he see that last night and all the nights before? How he ravaged me? Does she know that I feel plundered, like a picked-over battlefield littered with dead bodies? That some days I am dead, and that Sarai, taking care of her, is the only thing forcing me through the motions of life? When MiMi looks in my eyes, does she see?
Her hands pass through the air above, covering me in scented breezes. Her words migrate from Spain, from France and West Africa, all the places that made us and mix in our blood, in our heritage. The syllables fall from her lips, foreign and familiar, as tossed and varied as the gumbo she taught me to prepare.
“Breathe out the lies,” she says. “That it was your fault. That you failed. That you are what he said you were.”
When her words sink in, when they drill down to my core, a sob explodes, detonating through my belly and chest, and blasting open a wall of deceit I didn’t know was there. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, and I’m so damned tired of tasting my tears. The image of Caleb pressing his thumb into my mouth that first night, soaked with my tears, flashes through my mind. The night his wicked trap caught me.
“Breathe in truth.” Her hands are busy in the air over me, slicing through lies. “You are pure. You are enough. You are strong.” She leans closer, her whisper as sharp and fierce as the knife in her drawer. “He can’t hurt you.”
My shoulders shake and my head tips back, emotion stretching me wide, arching my back, elongating my neck, and wrenching my mouth open in a wail, a warrior cry. And in a smoky room filled with shadows, those parts of me Caleb scattered, I reconvene. All the pieces he splintered, I mend. And everything he stole from me like a petty thief, those things, every single one of them, I repossess.
“Yes.” MiMi’s affirmation infuses the air with power. “Strength. Dignity. Courage. All these things belong to you. Take them back. Your soul is yours. Your heart is yours. Your body is yours. Yours to keep and yours to share.”
Yours to keep and yours to share.
The words summon a memory I haven’t allowed myself in months. Breathing in and out, I indulge in thoughts of August. His carved profile and soft, full lips. His thundercloud eyes and gentle hands. A body of granite covered in taut, velvet skin. The urgent want smoldering between us. His hunger so palpable, I felt it stroking me everywhere. His tongue delving inside, seeking, giving.
“Oh, God.” A gasp transports me, and my eyes drop closed until we are alone again, he and I. Back in that closet, the door shut, sealed off from the world. Our mouths meld and our breaths tangle, and I can’t gather enough of him on my tongue, can’t reach enough of his body. I press into him until our bones touch, until our souls kiss, until every part of me, from the inside out, I’ve shared with him.
And I break.
I break like a storm on the Mississippi River, a relief from the cloying weight of summer heat. I’m a deluge, drowning my doubts and washing away my fears. I stiffen with a catharsis so spiritual and sensual, so pure and carnal, that for a moment, I’m not of this world. I’m above its cares, outside of its confines, divorced from my body and untethered from the earth.
“Breathe in,” MiMi says softly. “Breathe out.”
Her words slowly reel me back, returning me to the small room behind the curtain. They ground me in a fresh sphere with a lightened body and spirit.
“What was that?” My breath comes in pants and my hands shake. “What did you do?”
At first I think she’ll only answer with a smile and an otherworldly light in her eyes, but she reaches back to answer my question from before.
“These,” she says, waving her hand at the bottles on the shelves, “don’t tell me what you need. They don’t tell me what to do. You do that. You, ma petite, you needed the truth. I gave it to you.”
I’m still not sure what she actually means.
I sit up carefully, expecting my head to spin, but the room is steady and I’m not weak-limbed.
“A few moments with the truth don’t chase away the lies forever,” she says, pushing back the sweat-dampened hair clinging to my face. “Lies don’t give up easily. You’ll have to remind yourself and heal yourself over and over, every time they come.”
“You mean I need to talk to a therapist?” I ask. I’ve thought of that and probably will at some point.
“Yes.” Her smile is that of a younger woman, knowing, teasing. “And sleep naked sometimes. Soon, you’ll want again.”
We share a husky laugh. Recalling August’s kiss, I wonder if she’s right. I slide off the bed and touch my bare feet to the floor, reaching for her.
“Thank you, MiMi.” I blink at my tears with my head tucked into her long, silver braid. “I feel so weak sometimes, and you make me feel strong.”
“Struggle does not make you weak,” she whispers back. “Struggling against those who hold us is what makes us, over time, stronger than they are. Strong enough to fight back. Strong enough to win.”
That night, with the soft sounds of crickets and swamp creatures drifting through my window, I sleep better than I have in months. I sleep so deeply that by the time I wake up, the sun is higher and brighter than usual. I reach out and find the space beside me empty.
“Sarai!” I bolt up, my breath caged and flapping in my chest. I fumble through the sheets, stumbling out of bed and into the narrow hall.
My daughter’s sweet voice drifts back to me from MiMi’s room. My smile comes full and wide. I’m so glad we’ve had this time with my great-grandmother; the experiences I missed as a child, Sarai will be able to treasure.
“Wake up,” she cajoles in that sing-song voice she uses to stir me on mornings when it’s hard for me to rise. MiMi usually beats the sun up and, at more than ninety years old, is making coffee and cooking eggs and bacon before I’m awake. Last night must have worn her out, too. I lean my shoulder into the doorjamb, running my eyes over MiMi’s small bedroom, stuffed with furniture too big for the space and photos, many black and white, crowding the walls. The room is set to burst, a larger-than-life woman squeezed between the walls.
Sarai sits beside MiMi, rubbing her little palm over the silver hair loosened on the pillow. Her eyes, the darkest parts of blue and violet, consider me solemnly. My gaze drifts to MiMi, who stares back at me, eyes unblinking and void of life. I rush to the bed, grabbing her hand. It’s cold and stiff. At her wrist, there is no rhythm.