“I can’t believe I’m seriously jealous of a 93-year-old woman!” Shaniyah confessed to her sister, Shekinah.
“Yeah, but not just any 93-year-old woman. She’s a 93-year-old woman who walks two miles every day, looks 30 years younger, and does strength training twice a week despite having arthritis, diverticulitis, and bursitis.”
“Please don’t say that again. When I hear all of those ‘itises,’ I get more depressed.”
“Give yourself a little grace, Sis. I can see how the big ‘E’ could wrap its tentacles around your emotions when it comes to Mrs. Pauletta. She’s old, but she’s fierce. Instead of envying her, why don’t you let her awesomeness challenge you to do what you’ve been saying you wanted to do for the last two years—get your life back on track? Maybe God put her in your life as a provocateur. You know, to get your attention.”
“Number one—you make me sick when you make good sense. And number two, can you spell provocateur while you’re acting all sagey-ish and inspirational?”
Shekinah giggled. “Well, number one, if me making you sick will help make you healthy, I’m all in. And, number two, I love you too!”
Shaniyah reflected on this conversation with her twin as she drove along the well-maintained roads to Mrs. Pauletta’s house. Mrs. Pauletta had invited her and others over for a special time of food and fellowship. Shaniyah was genuinely surprised to receive the invitation. Aside from the large knitting group they both belonged to, she and Mrs. Pauletta didn’t socialize beyond the obligatory, “Hi, how are you?” at the knitting sessions.
I bet she lives in a big, beautiful house with a white picket fence, an immaculate lawn, a wraparound porch, and a colorful spring garden, Shaniyah thought cynically to herself. Oh well, at least I’ll get a good meal out of this. Lord knows I’m still struggling to pay off the expenses for the ‘wedding that never happened.’ I can’t believe that loser dumped me on the day of my bridal shower. And I could kick myself for giving up my scholarship to accommodate his insecurities. The biggest mistake of my life. I hope that cougar he left me for claws his heart and throat out!
“Okay, there’s 2117, 2119, 2123.” Shaniyah craned her neck in both directions down the street, searching for Mrs. Pauletta’s house. “There it is, 2125 Lafayette Lane.” Her taunting suspicions were confirmed. Mrs. Pauletta did live in a big, beautiful house with an immaculate lawn, a wraparound porch, and a colorful spring garden. The only thing missing was the white picket fence.
“Ugh, I knew it. She has everything. I should just turn around now and go home while I still have a quarter tank of dignity left.”
Before Shaniyah could peel off in her 2017 red Honda Civic, Mrs. Pauletta bounced onto the porch, smiling and waving as if she were welcoming a beloved family member home for the holidays.
“Dang. Too late!” Shaniyah shifted the gear to park, grabbed her rag-tag purse, plastered a fake smile on her face, and casually made her way to the porch.
When she finally reached Mrs. Pauletta, the vivacious nonagenarian pulled her into a comforting bear hug, linked arms with her, and escorted Shaniyah into the charming two-story Victorian house.
“I’m so glad you could make it, dear. And thank you for being on time. I hope you like the surprise I have planned for you?”
“Surprise? For me? It’s not my birthday. Why would you have a surprise for me? Aren’t you expecting other guests?”
“No, dear. Just you,” she said, flashing her coconut-white implants at Shaniyah.
“Just me? I thought you invited others?”
“No, you assumed I invited others. I believe blue is your favorite color,” she said, waving her hand toward the backyard as they stepped across the threshold of the wide French doors.
In the center of the yard, two rectangular tables were elegantly adorned with gardenias. Sky-blue metallic balloons spelled out Shaniyah’s name behind the tables. On the tables were shiny, genuine silver chafing dishes that held her favorite foods—chicken parmigiana, seafood fried rice, macaroni and cheese, and braised oxtails.
“M… M… Mrs. P,” Shaniyah stuttered. “You did all this for me?” She asked lifting the lid off each chafing dish as she walked. Shaniyah closed her eyes for a moment, swooning to the intoxicating aroma of each entrée.
“How did you know sky blue was my favorite color and, and you have all of my favorite foods and my favorite flower? H…H… How’d you know?”
Looking into Shaniyah’s eyes, Mrs. Pauletta responded, “I find out things about people I need to know better, dear. You see, I often ask the good Lord to show me someone who needs a generous portion of tender loving care, and he never fails to open my eyes to the one he wants to bless.”
“God, put me on your heart?” Shaniyah asked, hand on her chest as she spoke each word in disbelief.
“Oh yes, dear. God hasn’t forgotten you. You’re always on his heart and mind.”
She gently took Shaniyah’s hand, lovingly patting it.
“Shaniyah, I’m so sorry that bum treated you that way. He doesn’t deserve you.”
“Thanks, Mrs. P, but I feel like the biggest fool,” she said, shaking her head and giving the ground her attention.
“I got stuck with the bills, the embarrassment, and the shame while he’s driving around in a convertible, living in a mini-mansion, and being pampered by a woman who’s old enough to be my grandma. No offense.”
“None taken.” She pursed her lips and continued, “Shaniyah, I invited you here today because I want to make you an offer.”
“An offer? What kind of offer?” Good Lord, what have I gotten myself into? Her left eye twitched, the way it always did when her anxiety level spiked.
“An offer for you to eulogize your past,” she said, pointing behind her, “so you can embrace your future.” She waved her hand dramatically in front of her.
Shaniyah tilted her head to the side, looked at her hostess quizzically, and said, “Ha?”
“On that table,” Mrs. Pauletta continued, pointing to a small round table near a stone barbecue pit, “you’ll find what you need to eulogize your past.”
Mrs. P walked toward the house, stopped, and then turned back to face her puzzled guest. “It’s entirely up to you, dear, but isn’t it time?”
Mrs. P disappeared inside the house, leaving Shaniyah alone.
Shaniyah approached the table cautiously, fearing what she might find. She saw white lined paper, a black pen, and a distinctive brown box.
“Is that what I think it is?” she asked aloud.
She paced in front of the table, lost in thought, her eye twitching, while she rubbed her arms as if a cold breeze had swept over her. Except, there was none.
A few minutes passed when Shaniyah noticed two butterflies chasing each other above the table. She closed and opened her eyes several times to be sure she wasn’t imagining things.
Shaniyah smiled softly as goosebumps sprung up on both her arms; butterflies always reminded her of wonderful summers at her beloved Grandma Ella’s house. They had so much fun chasing butterflies together.
The chill she had felt disappeared, replaced by a warm sensation.
It was time, she decided. She sat at the table, picked up the pen, and wrote, and wrote. Her grief, anger, disappointment, bitterness, and hatred all spilled onto the pages. Tears smeared the words as she wrote, but it didn’t matter. The words were etched on the pages, and nothing could erase them. With every page she wrote, a layer of suffocation seemed to lift from her heart. She could breathe again.
She picked up the papers, folded them, placed them in the small coffin, and sealed the lid.
Mrs. Pauletta re-emerged. “I see you’ve made your decision. Excellent choice my dear. Now, if you’ll bring that coffin over to the barbecue pit and place it on the grill, we’ll have ourselves a good old-fashioned cremation service.”
Shaniyah quickly followed Mrs. P’s instructions and set the coffin on the grill.
“Are you ready?”
Shaniyah nodded without hesitation as she pressed her prayer-formed hands against her nose and mouth.
Mrs. Pauletta poured lighter fluid on the coffin and then set it on fire. “What a magnificent scene. Don’t you worry, dear. God will give you beauty for these ashes.”
Felicia Harris-Russell has dedicated 35 years to serving in Christian ministry. Her passion is helping people develop a joyful and intimate relationship with Jesus and become disciples—those who actively live out His teachings and reflect His image on earth. She resides in Georgia with her husband, Ben, where she enjoys reading, writing, watching mysteries, working on jigsaw puzzles, and walking in the park. Connect with her at www.feliciaharrisrussell.com.
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