Powerful Storms #3
Into the phone, Noma said, “Hello, Doctor Dan… Yes… Of course… Uh-huh… Thank you for calling me… Oh.” Her eyes would catch mine, then look elsewhere.
“I see… The, uh, blood work—wait, that count again, sir?” Believe it or not, you can see blood drain from one’s face.
I saw Noma’s as she listened to the receiver.
“Are—are you sure?” Then her upper body jolted as if an invisible man had punched her.
“But, we could retake— … Of course, but—”
I didn’t move for what felt like forever.
Then, her eyes drifted shut, and her voice lowered. “Yes, I know what that means. Unfortunately, I understand everything you are saying… Yes, your office will hear from me soon.” Her eyes opened, but she moved like a zombie while hanging up the phone.
Time may heal all things, but time can also be a competing race that you will lose every time.
Once it picks up speed, it’s like a caged horse now free of fences and reins.
There’s no stopping the raw wildness as it gallops and runs, too strong to be held back.
Up to this point, Grandpa’s protective clouds kept us safe, but like the horse of time, nature is uncontrollable.
Noma was at the mercy of the Universe’s will.
Again, like the day my dad was murdered, I was wishing I had the power to stop time altogether.
Turning the stove off, I hadn’t checked if the pasta was tender. Nor did I pour it into the waiting strainer in the sink. My stomach was doing nauseating flips as if the ground were experiencing a deadly earthquake. “Noma?”
She didn’t say anything. Only got off the stool, hands rubbing down to fix her shirt as her chin lifted high and proud.
It’s wild how the mind works. Noma had been in survival mode for so long that she didn’t know how to react like a normal person. Noma didn’t know how to crumble to her knees and ask why. She only knew how to keep fighting.
And that’s what she did.
Enraged at how unfair life was treating us once again, she marched into the kitchen for a large black garbage bag. Then moved to an AC return vent in a living room wall, ripped it open, and retrieved that bag of money. Of all the places to hide mad cash… In plain sight.
The overstuffed bag was in a tied garbage bag in seconds.
Next, with arms full, she marched out the front door, just as I had after opening Life Date gifts, and straight into the rainy night.
The drops felt like my dad, her husband, and her daughter were all crying from the heavens above.
Those tears poured on us as I followed her out of the house, desperate to be told what was happening.
Her energy screamed about a rage I couldn’t quite understand as she dropped the bag and headed to the little shed on the right side of the house.
Before I could ask questions, she was already coming back out with a shovel in hand.
I followed, not sure what to do, or to ask, or to say. What could the doctor have said that would cause this reaction?
No reasoning was offered.
Without missing a step, Noma grabbed a handle to the plastic bag and dragged it as she kept marching, straight to the large tree in the front yard that I had carved with Dad’s knife.
Unlike the carved word found, there was no one to witness this. Out here, only the uninhabited. Including an unhinged grandma.
After dropping the bag’s handle, Noma grabbed the shovel, lifted it above her head, then struck the earth so hard I was sure the devil she was cursing felt her rage.
Dirt was flung behind before she struck the earth again in an attempt to create a hole.
As the rain began to soak in, small clumps flung in all directions, plopping onto the ground.
Without warning, as if this digging process was not happening fast enough, she abandoned the hole and began madly swinging the shovel, hitting the side of the tree. The cries escaping her were like nothing I’ve ever heard. Not even when she cried for her daughter…
I just stood there, watching this pillar crumble into so many painful pieces, and all I could do was cry with her, not understanding why.
The innocent tree accepted every blow. Nature understood her heart shattering. Nature understands death and rebirth.
My grandma swung that shovel, everywhere, at anything she could hit or miss until her body surrendered to the mania that had possessed her, and collapsed to the ground.
Not knowing how to give up a fight, in the mud, her tiny fists hit the earth as she screamed an anger that was so powerful I was shocked the earth didn’t open and swallow her whole.
I wanted to hold her. I wanted to help her.
However, sometimes the insane need time to find themselves before a touch is welcomed.
Instead, I picked up the shovel and finished what she couldn’t.
As I placed the bag of money in a deep hole, I felt as though I wanted to be buried, too.
Noma had picked this spot because she knew I’d never forget it.
That meant she wouldn’t be here to help me remember…
It was cancer.
The doctor had told my Noma that she would soon be leaving her baby boy… all alone.