"Oh, really. Well, first of all, Mama, you might want to consider giving up this gloomy notion of dying altogether, because, as soon as you get on this new diet-if you can force yourself to give up that stupid beer, among other things-and you go see a holistic doctor instead of these pill pushers, you'll see how you can learn to manage this disease."

She's shaking her head like I don't get it and is squeezing my hand hard. Too hard.

"Lots of people are leading productive, active lives who have asthma. Look at Jackie Joyner-Kersee. She's a heptathlete, a gold-medalist, an Olympian."

"Yeah, well, she's also young."

"Mama, you're not old. You're only fifty-five."

"I won't be fifty-five for two and a half more weeks. Anyway, I don't wanna run or jump no-d.a.m.n-where. So more power to that girl. I would just like to walk up a flight of stairs or to the corner and back without getting short of breath."

"I know."

"No, you don't know."

"Okay," I say, not sure what to say next, but this is what comes out of my mouth: "Well, Mama, let's just say that, hypothetically speaking, if something were to happen to you and I became the so-called guide, as you say, my question to you is this: who's going to be there to help guide me?"

"Me," she says, matter-of-factly. And then releases her grip.

I'm not enjoying this conversation. Don't like the topic or the tone, and especially the direction it's going, so I decide to change it. "What's the real deal with Daddy, Mama?"

"We ain't talking about Cecil right now, are we?"

I shake my head.

"Look, Paris. I ain't trying to scare you. I could live another two years or another twenty. You just never know. I been meaning to get some things out in the open in case something was to happen to me, so somebody would be prepared."

"I feel lucky. Okay, Mama. I get it. Now, can we talk about living for a few minutes?"

"Okay," she says. "What do yon want?"

"What do you mean, what do I want?"

"For yourself."

"I've got just about everything I need."

"I beg to differ with you, baby."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You got blessed with Dingus. We both know that. But, Paris, it's written all over your face: something's missing in your life. Food and money ain't quite cutting it, can't you see that?"

Why does she have to go here? I said I was going to put everybody in their place when I got here, didn't I? But this doesn't exacdy feel like the wisest time to chastise my mother, so I just say: "I'm doing the best I can."

"That's not true. You trying too hard to do all the right things, to fill up all your blank s.p.a.ces. But you filling up them holes with bulls.h.i.t. Stuff that don't make you feel good inside. It look good from the outside, and that's why you getting headaches and taking pills. But ain't no pill in the world can cure what you got."

"And what is it that I've got?"

"Heartache." "Heart what?"

"You can spell it any way you want to, but it still boils down to plain old loneliness."

She does not know what she's talking about. "I'm not lonely, Mama. And when was my heart supposed to have been broken?"

She looks at me like I'm crazy. I guess she would be referring to Nathan. "You can't fool me, Paris. I brought you into this world. I can see right through you. What you need to do is drop your guard and let somebody find the latch that opens the gate to your heart. You'll feel a whole lot better."

"What makes you think it's not open?"

" 'Cause you shooting out radar that screams: 'Don't talk to me, don't bother me, I'm fine, I can manage all by myself. I don't need n.o.body!' "

"I think you're overstating the point, Mama. But what's bad about managing on my own?"

"Nothing, Paris. But stop focusing so much on Dingus. That boy's already on his way. You've done a good job raising him, and he's gon' be all right. Now put some of that energy into you." "How?"

"Go out. Do something stupid sometime. Something silly, something that tickle you-h.e.l.l, something that don't make no d.a.m.n sense." "Could you be more specific, Oprah?" "Join a club." "What kind of club?"

"h.e.l.l, I don't know! They got clubs for everything." "What about you, Mama?"

"We ain't talking about me now, is we, or are we?" "No. So let's make this a two-way session. Try this on: I'm not the one who's fifty-four and seven-eighths years old with a husband who has moved in with some welfare hoochie and left me in a tacky litde house by myself that from what I gather the IRS has a lien against, and I didn't just get out of the hospital after having a severe asthma attack, and I'm not the one who doesn't have a major source of income except Social Security. So-what kind of changes do you have in store, Miss V?"

"Well, first of all, if you gon' tell it, get the s.h.i.t right. This house got more than a lien against it, baby. They gon' take this h.e.l.lhole in a hot minute."

I get a lump in my throat. "Take it?"

"You heard me."

"Well, what do we need to do to stop it?"

"We ain't doing nothing. I don't wanna live in this dump no more."

"But what about Daddy, Mama? Are you sure he's not coming back?"

"I don't want him back."

"We've heard this before."

"Anyway, do you wanna hear some of the things I wanna do or not?"

"Yes I do."

"Okay," she says, her tone softening. "I would love to go on that cruise with Loretta."

"Sounds good."

"I wanna get some decent dentures. A tight fit, so they don't click when I talk."

"You should have only the best teeth, Mama."

"I'm serious, Paris! I hate these d.a.m.n things. They make my gums sore."

"Sorry," I say, smirking and glad it's dark in here.

"And I'm gon' lose some weight. At Jenny Craig."

I want to laugh when I think of Mama doing a commercial for Jenny or starving on those miniature meals, but I know she's serious, so I just say, "Uh-huh."

"And I wanna live in a real house with a garage-door opener, but a condo would be just fine, as long as I can have enough yard to plant a handful of something."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

"Now, this last one might seem oudandish," she says. I a.s.sume because the others haven't.

"What's that?"

"I want a brand-new car. 1 don't care what kind it is. Did you know that me and your daddy ain't never had a new car?"

"Nope. But, Mama, I don't mean to put a hole in your balloon, but how are you planning to get all this stuff?" "I don't know." "You have to have some idea." "I might start a day care." "A what?" "You heard me."

"I thought kids got on your nerves."

"They do. I could just run it. I wouldn't necessarily have to take care of 'em."

"Good idea. But you have to get a license."

"So I'll get one."

"You have to take cla.s.ses."

"I can read."

"I know that."

"Plus, I been playing the lottery and been hitting for four numbers off and on this past year, and my palm keep itching which means something's gon' happen in the very near future. I just feel it."

"So-I'm a.s.suming you'll be alive when you hit the lottery?" "You go to h.e.l.l, Paris."

"I'll keep my fingers crossed for you, Mama. But, in all seriousness, I might have a few extra dollars to spare. After my taxes are paid this quarter I'll check with my accountant and see what I can do to help you out in a few of those areas."

"That would be nice, but don't strain yourself."

"Well, I have to do something."

"You ain't gotta do nothing."

"But I can, Mama."

"Okay, can I ask you something else?"

"No, Mama."

"Why don't you wanna do that television program?"

"Because it would be too time-consuming."

"What ain't? It sounds like a whole lotta money."

"That's why so many people are miserable as it is, doing it just for the money. And it's not as much money as you think."

"Well, what about that cookbook idea?"

"I'm working on it. I just need time to develop the proposal. It's more to it than handing over a bunch of recipes, Ma."

She rolls over and, out of habit, reaches for her inhaler and takes a few puffs, then rolls back over and looks up at the ceiling. She's quiet for a few minutes. I'm listening to the silence. "Janelle is going through something. I think she done found out that George been doing what I suspected he was doing all along."

"What makes you say that?"

"Can't you see how grown Shanice is looking, not to mention acting?"

"I didn't notice one way or the other."

"She's different."

"She's going through p.u.b.erty, Mama.'.'

"p.u.b.erty, my a.s.s. Somebody done messed her p.u.b.erty all up, and his name is George or my name ain't Viola Price."

"So what should we do?"

"I don't know. But if I tell you something, I want you to keep it to yourself."

"All right."

"I smelled liquor on Shanice's breath today."

This makes me sit up. "What?"

"You heard me. I know it was beer."

"Mama, she's only twelve years old."

"Wake up, Paris. Something is bothering that child. My instincts is telling me that things ain't right in their house. I just wanna make sure you watch out for her, 'cause if Janelle's too G.o.dd.a.m.n stupid and put that man before her own daughter-if and when the s.h.i.t do hit the fan-promise me, before anybody else gets her, you'll take care of Shanice."

"I thought Janelle said George was gone?"

Mania just sucks 011 her teeth, then takes them out and sets them on the table. I think I will get her a decent set.

"How far could he go?" Mama says. "It's his house."