that only a wife, a lover, or a friend would know. Being all three intensified the experience for Alma. She held his worn undershirt to her face and inhaled deeply. She cried softly and let the fabric absorb her tears.

Alma opened the hall closet to find Harold’s jacket on the floor. She remembered him standing in the stairwell, looking back at her with the jacket in hand. The memory was vivid—he had switched the jacket into the other hand to grab hold of the banister that guided him safely from her gaze.

As Alma folded the lightweight, faded blue blazer, she felt something tucked away in the breast pocket. She searched and found the tickets to the dance Harold was going to take her to for her birthday. She had forgotten
she was turning the big six-five tomorrow. She had bought herself a beautiful red satin dress she found in a going-out-of-business sale, in case Harold had wanted to take her out. He was always surprising her on birthdays. “Just be ready,” he would say.

He’d never tell her what he was planning, because she would be disappointed, never happy once she knew. He had decided early on that he would always surprise her. Alma liked surprises—they were romantic to her—and loved to dance. After all the years of anger and resentment, they still had terrific chemistry on the dance floor. He was in control of her movements, and she submitted to his direction, but only under the flashing colored lights.

Alma thought about going to the dance by herself but quickly dismissed that idea, imagining people staring at her, asking, “Who’s the old lady standing in the puddle of tears?” Alma wished she could pop another Valium to calm the anxiety that was creeping into her heart.

“My daddy didn’t raise no punks!” she reassured herself. She had promised herself not to take any more of the pills, because they only increased the anxiety when they wore off. From now on, she was going to deal with whatever life threw her way.

Alma slept for
twelve hours, and when she woke, she felt exhausted, depressed, and unable to go back to sleep. She realized that was how doctors got you addicted. They made
you believe the only thing to stop the hurt was to take another pill.

No,
she told herself as she put the phone down after dialing the doctor’s office to request a refill. She was determined to give them up and decided to drink some coffee and take a long walk to help clear her head.

Alma was sipping her second cup of Folgers when the doorbell rang. Standing outside was a deliveryman with a beautiful bouquet of pink roses and bird-of-paradise, a rich variation of a rainbow. They were from Harold! The stranger had to hold her up when she collapsed in his arms, crying like a baby.

How did he send flowers from the grave? Harold must have known his time was short and was taking delight in tormenting her. Wasn’t his death enough? Why couldn’t he have had a little heart attack to teach her this lesson? She would have taken care of him and helped nurse him back to health with her special chicken noodle soup. Harold hated hospital food. If he’d had a small attack, she could have recognized her sins and changed her contrary ways. Instead, he left her with nothing but all this damn guilt! The flowers only poured salt on the wound.

Alma decided she could no longer bear this tortured state.

Dearest Children,

It’s with love and tears that I write this letter to say my good-byes. I can’t take the pain any longer.
It’s too hard. It’s just too damn hard for me to move on. I always believed I was tough and would get through this, but now I know I can’t. I can’t because I know what your father knows, which is that I killed him. I killed your father with unkind words, unspoken rage, and a jealous heart that all the love in the world couldn’t tame. I only pray God judges me kinder than I’ve judged myself. Now it’s time to give life for life. Be it heaven or hell, I must join your father wherever death takes me and beg for his forgiveness. It’s the only way to quiet the accuser yelling “Murderer!” in my mind. This is not a suicide note. Rather, it is a farewell to misery, bon voyage to pain, adios to grief statement. Don’t feel bad for me. I will be at peace. Yes, peace. That’s what I want right now.

Todd, honey, I’m going to hold my tongue about your little “wet dog” and only hope she’s not standing next to you reading my business—serves her right if she is. Todd, thank you for turning out to be such a fine young man. You make your mother proud in every way. My Angel, baby, I don’t want to be any more of a weight around your neck than the ton of a husband you already got. Know Momma loves you more than this life. Jesse, you’ve got to give your life over to Christ and step up to be the great man I know you can still be. I’ve left you a tiny bit of money to help with lessons so you can
stop sounding like a raggedy bugle boy. I’ll miss you all.

Love,

Momma

P.S. Make sure they put a smile on my face and bury me next to your daddy, so that if he looks over, he’ll see that he’s the only one who makes me happy.

Alma sealed the
envelope with the rest of her tears.

She turned the radio up. She took a long hot bath, made up her face, and put on the red satin dress she bought for her birthday, determined to look and smell good when they found her. Alma pulled the petals from the pink roses and laid them out on a gold silk sheet she draped over the couch. She poured herself a glass of red wine after turning the gas oven on. She gulped the first, then poured a second full glass to sip on as she faded away. Alma took her favorite seat at the living-room window, humming along to the song that was playing on the radio. How ironic. It was Marvin Gaye’s “If I Should Die Tonight”! Alma laughed because she couldn’t cry anymore.

Thank God it would soon be over. She saw the group of six or seven women in red hats passing along the opposite side of the street. One of them, a white woman, looked up and waved at her.

Feeling the effects of the wine-and-gas concoction,
Alma waved back. Her head was very light, and she decided it was time to go lie down on the couch. She stood up and immediately fell forward, hitting her head on the windowsill.

Good-bye, you cold, cruel world,
Alma thought as she felt warm blood oozing from the top of her head.

Delilah Samson hated hospitals as
much as she hated her name. It was an inside joke that her devout Christian parents thought was clever and cute. It was supposed to remind Delilah of her spiritual roots. What it really did was become a thorn in their daughter’s side for her entire childhood. The boys were afraid of her name’s biblical history and teased poor Delilah about being a betrayer of man. The girls in her suburban neighborhood labeled her a threat to their prepubescent boyfriends and literally ran from her whenever she came around. The only friends she had were the black family that lived on the edge of town that separated the “good” neighborhood from the “bad” one.

Being a diabetic, it made her sick to see the nurse inject the IV needle into Alma’s arm. Needles were her life. Five times a day, she had to prick her finger to check her sugar levels. Then, before every meal, she had to inject herself in the stomach with 2.2 units of insulin. The worst part of the disease was having to give herself the needle. The doctor told her she would get used to it. That was seven years ago. Delilah was still waiting for acceptance.

Alma opened her
eyes, expecting to see Jesus in such a bright white room. Instead, she saw an angel. Her daughter, Angel, was standing over her with a serious expression on her face.

“Are you all right, Momma?”

“My head hurts,” Alma replied weakly.

“You had to get some stitches, and there’s a very nasty bump under that wrap. The doctor said you will be fine in a few days.”

“How did I get here? How long has it been?”

“You’ve been here all day. These nice women over here found you.” She pointed to the women wearing red hats, sitting patiently in a corner of the hospital room.

Alma noticed a little bit of everything had gone into the making of the hats—silk ribbon, tulle, beading, and yard after yard of material. One of them stood up. She was white and had a big, round, pretty face with an unhealthy yellowish color to her skin, like uncooked chicken.

“My name is Delilah, but my friends call me Sister Dee, and these are Sisters Joy, Stephanie, Sarah, Yvette, and Magdalena.” The ladies smiled and waved hello at the calling of their names. “We are the Red Hatters.”

“We were walking by and saw you fall against the window. We had to break down the door to get to you. Some fool left the gas on! But don’t you worry your dear heart, Sisters May and Aubrey are there now, making sure the place gets aired out and the door gets fixed. They will leave your key with the building manager.”

“Did you go through my stuff?” Alma asked accusingly.

“Why, of course not,” Sister Dee replied.

“Momma, be nice,” Angel whispered through clenched teeth.

Alma rolled her eyes, dismissing the chastisement. “How’d you get here so fast if no one went looking through my stuff?”

“I called the house to wish you a happy birthday, and one of the Red Hats, Sister Joy, I believe, told me there was an accident and police were in your house, so I hopped the first plane I could to come see you. Now, why don’t you thank these nice ladies for being kind enough to look out for you, Momma?”

“Thank you,” Alma said.

“You are quite welcome. Anyway, we just wanted to make sure you were OK. We’ll be getting on now and will certainly keep you in our prayers. Take care,” Dee said, and she beckoned the others to leave.

Alma and Angel sat in silence as the women left.

“I want to go home,” Alma said, attempting to sit up. The pain in her head prevented any real movement.

“You’re not going anywhere right now! And when you do leave here, you are coming home with me.”

“I don’t want to go to Texas.”

“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you! Suicide, Momma? No, I already made the arrangements.”

“You know I don’t fly.”

Angel showed her two Greyhound bus tickets.

“What about Chubbsy Wubbsy? What’s he going to say about this?” Alma asked.

“Darryl said it would be fine with him.”

“He really said that?”

“Yes. He understands our bond, and besides, if he didn’t like it, he’d have to lump it elsewhere,” Angel said defiantly. Alma liked this strong will of hers. It reminded her of her own self.

“I’m not giving up my apartment! All my children were born and raised there.”

“I’m not saying you have to give up nothing. I just think you need to get away from all the memories for a while, until you have a chance to heal. Some sunshine and fresh country air will do you good.”

“How long is a while?” Alma asked.

“Three months.”

“I was thinking three weeks. You know me and Fatso won’t make it past three days.”

“You certainly won’t if you keep calling him Fatso, Momma.”

“I’ll work on it. How’s my favorite grandbaby?”

“Nia is great and so happy her grandma is coming to live with her.”

“Well, if you had said that to begin with, we wouldn’t need to be having this conversation,” Alma joked.

It took four
days to get to Texas, because Alma kept complaining about the smell and the speed and the route of the bus. They got off twice to check into a hotel so Alma could bathe and get a little sleep. Angel had the patience of Job, and flying was not an option. When they arrived in Texas, Fatso met them at the station. He was obviously not happy about Alma’s visit.

“Hello, Darryl,” Alma said exactly the way she had rehearsed it with Angel. “Where’s my grandbaby?”

“I left her in the car,” Darryl said.

“You left her in the car? You must be stupider than you look, man,” Alma fired back. “You’re not supposed to leave a child unattended in a car!”

“The car is right there,” he said, pointing to a white SUV parked a few feet from them.

“Momma, apologize.”

Alma didn’t. She simply dropped her bags at his feet and hurried to the car to see Nia strapped safely in the car seat. Darryl shook his head and gave his wife a nasty look
as he picked up the bags and threw them into the back of the SUV. Angel stopped him before he climbed into the driver’s seat and gave him a loving hug. Alma pretended not to notice this public display of affection. Darryl caught her sneaking a peek and used it as an opportunity to slap her back by gently kissing the top of his wife’s head.

Alma did not like sleeping in the den. It hurt her back to sleep on that rock-hard mattress in the pull-out couch. And the sheets felt sandy. Plus, the noise from the fan spinning over her head kept her awake.

Darryl helped Angel rearrange the baby’s room to accommodate her, but Alma complained that the bed was too small, and it made her feel as if she was suffocating in that tiny room. The only other choice was the master bedroom, which Darryl said “Hell no” to. Angel reminded him that this was her mother and they should make the small sacrifice in her time of mourning. Darryl reluctantly gave in, but it cost Angel plenty of arguments in the middle of the night. Alma would sleep through most of them in their luxurious custom bed. She had never seen such a large bed before. It was a double king, which Darryl took up half of.