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“Is he your age?”
“Honey, finding a man my age would be like searching for an ear of corn in a watermelon patch.”
We both laughed.
“No, I have a younger gentleman who comes calling. He’s just a baby: seventy-four.”
“Wow, I never thought I’d hear a man in
his seventies being called a baby.”
She giggled and ran her fingers through her silver hair. “Me either, but thank the Lord that I’m here to be able to do it.”
“So every Tuesday you have dinner together? That’s so romantic. I’m so happy for you.”
“I’m happy for me, too, and dinner is not all we have,” she said suggestively. “I make the same meal every week: smothered pork chops with gravy, collard greens, creamed corn, and sweet potato pie. He always brings a bottle of sparkling cider and a bouquet of roses. We sit and talk, we eat, and then we make love.”
I was so amazed at her openness and I realized why she looked and felt so great for her age. The woman was loved by a man and she loved him back. That was something I had never had but something I was determined to get.
The hall was thinning out so I decided it was time for me to head on home. “Would you like for me to walk you out? Do you need a ride someplace?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine. I live a block away and I enjoy the walk. One reason why I’ve lived so long is because I’ve always been active. I watched way too many of my friends wither away and most of them would have lived a lot longer if they hadn’t just given up. Just because you age doesn’t mean you have to act old.”
“I totally agree with you.”
She gave me one last hug. “Take care of yourself, child, and maybe we can sit together again sometime.”
I smiled. “I’d like that. I’d like that very much.” She started walking away. “Wait! I don’t even know your name.”
She turned around. “Just call me Nanna. That’s what everyone calls me: my family, my friends, and the people here at this church. I’m like a mother to everyone.”
“Thanks, Nanna,” I said. “My name’s Jonquinette and it has been a real pleasure. You’ve helped me in ways I could never explain.”
She chuckled. “We all help each other.”
30
jonquinette
My conversation with the old woman after church truly motivated me. I found myself so hyped up later that night that I couldn’t get to sleep. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling for what seemed like an eternity, but sleep would not come. I tried drinking a pot of green tea. Still nothing. I tried reading myself to sleep with V. Anthony Rivers’ novel Everybody Got Issues. I ordered the book offline because of the title, not only catchy, but true. Still nothing, though. I couldn’t go to sleep.
I finally figured out that I needed to talk to someone about my plans to speak with Momma the following day. I thought about going downstairs to Mason’s but I didn’t want to appear too needy. At least, not with him. So, I called the one person who was well aware that I was needy and then some. It was ten after midnight.
The phone rang twice before a groggy female voice picked up and said, “Hello.”
“Marcella?” I asked to make sure I had copied the right phone number down from my answering machine.
“Jonquinette, is that you?”
I was astonished that she recognized my voice so quickly. “I’m sorry for calling you at home so late on a Sunday but I really need to chat with you.”
I heard some movement on the other end of the phone and then she said, “I already told you, you can contact me anytime. What’s wrong?”
“I just feel so bemused and I’m scared about what I plan to do tomorrow.”
“Which is what?”
I paced the floor with my cordless phone for a few seconds before answering, “Confronting my mother.”
