AMBER WAS CONTEMPLATING life and the processes of nature as she rocked on the porch, enjoying the spring breeze. Surrounded by tender green leaves, blue sky, and cumulous clouds, she was trying to solve a persistent problem, an obstacle that threatened to block her passage into the life of her dreams. This dilemma, besides being the source of her frustration, was also the object of her deepest love, Mrs. Inez Bagley, Amber’s Meemaw.
Amber’s grandmother was a problem with no apparent solution. She’d always been a generous soul, but now she needed help. Amber couldn’t stay there forever. She dreamed of an avenue out, away from the stench and clutter of the only home she’d ever known. Sitting outside on days like this brought hope for a new beginning.
Inside, her space was neat, but it could barely contain her personal belongings. Things had accumulated. Casting away objects that defined the stages of her childhood had been difficult. She kept a few dolls and stuffed animals in one corner of her room, piled together inside a large rope-handled plastic tote. A wooden shelf held stacks of old CDs, a megaphone from junior year when she’d blundered through a stint on the cheerleading squad, and a softball glove. Shorts, skirts, sweaters, jeans, and T-shirts. Flip-flops, jogging shoes, Converse All Stars—all packed into the tiny closet. On her desk a dictionary, a few paperbacks, and a dented Christmas cookie tin attested to years of homework.
She’d always done well in school. Excited by the prospect of going away to study, she’d applied to several large universities. Her preference was Georgia State in downtown Atlanta. Life in the city with shops, cafes, and sights to see was what she longed for, a chance to find her true identity reflected in history, art, and the lives of new friends.
But thinking about the future made her anxious. Trying to imagine the classes and students brought images of herself as a country bumpkin. And thoughts of her grandmother clouded her fantasies. What would Meemaw do without someone to take out the garbage and keep groceries in the house? Who’d make sure she ate decent meals, instead of fast-food specials based on her latest coupon finds?
Meemaw was overweight with high blood pressure and type 2 diabetes, and sometimes she had dizzy spells. The doctor said stress should be avoided and her medicines must be taken regularly. Amber treaded lightly around her grandmother to keep her on an even keel. In matters regarding clutter and trash, she always gave in, enabling her disorder, but what else could she do?
Meemaw required a newspaper everyday, and she kept them in different piles according to how thoroughly they’d been gone through. Earlier that morning Amber had offered to carry to the recycling center a leaning stack that threatened to topple and block the kitchen entrance. She’d gotten the expected reply: “No, no, no! I’m not done with those yet.”
“But Meemaw,” Amber had said, “those papers have been there for months. They’re old now, the news and coupons. Expired. They’re in the way.”
“They’re fine. There’s an article I misplaced about a wedding. You remember, Doris Fletcher’s daughter got married. What was her name? Wasn’t much older than you. There was a nice picture. It’s in that stack somewhere. I’ll go through them soon. I really should save that wedding story.”
“Let’s do it now. I’ll help you, then we can get rid of this pile.”
“That’s nice of you, Sweetpea, but I’m getting ready to go out. Gonna meet Alice Duncan at Jack’s for breakfast. They’re running a special on sausage and egg biscuits, plus free coffee for seniors. Got the coupons here somewhere.” She pushed aside a pile of Styrofoam containers, then plopped an amorphous beige handbag down on the kitchen table and began rummaging inside.
“Fine.” Amber turned and retreated to her room as usual.
She pulled the lid off the tin box on her desk and stirred around in there. Her fingers passed over pencil nubbins, paper clips, old keys, a few pens that needed refills, barrettes, buttons, a marble, and a couple of AAA batteries. One of the pencil nubs was long enough to use. She examined it, then dropped it back in with the others before pressing the lid back into place.
She regarded a stack of old magazines and decided they could go. She tied them up carefully inside a plastic grocery bag. Then she made her way through piles of clutter to the narrow front porch, where she set the heavy sack down beside her rocker.
Outside the breeze was fresh, but Amber could still smell the house at her back, a giant trash can. Contemplating her life and surroundings, she heard the front door open as a hummingbird made darting stabs at the feeder she’d hung from the eaves a few days before.
A rush of stale air followed her grandmother onto the porch. “I’ve got to go. Don’t want to keep Alice waiting.”
Amber said, “Be careful.”
As Meemaw hastened in her doddering way, digging in her bag for the car keys, her foot caught the sack of magazines, causing her to stumble. Her shoe sole slipped off the step’s edge. The ankle twisted. She tumbled. Her fall abruptly stopped when her hip struck the bottom step, making an audible crack.
“Meemaw!” Amber’s cry seemed muffled. She blinked, glanced up to see the hummingbird buzzing off against a bank of clouds.
Amber’s grandmother turned herself but didn’t try to get up. Grimaced and moaned instead. “Done broke my hip . . . God it hurts! Tripped over that damned sack. Why’d you put it in the way?”
Amber blinked again, then reached for her phone, fumbling to press the numbers. Then, moving down the steps, she said, “I’m sorry, Meemaw. So sorry.”
***
Amber was sorry, at a depth she’d never before known, for her grandmother’s suffering and for the fissures spreading throughout her own plans. This new level of sorrow began with the accident and would last for a long time. She spent most of that day, when she wasn’t talking to emergency room doctors and nurses, calling the few people she knew who could help. She would try to reach her mother, whom she’d not seen in months, but first she’d call Pastor Rick, a trustworthy soul always eager to lend a hand.
Amber had attended church at Midway Baptist regularly with her grandmother for as long as she could remember. She’d only recently begun to resent the time spent in that cavernous old building with its maze of hallways, classrooms, and offices. There was a smell about the place, especially in the sanctuary, that was comfortable while bordering on musty, the ripe fragrance of faith.
Encouragement was there too, in the stained glass images of Jesus in the garden, with the apostles, and at the right hand of the Father. Posters outside the classrooms showed happy children or teens illuminated through prayer and good deeds. Proudly displayed also were each week’s attendance numbers and rising dollar amounts for various projects and outreach programs. Pastor Rick with his animated bulk, benevolent smile, and neatly trimmed hair was a moveable breathing fixture whose manner embodied optimism. Amber loved him and knew that he and the church, even though her attendance had fallen off in the last year, would help her handle the problems of her injured grandmother during what was sure to be a painful time of recovery. Hopefully the hoarding disorder, soon to be exposed, could be addressed as well. Trying to imagine the details, though, was overwhelming.
Within an hour after Amber reached the pastor, he was sitting beside her in the emergency room. Meemaw had been taken back for x-rays. As they waited, Amber explained what had happened, calmly at first, but when she got to the part where her grandmother fell, the sound of cracking bone came back to her and her voice began to quaver. He held her hand and patted it.
Amber looked into his soft brown eyes, then turned away. A sob erupted. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“My dear child, it’s in the Lord’s hands. He loves you and will take care of this. Let’s pray.” And so they did. Still holding her hand and with head bowed the pastor said, “Our most gracious heavenly father. . . .” Amber bowed her head and tried to listen, but her mind wandered. God would take care of it, but how? All the trash inside the house, Meemaw in a wheelchair, her college plans. Dear God, she said inside her mind as the pastor’s voice droned on, help Meemaw to get better. Help me get out of here. Help me to have a life.
***
Meemaw was admitted and would require surgery. Amber tried calling her mother several times during the flurry of activity that followed: forms; questions; interviews with the specialist, nurses, and a social worker. Then she was tasked with driving the Buick to the house to get Meemaw’s necessary items, and she answered calls from her grandmother’s church friends. “Yes, yes, fell and broke her hip. Gonna do a replacement. Surgery scheduled for tomorrow. Yes ma’am. She’s in room 317. Thanks, thanks for your prayers.”
She couldn’t reach her mother. The number was no longer working. This had happened before, more than once. Her mother was living in Atlanta with her most recent boyfriend, but Amber didn’t have the address, only this non-working number. Amber’s mother, Jane, was not welcome anymore in Meemaw’s house. Even if she had been, Amber would not have wanted her to see the way things were now.
The last time she’d seen her was Christmas, when they’d met at the Denney’s Restaurant for a quick meal and exchange of gifts. There at the restaurant Amber had pretended to like her mother’s new tattoos that looked like Viking warrior women riding dragons. And she pretended to like her gift, a garish tee shirt with the artwork and logo of a metal band called “Lizzie’s Whoredom.” The imagery included a seductress in Viking gear with head thrown back and legs spread. From her crotch—encircled by a pentagram—sprang a school bus, fetuses, Donald Trump’s head, and a squadron of fighter jets.
Amber had said, “Wow. Cool!” They hugged. Then she watched her mother drive away in a battered, decades-old Hyundai. Now, in the waiting room with her cell phone in her lap, Amber wondered why Jane was the way she was and why their relationship was as thin as off-brand canned soup. She didn’t know much about what had happened during her infant and toddler years, why her mother had left and why Meemaw always said, when questioned about those times, “I just pray that your mother will return to the training of her childhood, that she will not depart from it, at least not permanently. But for now she’s chosen her own path, and it’s the wrong one.”
Amber knew her grandmother was wise, although she didn’t always understand her wisdom. She certainly didn’t understand the current situation with the house full of trash and Meemaw’s unwillingness to let any of it go. And now her hip was broken and things would be even worse.
She told herself to calm down, to take things one step at a time, but what would be the first step? The house with its clutter and stench rose up, blocking other thoughts. Soon there would be people there from church and the neighborhood. They would be appalled. With Meemaw out of commission, now would be the time to clear out some of the mess. If she got angry later, too bad.
In the elevator going up to the third floor, carrying an overnight bag of Meemaw’s items, Amber tried to think of an excuse for leaving the hospital. The surgery was scheduled for in the morning; if she worked hard this evening, she could dump much of the worst of the trash before surgery time, when she would need to be back. Clear out a path at least. Spray some air freshener. Open the windows.
She walked past the nurses’ station where everyone was busy in a good-humored way. A heavy woman glanced up and smiled. “Hey there, sweetheart. We got your grandmother resting easy now. She’s gonna be just fine. And she’s already entertaining visitors.”
Amber smiled back. “Okay. Thanks.” She pushed open the door and entered the small room, prompting the three ladies gathered around the bed to raise their heads, smile, and shuffle aside.
“Sweetpea,” Meemaw said. “Feeling a little better now. They gave me something.” Her words were slurred, and she blinked languidly. “Alice, Grace, and Maggie came to visit. Wasn’t that nice of them?”
Amber nodded. “Yes, very nice. Thank y’all for coming.”
Alice, with freshly coiffed hair, said, “The doctor—that bone specialist—was just in. He said your grandmother is gonna be fine. He’s one of the best in the field, you know. Performed dozens of hip replacements.”
The other ladies nodded in agreement.
“That’s good,” Amber replied, looking for a spot to set down the bag. There was a flurry of activity as the two other women reached to retrieve their purses from atop the small chest of drawers. Amber placed the bag and moved to her grandmother’s side. Meemaw lifted her hand, and Amber took it in hers. “I’m glad the pain is better,” she said. “You need to get some rest.”
“I know it. I’m resting now that you’re here. I don’t blame you for what happened. I shouldn’t be so clumsy.”
Amber didn’t know what to say.
Alice cleared her throat, bringing up the subject of Amber’s future. “I hear you’re applying to colleges and thinking about moving off to Atlanta. That sure is exciting, but you know, with things the way they are, it might be easier to stay here and go to the community college, at least for a while. I hate to think of you being so far away, especially over there in the city where so many bad things happen. We’d be worrying about you all the time.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I think I’ll be fine. Kinda had my heart set on going away to school. Georgia State isn’t that far, and I’ve already applied—”
“I understand. I was young once myself. Things happen, though. The Lord has a way of showing us where we need to be. We just need to stay in the Word and trust him. Abide in his will because he loves us and knows what’s best.”
The other ladies nodded in agreement. The thin one, Maggie, with close-set eyes and a green scarf around her neck, said, “You are both in our prayers: healing for your grandmother, guidance for you. May his grace be sufficient.”
“Amen.”
“Amen. We’d better be going now,” Alice said. “Let these two have some time together.”
Grace, shuffling aside, said, “Let us know if you need anything.”
“Yes ma’am . . .”
Goodbyes echoed around the room. Meemaw’s was a beat late and barely audible. Then they were alone. Amber sat down and stared up at the TV, volume off. A zany talk show with a panel of women. Soon Meemaw was fast asleep. Amber slipped out, anxious to haul away some trash.
***
Amber’s best friend Cassie had been inside the house and understood the situation. She was a tall girl with red hair and freckles who had visited often and spent many nights with Amber over the years, observing the slow accumulation of clutter. But this past year, as the situation worsened, Cassie had all but stopped coming over. Now, though, Amber needed—knew she could count on—her friend. When she turned in the driveway, Amber saw Cassie sitting on the same front porch rocker beside which she’d placed the bag of magazines just that morning, before everything changed.
The girls greeted each other with a hug before Cassie asked about Meemaw. Amber filled her in on the details of the fall, pointed out the spot where the hip broke. “Gonna get a replacement,” she said. “Surgery in the morning. Pretty routine, I think. Everyone says she’ll be fine.”
“But not for a while, right?”
“I don’t know how long it’ll be before she’s able to get around.”
The conversation continued as they moved inside. “Stinks in here,” Cassie said. “Let’s raise some windows.” They struggled to unstick the one above the kitchen sink. Cassie added, “I think they get the patients up pretty quick, maybe even the next day.”
“I know, but she’s so heavy. I believe it’ll really depend on her, how hard she’s willing to push herself.”
The window yielded. “Phew,” Amber said. The girls looked around.
“Where will we start?” Cassie said.
Amber pointed to the leaning stack of newspapers. “Here. Let’s get these out of the way first.”
They worked through the evening, filling both cars with old papers, trash, and clutter, most of which came from Meemaw’s bedroom. The landfill closed early, but they got rid of some stuff at the recycling center. They sneaked behind the grocery store and threw a trunk full of heavy trash bags into the dumpster. When it was finally time to quit, the house looked and smelled a little better.
They went into Amber’s room to sit on the bed and rest. “Spend the night?” Amber asked.
“Sure. I’d like that.” It had been a long time, at least before their senior year began, and both girls seemed to sense this sleepover could be their last. Cassie had recently received the news that she’d been awarded a scholarship to the Grady College of Journalism at the University of Georgia. And Amber . . . well, she didn’t know yet. But something would happen. It just had to.
Cassie hadn’t brought an overnight bag, but Amber found her a tie-dyed sleep shirt that would do just fine. The girls were used to sharing, had shared almost everything as they were growing up. They nestled into the soft bed. Cassie mumbled, “Good night,” and said something about enjoying the day. Her breathing became rhythmic and slow. Amber said, “Thanks. I love you.” She tried to sleep but her mind kept churning.
***
Her eyes popped open with the realization that she was late. Seven-thirty already. Should’ve been there before seven. She threw back the tangled sheet and hit the floor. Cassie, startled awake, said, “What? What’s the matter?”
“Gotta go,” Amber said, hurrying to the bathroom. “See you later.”
At the hospital she rushed up to the room only to find it empty. Shit.
She passed the nurses station and the familiar one said, “They took her down about thirty minutes ago. You should relax. Comfortable chairs in the waiting room. Could be a while.” Her motherly smile was reassuring. Amber would wait, in that special room for family members of surgery patients. What else could she do?
The elevator was balky. Going down it stopped at the second floor. No one there. The door opened slowly and didn’t close until she pressed the button. Twice.
She found the waiting room and went in. No one there. Apparently a slow morning for surgeries. Amber sat then stood up, started pacing, found the TV remote, and sat back down. She couldn’t get the channels to change. She tossed the remote onto a side table and picked up a Southern Living magazine that was eleven months old. Some of the food pictures made her feel hungry then queasy.
She tried to remember what the doctor said yesterday about the surgery and how long it would take. A long time, probably two or three hours. She’d meant to be there for Meemaw before they took her, to encourage her, tell her how much she loved her, wish her good luck. But she’d missed that opportunity. Opportunities... she puzzled over the word, then, settling into her chair, closed her eyes.
She found a way to rest a little by telling herself that everything would be fine. Surgery would be over soon and Meemaw would have a brand new hip. Amber knew her grandmother loved her and wouldn’t blame her for putting the sack right where she’d trip over it, or for not coming to her room before the surgery. She’d forget about these things and soon she’d be able to get around again. In the meantime, maybe they could hire a sitter to help at the house, and Amber would be able to start fall semester at GSU just as she’d planned. Maybe some church ladies—or, just maybe, her mother—could help. It was all gonna be fine.
Thinking this way she began to doze. She caught herself, took a deep breath, and blinked at the clock on the wall. Hours to go still. She decided to go for a walk but didn’t get far before the cafeteria beckoned. She went in and enjoyed a plate of waffles with strawberry jam and a glass of chocolate milk.
When she returned to the waiting room with tummy stuffed, Pastor Rick and Cassie were there. Their presence made her feel light. With loving smiles, they joined hands and prayed. When Amber glanced up from the prayer her smile evaporated at the sight of her mother, Jane, coming through the door.
***
Later, Amber would not remember the awkwardness that followed, but it was thick there in that room for a while. After being hugged tightly and too long by her mother, Amber stepped back to regard this woman. She looked chic in a casual Goth outfit: red and black plaid top with roll-up sleeves, tight black jeans, and black low-top sneakers. Red lips, dark eye shadow. The tattoos on her neck and arms were on full display. She smiled graciously when introduced first to Pastor Rick, then Cassie, who appeared fresh as if dressed for her first day of classes at UGA. Pastor Rick inquired about their lives and offered encouragement.
Amber said, “Cassie and I had planned on going to college together, but she’s already gotten her scholarship letter. I’m still waiting to be accepted.”
Pastor said, “It’ll happen. Just remember that sometimes our timetable isn’t the same as God’s.”
Jane said, “Damn right it’s gonna happen. You got this, girl. You just gotta stay feisty and keep on pushing.”
More small talk followed about Cassie’s choice of journalism as a major, Amber’s interest in graphic arts and film, and Jane’s job at a boutique in Little Five Points. Then there wasn’t much else. Minutes passed before Pastor began telling about church members he’d known, elderly ladies, who’d had hip replacements and were up and about in no time. The girls nodded. Jane’s face carried a smirk that seemed to say, “Oh, really.” Then they were reaching for magazines and glancing at the clock.
Pastor Rick opened a black leatherette day planner. Cassie found a People magazine. Jane reached over, tugged on her daughter’s sleeve, and motioned with her head, signaling the need for a private chat. Amber had been wondering how Jane knew about the accident. Now her stomach fluttered with apprehension. They walked to the far corner of the room.
When they were out of earshot, Jane said, “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I tried. The number doesn’t work.”
“I’m not buying that. You know damn well I texted you my new number, just a few weeks ago.”
“I haven’t gotten any texts from you since before Christmas.”
“Bullshit!” Jane’s voice rose in that quiet space. “Y’all are excluding me, just like always.”
“I tried. Nobody’s excluding. . . . How did you find out, anyway?”
“I’ve still got a few contacts in this shitty town. Friends, closer and more reliable than my own family.”
As Amber began to speak, she realized she was trembling and held her voice in check, fearing it would crack. She looked into her mother’s darkly shadowed eyes then glanced away.
“Never mind how I found out. Doesn’t matter. Now I’m wondering what you’re gonna do. What’s the plan? You gonna take care of precious ol’ Meemaw? Is there any money, you know, to like hire somebody? ’Cause this right here is some shit and it’s gonna get worse before it gets better.”
A squadron of words swirled in Amber’s mind, forming a barrage of angry retorts, but she managed to hold them back. Then, in spite of her best efforts, she began to shake with silent sobs. Her mother said, “Jesus. Come here.” She hugged her clumsily. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here and I love you. We’ll get through this together.” Jane pulled a red bandanna from her back pocket and offered it to her daughter. Amber dabbed her eyes. Then they returned to their chairs.
A few of Meemaw’s church friends came and left as the morning hours slowly melted away. Pastor Rick, Cassie, and Jane went to the cafeteria for lunch. Amber said, “I’m not hungry. I’ll stay in case the doctor comes.” Part of her wanted to go with them—she was worried about what Jane might say—but she knew the doctor could walk in at any minute, and she didn’t want to miss him.
She was alone for a time with the TV. Jane and Cassie returned without Pastor Rick. Jane walked through the door first. Cassie followed with eyebrows raised, her face expressing for Amber’s benefit: “Yikes!” Amber surmised that her friend had gotten quite an earful.
Jane said, “Preacher Man had other appointments, but he promised to return later this afternoon. Typical. Always some terminal patient to pray with, or, better yet, a grieving widow to comfort. Or maybe he left to pick up the pizza for the youth rally this evening. Gotta get those lost youngsters saved before it’s too late.” Her hands were on her hips, chin thrust forward. “Pretty damn useless if you ask me, all this church business. Only good for making humans feel guilty.” Her arm made the gesture of flinging something away. “Getting free of that crap was the best thing I ever did.”
Amber glanced up at her mother’s smug face, the cynicism on those lips. Cassie sat and picked up another magazine. Time passed. Jane paced the room, then grabbed the remote, impatiently punching buttons. “What’s wrong with this damn thing? she said.” When the doctor finally came in, she had the back pulled off and the batteries dumped out on the table.
***
Amber sits on the bed in her room that will soon stop being her room. The dented cookie tin from a long-ago Christmas rests on her desk. She ponders it for a second before resuming her packing. She’s moved a large trash can with a thick black bag into the hallway. Most of what she doesn’t pack gets thrown in there. She’s successfully tossing out unneeded stuff, including painful thoughts of the last week. If she thinks too much, she loses focus on the task at hand.
But she can’t keep all the thoughts at bay. She’s folding the Lizzie’s Whoredom tee shirt, trying to decide whether or not to toss it, when Jane’s face and the doctor’s voice enter her mind. These words, although they’ve been replayed many times, knock her into a stupor: “I’m terribly sorry but Mrs. Bagley has not survived the surgery. Everything was going well, except... we did have some trouble with the anesthesia early on. But we got that under control. The technical part—getting the replacement joint fastened in place—went fine. But then... it seemed like there was no more fight in her body. Her pulse weakened, less and less. We couldn’t revive her. I’m very sorry.” Then Amber, against her will, hears her mother’s shrill voice: “What! What are you telling me? Fucking morons killed my mother!...”
The need for escape had been urgent. Amber ran out of the room, bursting through the exit into a blurry outside world. She’d walked in circles, kicking at the ground. When Cassie and Pastor Rick found her, she’d stopped crying but her eyes felt dry and grainy.
Now, as she decides what to pack and what to throw out, the memories of the days that followed are smeared like a dirty windshield in a sudden downpour. Funeral home. Lawyer’s office. Dealing with Jane had been the hardest, until Amber gained clarity, realizing she didn’t have to. Anymore. Ever.
Her mother had thrown a tantrum when Amber, in answer to her persistent questioning, said, “Yes, dammit, there is a will! Meemaw left everything to me.” This time she didn’t try to escape the storm but calmed it by agreeing to sign the house over. They agreed to split the savings, what little was left. But the car—Amber was keeping that. Thankfully, Meemaw, with ironic attention to detail, had been meticulous about maintaining that Buick.
***
When the packing is done, she’ll drive away, eastward on I-20 toward Atlanta. She picks up the tin box, sets it back down. Glances at the trash can. Tosses Lizzie’s Whoredom. She moves her full suitcase off the bed and grabs from the closet a gym bag. She lifts the dented tin box from the empty desk, places it in the bottom of the bag, and surrounds it with socks and undergarments.
Outside the breeze is warmer and the leaves have grown. Clouds are drifting. The hummingbird feeder hangs, empty of nectar. Amber, deciding not to refill it, tosses her stuff into the car.
The driver’s seat cradles her. She nestles in, imagination reeling, ready for the long haul.
— RON YATES
Ron Yates holds an MFA in fiction from Queens University of Charlotte. He strives to write about real people in pressure-cooker situations that may seem familiar to readers. Yates currently splits time between Lake Wedowee, in eastern Alabama, and Rome, Georgia.