Harlem Duane Reade, Halloween Eve

“Now, that ain’t always the case, Momma. Look what happened to you and Daddy.” 

It's after eight, and most grocery stores in the area have closed. A woman wearing jogging pants and a sweatshirt, glasses, and cornrows stands still in the food aisle with her cell phone pressed to her ear. Her red basket, full of snacks, toiletries, and other household items, is at her feet. 

“I said look what happened to you and Daddy. You did good and were a good mother, and he still left. I’m just sayin’ sometimes it doesn’t matter what you do.”

Her voice is patient and animated. She carefully articulates each word.

“You remember Daddy, Momma. . . He died, Momma. . . Yeah he did, about seven years ago. . . Cancer of the brain . .  He suffered bad but not long.” 

She clears her throat and says, louder this time, “I said he suffered pretty bad but not too long. He died pretty quick. You saw him about nine days before he died . . . Yeah you did. You drove up to see him with Aunt Retta and Aunt Mel, remember? You saw him nine days before he died."

When she begins to speak again she interrupts herself, “No, you go ahead, Retta.” She is quiet as she listens and then can be heard laughing by shoppers in neighboring aisles.

“That’s right, I got three of ‘em. Two boys and a girl. . . .Trey, the oldest is in Miami, Florida, in school. My other boy is in school in Brooklyn, New York. And my daughter is working uptown with me.”

People edge around her as she talks. Seemingly unaware of their presence, she stands erect, her eyes fixed on whatever is on the lowest shelf.

“Everybody’s doin’ real good, Momma. . . . I’m doin’ good too. It’s good to talk to you. You sound like you’re doin’ good too . . . I know it. Well, I’m working woman these days Momma, I’m a tired, working woman. That’s why I haven’t talked to you all as much as I used to, because I’m tired. . . .

“But it’s real good to talk to you, it’s real good to hear your voice. Now I’ll talk to you again real soon, OK? And Aunt Retta, if I can find something for your knees I’ll try to send it to you . . . No I don’t mean a pill, I mean something you put on the knees, something you can rub on them. I know you sometimes have trouble swallowing. . .

“OK then. I’ll talk to you soon. I love you Momma. Did you hear me? I said I love you Momma. Love you Aunt Retta.”

Then the woman's aisle is quiet. She has hung up, but moments later she is talking again, this time much faster, and in tone less didactic. 

“Trey?” she says. “Sorry about that--I was in a three-way call with Grandma and Aunt Retta. . . . I was talkin to Grandma, and she seemed to be makin some sense. You know, usually she doesn’t make sense, so when she’s makin’ sense I try to get her on the phone with Aunt Retta and Aunt Mel so they can talk like the used to.

"So how are you doin' Trey?"