Jackson Ford - Random Sh*t Flying Through the Air

“No, I am serious,” Africa nods his head slowly, gazing around him. “It is beautiful. I used to have a house like this, when I was living in France.”

“You lived in France?”

“Oh ya! I was a policeman in Lyons. I have a house in the country, very nice, maybe two stories.”

“Thought you ran a bookshop in Lyons,” I mutter.

“I was bookshop man and a policeman.” He puffs out his chest. “I tell you already, Teggan. You know this.”

“You’re very welcome.” Sandra-May says, utterly ignoring the bullshit story Africa just told. “That’s what I keep telling Annie. Move out of Watts, she says. I been here twenty-five years, I ain’t going anywhere. I thought I might have to sell the house at one point – damn health insurance wouldn’t cover my lungs. Annie takes care of me, though. She’s a good daughter.”

“Nice to hear you admit it,” Annie says, ignoring the look that passes between me and Reggie.

Sandra-May’s emphysema and her lack of insurance led Annie to do some pretty crazy shit a few months ago. And by pretty crazy, I mean shipping a bunch of heroin up north for the MS-13 gang. It went horribly, ridiculously, stupidly wrong, and almost got her killed.

I don’t know why I should be so surprised that Annie takes care of her mom the way she does. People aren’t just one thing – and while that’s a goddamn trite statement if I ever heard one, it also happens to be true. I guess it’s just because the Annie I know did some seriously foul shit back in the day. It’s hard to put that together with the house she grew up in, the mom that still cooks her for – let alone how she’s now involved with a straight-laced Navy boy.

“Long as you keep this one around,” Sandra-May tells Annie, swatting the straight-laced Navy boy on the behind. “Your taste in men is better than mine used to be, I’ll give you that.”

“ Mom! ”

“Now, dinner will be ready shortly – Teagan, Idriss, be honeys and set the table. I’m afraid the bump we had last night knocked some of my china out the cabinet, so we’ll have to use the old plates. At least the house stayed standing. Most of Watts and Compton were fine. Hell of a thing, what happened out in San Bernardino. Hell of a thing.”

“My utensils are in the bag on the right,” Reggie tells me. She uses a special fork and knife to eat, which strap to her wrists. I dig them out of the compartment on the back of her chair. “I’m not going to be much help, I’m afraid,” she says, as Africa walks past with an armful of plates.

“Nonsense. You can stay and talk to me while the youngsters do the heavy lifting. You run the office for the moving company, right?”

“That’s right.”

“And you’re a vet?”

Reggie purses her lips – she’s never liked talking about the chopper crash that paralysed her. Sandra-May takes another wheezing huff of oxygen. “Both Bushes were damn fools, sending you folks over there. And my fool of a husband voted for him! Drove me to the cigarettes, and now look at us. I’m guessing you’ve got a few lung problems of your own. It’s on hot days, right? When the smog gets real low?”

Reggie blinks, then laughs. “Like trying to lift a truck off your chest.”

“Damn straight! Difference is, I only got myself to blame for my condition. I got no excuse. And I still want to sneak one now and then, even though I haven’t smoked in three years. You believe that?”

Africa and I leave them to it, heading through to the living room. To my surprise, there’s a massive dining table – the kind of thing you’d see in Downton Abbey, all ornate curlicues and fine-grained wood. It takes up nearly two-thirds of the living room, squashing the plastic-covered couch up against the window. A big TV plays silently in one corner, showing football reruns. Rocko wanders in, snuffling around the edge of the couch, ignoring us.

“Teggan – where your boyfriend tonight?” Africa says, as we set the table.

“What’s that now?”

“Nathan?”

“Nic.” I actually feel myself blush, a little.

“Ya ya. Where he now? You two OK?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Ah, you break up?” He kisses his teeth. “Shame. But if he hurt you, he must learn. I will talk to him…”

“No! Jesus, Africa, calm the fuck down. We were never actually together.”

He nods, like he suspected all along. Goes back to sliding plates into position.

We set the rest of the table in silence. Which is a hundred per cent A-OK with me. Despite the smell of good food, despite Sandra-May, I don’t really want to be around people. Maybe I should have blown off tonight…

“Hey, Teggan,” Africa says, straightening forks. “We must talk about something, huh? Can you tell me—?”

“OK.” Sandra-May waddles through, trailing Paul and Annie, both of whom hold big pots in oven-gloved hands. “Paul’s fixed the cabinet, and the gravy’s ready, so let’s get to eating.”

Oh, thank God .

Turns out, we all have to pitch in to help. Sandra-May made a lot of food, like she was expecting the whole neighbourhood to come calling. Baked ham, studded with cloves. Gravy thick enough to stand a spoon up in. Platters of rice and mashed potato. A huge crock of green beans. Annie’s told us before how tired her mother gets, so she must have gone to huge trouble to make it all. I feel instantly bad for wanting to blow tonight off. Fortunately, this time my guilt is going to be rewarded with good stuff to eat. I didn’t realise how hungry I was, and by the time we all sit down, I’m salivating. The rain has started outside, spattering the windows with thick drops, but it feels a million miles away.

“Now,” Sandra-May says, once we’re all seated. “We don’t do grace here. I’m not a big God person. But we do give thanks.”

“Mom, are we still doing this?” Annie says.

“You’re damn right we’re still doing it.” Sandra-May’s tone is steak-knife sharp. “And you best remember that, you wanna keep coming by for my ham.”

She reaches out, takes her daughter’s hand. “I’m thankful my only daughter has found such a good man to take care of her.”

“ Mom . Please, enough.”

“No, I’ll have my say, and give my thanks. I’m grateful for Paul, for who he is and how he respects Annie, and how he keeps her from leading the life she did when she was younger.”

“This is so embarrassing,” Annie mutters, hiding her face with the one hand her mom has left her. “It’s the twenty-first century, Mom, not the eighteenth.”

“ And ,” Sandra-May says, “I’m grateful to all of you for coming to visit me. It’s hard for me to get out the house sometimes, and Rocko ain’t much for civilised discussion.”

At her feet under the table, Rocko is busy licking his balls.

“Well,” Paul says, lifting his glass, “I’m grateful to you, Sandra-May, for your hospitality. We all are. And I’m grateful to Annie.” He takes her free hand. “For letting me be in her life.”

Africa applauds, grinning wildly. Paul leans over, kisses Annie on the cheek. She rolls her eyes, then cracks a smile, leaning over and kissing him back, to cheers from the rest of us. “Well, I’m grateful you two got the sappy stuff out of the way,” Annie says, laughing. “You know I wasn’t gonna say it.”

Nic’s face comes into my head. The argument we had last night… and how good it was before, when we were eating dinner and it all looked like it was going to be OK. Annie kisses Paul again, whispers something in his ear.

“And you, Idriss?” Sandra-May says.

“Mmmmm.” He nods to himself, brow knotted. “My job, I think. Ya. It get me off the street. It was hard, yaaw , very hard.” More nodding, his eyes down, as if he’s trying to contain himself. “No money, police causing trouble. But Teggan and Reggie, they ask me for help, and Idriss always help, ya, so now we here.”