Violet Juniper Cove
Violet
Juniper Cove
May 25, 2022
“When did you first notice the symptoms?”
“The symptoms?”
Me gaze travel from the hazy poster on the wall, grotesque in its intricacies of the female anatomy, past another, displaying the inner workings of the lungs, the stomach, intestines, over some cluttered mess of items—pens, me think, and swabs most likely, a baby’s scale, more. This not be like the clean, sterile clinics of home. At last I stare at the doctor. There, sitting so confident, like he got ne’er a care in the world. Like he never been hungry a day in he life. Never walk down the street afraid of too many things to count.
The symptoms.
They started long, long ago. Back when me own grandmammy be picking in the field, in the too-hot sun. Not having choice. Not knowing there be anything better. Then me think, no, farther back than that. Maybe to me grandmammy’s grandmammy, far off, someplace in Africa. When someone fooled, cheated, stole her. However it all came to be.
But I know that not what the doctor asking. So I smile, real-nice-like. Like it no big deal, ’cause that what I taught to do, even though it one of the biggest deals I can think of.
I say, “Me think it been ’bout two years now. Maybe three?” Which is a lie. It been closer to five. And him look at me, silent. Lips pressed, so I can hardly tell where those thin lines end and his face begin. And that look make like me so small, like me could jump out the keyhole in the door.
I know he nice man. I know he feel bad for me, for whatever reason there be I wait so long. Probably he think I too stupid, too poor to know better. I none those things. I just busy, scared. Tired. Once I had four children, three daughters. Now I have two. And they, these two, they not even mine. Not really.
All me own babies under the ground. Still, there be these two, and I try to take care of them. I owe them that, with all that be stolen. So I delay, put off, pretending, like I taught to do, like we all always taught to do, because being here, sitting in front of this clean-cut, bright-eyed, young-enough-to-be-my-grandbaby man mean I got to admit it…maybe someday soon, it going to be them have to take care of me.
No wonder it take me so long.