I reach for the scrub pad while Darnessa empties and then refills the dishwasher as we continue our quest to reach the end of this mess so we can get off our feet for a while.
As we do, Darnessa hums a tune, an R&B song I’m not that familiar with, but that sounds soulful and beautiful with her perfect pitch and voice.
“Wow, that was beautiful. You have a wonderful singing voice. Do you sing publicly, or have you thought about doing something with your talent?”
She turns and gives me a “what the hell you talking about”look. “Like what?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe audition for one of those talent search shows. I mean, look at all the singers who have become stars! Carrie Underwood, Jennifer Hudson, Kelly Clarkson. Daughtry.”
“Right, ‘cause a girl from the projects is gonna get a recording contract.”
I stop my washing, removing my wet work gloves, and turn to face her, pressing my hip against the edge of the counter.
“How do you know if you never try? I bet if we google it, we’ll find a ton of musicians and celebrities who started off in similar circumstances. Never sell yourself short just because of where you came from or where you are at this moment. You have no idea where life can lead you or the direction it might take if you continue to think positively and with intention.”
Darnessa gives me a wary look like she’s heard this metaphorical stuff all before and doesn’t believe it.
“Listen,” I continue, hoping to get my point across without sounding too preachy. “We all start somewhere, but we all have different jump-off points. It’s up to you to decide to step in the right direction. To have the vision and to know where you want to go. Some people create vision boards to enable them to set their intents and path.”
Her head pulls back. “A vision board? That sounds like some rich, white girl’s bedroom collage, with Zac Efron and The Jonas Brothers plastered all over it.”
I laugh out loud at her description because it’s kind of spot on. “Okay, whatever you want to call it, the point of it is to tell you where you start and where you want to go.”
Picking up a pot, I set it on the edge of the counter to demonstrate, illustrating my point.
“This is your life map, if you will,” I point to the pan. “We all have a starting point. And if you set a goal, then you know which road to take.”
I place another pan opposite the first and a knife in the middle. But then I remove the second pan, leaving the spot empty. “Without that goal or vision of where you want to go, you’ll never know which direction to take or how to get there. And if you never try, you’ll never know what you’re worth.”
Darnessa digests this advice for a second, as I grab the dish towel and finish drying the last of the pots, internally pleased with my pot and pan analogy.
Then she asks in a bored tone, “Can we eat cake now?”
18
Miles
Miles:I’m running behind schedule. Will be there in an hour. Sorry, man.
Ben S.: No worries. Appreciate the heads up. See you when you get here.
Due to an emergency with Granny, I had to head up to Mystic last night and am on the train right now heading back into the city, already two hours late for the volunteer event.
This was not at all how I planned on spending my weekend. But after getting the call yesterday afternoon from Granny’s nursing facility, I had to make the trip to discuss her condition with her doctor and then to follow-up with her nursing staff.
Apparently, Granny became agitated yesterday, which is common with dementia patients. But, when the nurse’s aide tried giving Granny her meds, she slipped, losing her balance and fell to the ground, reinjuring her ankle and bruising her hip, which was just beginning to heal.
Exhausted and extremely irritated over the situation, I ended up staying overnight in our old house. The house that I still own, even though Granny will never move back in, and I have no reason to keep it. But I haven’t sold it just yet. Too many memories exist there, and letting it go would mean letting go of my mom, Granny, and my sister.
And I just can’t do that right now.
Granny had been sedated while I was there, and I only had a brief good morning and goodbye conversation with her before returning to the city. She wasn’t lucid enough to realize it was me, giving me only a blank, far off stare when I kissed her goodbye.
I’ve said too many goodbyes in my lifetime. You’d think it’d get easier the more times I’ve had to say it, but it doesn’t. Losing the two closest females in my life, my mom and my sister, and now slowly and painfully losing my grandmother to Alzheimer’s, it’s no wonder I don’t want a relationship with a woman. Why would I want to fall in love and possibly lose her?
It’s like knowing exactly how much it’ll hurt if you slice your hand with a knife but do it anyway.
Staying at the house brought back too many memories, and I’m in a shitty mood by the time I leave the train station and catch a cab to the youth center. I pay the driver and walk into the old building, the exterior decorated brightly with colorful murals of butterflies, puppies, kids laughing, and fields of flowers with the sunshine above.
