Save the Universe Inc. Chapter Three

“Mama, please don’t make me go!”

“Lucy, don’t argue with me.  You know you have to!”

Hurricane Katrina happened just a few weeks before I would enter eighth grade, the last year of middle school. I had made plans with my friends to hang out when school began.  We all looked forward to the special activities and privileges granted to eighth graders.  Now we would never see each other again.  I didn’t even know who lived and who died.  On top of that, Mama wanted to enroll me in a brand new school filled with strangers.   I begged her to let me stay home; promised to help more with the catering or do babysitting; anything to get out of facing new people.  She wouldn’t hear of it. 

“Girl, you need an education.  Besides, it’s illegal for a thirteen year-old to be out of school.  I’m too busy helping Aunt Tess and working a second job at night.”

Be reasonable! Right!  I was a card carrying adolescent girl. I had a license to be unreasonable!

“I know you want me to home school you, but I can’t do that. You’ll just have to go to the local middle school.  I beg you not to make things worse for yourself.  If you give it a chance, you’ll get used to it.  Please my darling; let’s make the best of our new life.  It’s all we’ve got.”   

I couldn’t win this argument, so I turned my thoughts to New Orleans before the storm.  I remembered something Mrs. Bouvier had said to me.  “Some people are born to magic and some are called to it when needed.”  For some reason, that thought comforted me just then.  Meanwhile, Mama chatted on about my education.  I nodded while tuning her out as she drove me to the new school.

In most areas, the school year begins in September.  Mama and I hadn’t arrived in Minneapolis until October.  We spent time after the hurricane settling our affairs in Louisiana and making travel arrangements. 

When we arrived in Minneapolis, we took time settling in. Mama never showed her grief to me, but I saw the two sisters hugging and crying many evenings when they didn’t know I was watching.  In spite of knowing how sad Mama felt, I was sorrier for myself.  I thought to myself, “She doesn’t have to go to some stupid new school.  What does she have to worry about?”

 Now in the middle of November, two and a half months after school had started, Mama took me to enroll.   I dreaded coming to a school full of strangers mid semester.  I glared angrily at Mama for making me go.  Finally the car stopped.  Mama eased into a parking space near a two-story complex of brick buildings, my new prison. I dragged my feet behind her as we entered.

I looked around.  Here at Morningstar Middle School I faced another challenge; going to school with white kids.  “Hey Nigger get back to your own part of town!”  I shivered as I remembered my first confrontation with Caucasians.  At my old school, we were all black.  As long as we stayed in our place, no one harassed us.  Now what?  How many more times would my world collapse before I found my personal spot?  At the sound of a passing bell, the halls filled with people rushing from one class room to another in all directions.  So many students swarmed about us.  The air felt tight.  I couldn’t breathe.  My heart raced.    “Let me out of here!”  Why couldn’t Mama see that this place didn’t suit me?   I knew that I hated it!  I vowed to myself that I’d have a miserable school year.  Maybe then Mama would realize saw how poorly I fit this place. 

      In the counselor’s office Mama pinched my arm.  “Lucy, please pay attention to Miss Crothers.   She’s asking you a question!”  I mumbled an apology and asked my new eighth grade councilor to repeat the question.  She asked me what kind of elective I would like.  I said something about not really caring which caused Mama to pinch me again.

      The councilor suggested I should try creative writing.  “Perhaps Lucinda would like the opportunity to write about her feelings and experiences” she said with a wink to Mama.  I suspected that the two of them had already discussed my needs over the phone.  

      Mama had done it again!  She had broadcast my private affairs to a complete stranger.   Why did she think it was okay?   When my anger subsided, I tuned out again and let the two women plot my life with occasional nods from me when I felt it appropriate. Mentally, I kept myself as far away as possible from the conversation going on.  At some point, Miss Crothers handed me a paper with my class schedule and a map which I grabbed without leaving my reverie.

       Miss Crothers smiled at Mama and said,   “You and Lucinda might like to tour the campus today before you leave.  We’ll expect her to begin next Monday.  She needs to report to the main office at eight o’clock sharp.”

      Mama indicated to me that I should follow her out as she thanked Miss Crothers and shook her hand.  Miss Crothers extended her hand to me and I noticed brown blotches and several cords of blue veins protruding from her pale skin.  She must have been pretty old to have hands like that.  She was a “miss” so I guessed she never married.  In my imagination I created a story about the years she spent pining for a lost love. I was interrupted from those thoughts when Miss Crothers reached for a tissue and abruptly excused herself while muttering something under her breath.                                                                                                                                                

      Mama and I walked through the humongous brick buildings.   We observed Asian, Latino and some black kids as roaming the halls within the crowds of white students.  So the school had some diversity.   This didn’t comfort me.  I felt like an alien from another planet walking among Earthlings.  Stupid Earthlings!  My mission was to check out the planet for signs of intelligent life.  My people wanted to know if it was possible to communicate with the creatures of this place.  I was about to send a message that they shouldn’t bother when Mama’s voice once again popped me back to reality.  “Honestly, Lucinda!  There you go again; off in another world.  It’s as if you’re in outer space half the time!”  I looked at her.  Was she reading my thoughts?   But she just went on. “I am beginning to worry about you.  I asked you if you would like to see the cafeteria.”  I shrugged my shoulders implying that I didn’t really care.  Mama took that as a yes, so we went there to eat lunch.  Imagine the embarrassment! The whole school would see me in the cafeteria lunchroom with my mother!

      Inside the noisy lunchroom students were laughing, shouting, flirting, flinging food and of course, eating.  The scene looked pretty much like the lunch area of my old school, only it was bigger, indoors and multi-racial and I was there with my mother!                                                                                                                       

      I walked along with my head down.  If I couldn’t see anyone staring at me, I didn’t need to care about them.

Suddenly, a shock wave went through my body as we passed one of the tables I looked up and saw a pretty girl sitting by herself with eyes as wide as mine must have been.  She was African American like me which I acknowledged with an interior smile.  For some reason, an image of Mrs. Bouvier’s face popped into my mind. I didn’t know what made us look at each other the way we did, but, I was aware of the same electrical humming I heard in the magic shop. She seemed familiar even though I knew we had never met.   Mama must have noticed too because she took advantage of the moment to totally embarrass me.  “Hello, this is my daughter, Lucinda.  She’ll be starting Morningstar on Monday.  May we sit down here and join you?”

Could anything be more humiliating (yes, being there with Mama in the first place)?  Even so, I felt a strong connection to this person though I didn’t know why.  I lamely mumbled,” Hi”, when Mama introduced me, and suddenly, we were joining her for lunch.  The girl’s name was Maria.  By the end of lunch, with Mama’s help, Maria and I knew a lot about each other.  She was also in eighth grade and like me, had recently changed schools.  It was a strangely perfect encounter.  Two girls, new to the school, both ethnic minorities, happened to meet and became connected.  Whatever had brought us together, we both shared comfort and familiarity with each other by the time the warning bell rang.  I even mentally thanked Mama for butting into my life this time (but I’d never let her know).  We said goodbye and agreed to meet for lunch on Monday when I started school.  I hopped we were going to be friends, and suddenly, the thought of going to this new school didn’t seem so horrible.  Mama looked very smug.  I silently gave her a few points for that one.

      On my first day of classes, I dragged myself to breakfast.  The idea of going to classes didn’t interest me at all, but I admit I looked forward to lunch with Maria.  I had thought about her a lot all weekend.  While I unenthusiastically nibbled on some French toast, the twins were making gagging noises and forcing milk through their nostrils.  What disgusting creatures they were!  Naturally, only I was privy to their obnoxious behavior.  On that morning, to my satisfaction, Auntie Tess sent them from the table to “think about their behavior” before they left for school.

       When we arrived at school, Mama wanted to walk with me to the main office, but I asked her not to.  She did enough damage hanging out with me the previous Friday!  Once was enough.  Now I preferred to be on my own with my sweaty palms gripping the school map.  We said goodbye at the curb, and I turned my face so as to avoid her kiss in front of the school. I slowly stepped from the car, took three deep breaths and headed through the school’s main entrance.

      I found the office after asking a hall monitor for directions.  Kids were going in all directions some bumping into me.  No one said anything nasty about my being black.

      “Hi,” I whispered to the student at the counter.  “My name is Lucinda Washington.  I’m new.  I think you have some papers for me.”

      The girl spoke to an adult.  After a few minutes, she returned with a smile and some paperwork to give to my new teachers. Then she said, “Janet (or some other “J” name), will take you to my first class. Good luck, and have a great day!”

      The “J” person chatted all the way to my classroom, and honestly, I really didn’t listen to a word she said.  I mumbled my thanks as she showed me to the door of my first period class.  Clutching my school map and the papers for my teachers, I managed to find my way to all my classrooms.   As the newest student, I got to sit in the back of all my classes. That worked out perfectly.   I really hate kids staring at me.  No one could look at me without turning around and making the teachers angry.  Even so, I still felt like an alien from another planet.  When would the mother ship rescue me?

When the lunch bell rang, I hurried to the cafeteria and looked for Maria.  I heard, “Lucy, over here!” as I spotted Maria waving at me.  She had a big smile on her face.  “I got here early so I could save seats for us.”  I bumped into several kids and got some nasty looks as I made my way to the place where she sat.

Maria and I met for lunch every day from then on.  Eventually, I got to know other kids as well. Sometimes, they ate with Maria and me, and sometimes we ate alone, but I never felt as comfortable with them.  It seemed like Maria and I had been friends forever.  We spent our lunch sharing our life stories.  I learned that she never actually knew her real parents.  Her eyes became teary as she explained how she had stayed with many different foster folks for as long as she remembered.  Some of them beat her or treated her more like a maid than a family member and no one offered to adopt her.  How odd not to belong to a family!  She said she had lived with her current foster family for a few months.  She spoke very lovingly about these people, so I guessed they treated her well.

      I told her about Hurricane Katrina and how we came to live in Minneapolis with Aunt Tessa and Uncle Joe.  Maria liked to hear me reminisce about New Orleans.   She loved my stories about life back home (I still thought of New Orleans as my real home).  She laughed when I told her how Granny always threatened me with God’s Wrath whenever I misbehaved.   I helped her imagine the foods that Granny cooked.  Together, we breathed in the seductive aroma of waffles and coffee on Sunday mornings and chicken sizzling in the deep fat cooker.  “Oh Lucy,” she sighed, “how sad for you to lose that lovely life.”

      I have to admit that in spite of Maria’s tragic life, as our friendship grew, I sometimes felt very envious of her.  She was so pretty and could speak with ease to other people.  I always tensed around groups of kids never feeling “cool” enough.  The more uncomfortable I felt, the more likely I might utter something totally embarrassing.  If boys hung around us, I became thoroughly tongue-tied but not Maria.  She always knew what to say.  People seemed to hang on her words and laugh at her jokes.   I almost felt like a third wheel when other people joined us even though she made sure to include me.  “What do you think, Lucy?” she would ask if it seemed that the kids forgot about me.  Sometimes she’d interject questions like, “Don’t you just love the color of Lucy’s sweater?”  Maria tried so hard to protect my feelings.  She made me feel guilty that I secretly harbored some negative thoughts about her.

      One day, I decided to tell to Maria about my encounter with Ms. Bouvier.  When I described Ms. Bouvier and her little shop, Maria’s body came to attention.  She seemed eager to hear every bit of information and leaned in as if afraid to miss a word.  “Did she ever show you any real magic?” asked my friend while looking at me in a curious way.

      “Not really.  The hurricane started and then I never saw her again.”

      “Oh Lucy, that’s such a shame!”  I looked at Maria.  I asked why that seemed so important to her.  “Lucy”, she began, “I know magic is real.  Someday I will show you what I know, but not here at school.

Save the Universe Inc. Chapter Two

Simplicity and routine describe my life before the storm.  How I miss that even now!  Mama and I lived in New Orleans with Granny in our tiny two bedroom rental.  It wasn’t much, but Mama’s and Granny’s love enveloped me in warm security.  I never noticed our poverty.  Where I lived it was the norm.  Our meager home kept me safe me from the harsh world of New Orleans crime and with the help of family, sustained me.  

Inside our home bright orange and yellow throws hid stains on our second-hand furniture.  I loved the way my body sank into the sagging seats, and if there were spills, Granny just popped the furniture covers into the wash.  We kept our home tidy, but we never had to be careful with fine furnishings because we didn’t have any.  Our days seemed easy and quiet then (no bratty little boys screaming all over the place). 

Mama worked.  Granny cooked and took care of me.  In my old life, I did my chores, went to school and hung out with friends.  It filled my needs perfectly. 

Since Granny watched over me while Mama was working, she butted into my life whenever she saw fit.  I loved old granny, but we had our differences.   I liked to stop with my friends for a soda and pommes frites on the way home from school.  If I was too late or talked back to Granny, I surely got a scolding.  Granny could talk on and on when she thought I needed correcting, and Heaven help me if I didn’t listen respectfully.  She expected to hear “Yes, Ma’am” with no rolling eyes after she finished (come to think of it, Auntie Tess was a lot like her mother). 

      It was Granny who warned me about Mrs. Bouvier’s shop.  Mrs. Bouvier had a little Magic shop that I passed almost every day.  When I asked Granny about it she said it was all black magic and work of the Devil.  She told me to stay away from Mrs. Bouvier’s shop or God would punish me. 

      At the end of a street filled with bars and fast food joints, a neon blue sign hung over a small store front printed with the words, “Magic”.  Every time I saw the sign, my body would tingle.  When I glanced into the window, I could see all sorts of amulets, crystals and potions in cluttered piles within the window.  According to the signs, these items could ward off evil or make your wishes come true.  Little voodoo dolls in a dark corner seemed to grin at me.  Something about the place gave me cold shivers and yet, I always stopped to look.   

      In my head I heard Granny’s words, but curiosity overpowered the warning.  One windy rainy summer day, Ms. Bouvier saw me look into her shop window and invited me in.  I jumped when I heard her voice.  Granny’s warnings suddenly sounded loudly inside me.   I expected the Devil to pounce on me and swallow me up, but he didn’t or at least, not yet.  Thinking I really shouldn’t, yet feeling as if a tractor beam tugged at me, I slowly entered the shop with my heart beating ninety miles a minute.  I could barely breathe and thought I’d  pass out or fall down dead at any second.                                                                                                                           

As I stepped inside, I expected to see more musty clutter, but it was really tidy and smelled sweetly of a fragrance I couldn’t quite identify.  Behind the counter I saw a curious-looking woman.  Her smiling face, white hair, short stature and round body reminded me of a dark-skinned Mrs. Santa Claus.  She stood on tiptoes leaning across her counter to stare at me.  It’s hard to say how old she was.  She might have been Granny’s age.  Her face had as many wrinkles, but unlike Granny, an electric energy seemed to radiate from her body. I could feel it right away.  That energy permeated the shop and penetrated my body.  I couldn’t tell if it originated from her smile or her eyes.  

She was obviously of African descent with her dark skin and short kinky hair.  Her chubby little body was considerably shorter than mine, and I am only five feet one inch tall!   I felt drawn to her, yet my fear wouldn’t calm down.  Her scrutiny felt like an inspection.  Would she stamp me “grade A”?  Neither of us spoke. 

Sounds of electricity filled the shop.  I could hear a loud humming that reminded me of telephone wires.   The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up, as I waited for the devil jump at me from one of the dark corners.  My heart continued pounding in my chest, and I wondered if she could hear it.  Did she sense my fear?  Did she know I half wanted to run out of that shop and continue running until I reached home if only my legs could move?  At that moment time had stopped.  I stood for an eternity.  She smiled and moved towards me.  I made an effort to relax but was still on edge.  I noticed her long silky caftan.  The ovular sparkly designs on a black background moved as she walked.  The patterns made me think of galaxies soaring through space.  As she approached me, the swish-swishing of her robe had a calming effect on my nerves.  I relaxed a bit and realized the scent in the shop was some sort of incense.  The smell made me feel light-headed and dizzy.  Perhaps she had enchanted me.  As if she could read my thoughts, Ms. Bouvier assured me that no harm would come to me and that I needn’t feel frightened.  Her soft voice had a trace of French accent.  I thought perhaps she might be Creole.  I attempted to speak and realized that my dry throat prevented that.  So I stood there and stared rather rudely with my mouth hanging open waiting.

Mrs. Bouvier offered a generous amount of New Orleans hospitality towards me.  With a beaming smile, she came around from the counter and beckoned me to sit beside a little table near the wall. She stepped inside a curtained doorway and reappeared with a teapot, a covered basket, two cups and two plates which she placed on the table.  When the woman uncovered the basket, the sweet aroma of warm beignets replaced the scent of incense and awakened my hunger.  She pushed the basket towards me.  The smell of the pastries made me hungry.  Mrs. Bouvier poured me a cup of tea and filled my plate with beignets. I began to relax and conversation flowed as we ate and drank together. Eating helped me loosen my tongue.  Mrs. Bouvier wanted to know all about me.  She leaned towards me and listened as if not to miss a single word. I described my home with Granny and Mama. Then she shared a little about her life.

      “I come from Haiti.”   As I listened to her lilting rhythmic voice I closed my eyes. I found myself in a small Haitian fishing village. Soft tropical breezes swirled about me while ocean waves splashed against the sand.  I smelled the salty air and heard the shouts of villagers as men loaded their boats with fishing nets.  Among the people in my picture stood the young Ms. Bouvier helping her husband with his fishing gear.

      The scene shifted. I saw Ms. Bouvier awake in a cold sweat. “Maurice,” she implored, “don’t go out today.  Stay home with me.  I fear for you if you leave.” 

      The young man held his wife and smiled.  “Don’t fret, Cherie.  Kiss me for luck.  I will stay safe.  You will see my catch will be plentiful.  Soon we shall have saved enough money for a larger home.  We can plan for a family.  Go back to sleep and dream.”In spite of the warning, Mr. Bouvier went fishing. 

      Mrs. Bouvier reached out her arms as she watched her husband leave; his heavy boots clopping across the dirt floor of their hut.  She tried to sleep more, but the terrible scene of the boat capsizing and her husband drowning returned when she closed her eyes.

      Later, she heard the cries of the villager, and she knew.  He was dead.  They carried his body to the beach. Ms Bouvier screamed, and fell into deep mourning.  When she recovered a bit, she decided  to leave her island home.  She retrieved the box where she and Maurice stored their savings, and purchased a ticket to America.  After saying goodbye to her family and friends, Mrs. Bouvier came to New Orleans, a city where people practice magical arts.

      When Ms Bouvier talked about her husband her eyes got a faraway look, but when she spoke about magic, her face came alive, and the electricity buzzed loudly.

      She told me that the world was a magical place, yet most people knew nothing about it.   Keeping it hidden became necessary.  In the wrong hands magic could create much evil.  I involuntarily shuddered upon hearing that.  She continued explaining that anyone could do simple magic if they wanted to, but some folks had a gift for it and could do amazing things.  These people were special and blessed.  Again, my body shook.

      I wasn’t sure how to think about what she was telling me.  My brain was on the verge of short circuiting. Granny thought magic was evil.  I respected Granny, but Ms. Bouvier seemed so kind and sincere.  Why, I asked myself would she speak of evil practices?

      She said she came from a family of magical women.  In her family, the mother passed down magical knowledge to the youngest daughter.  Ms. Bouvier, being the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, had the potential to create very strong magic.  Mother and child studied together until the daughter became more powerful than her mother. The bristles on the back of my neck stood up even more upon hearing this.

      I told Mrs. Bouvier that Granny thought magic came from the Devil and was a sin.  “Why child,” she smiled, “it’s not a sin at all.  It’s a blessing from God, a gift to use if you are properly taught.  Of course, you have to use it carefully or it can turn on you”.  Her words confused me, but I knew two things.  First, it would be best not to mention anything more about Mrs. Bouvier to Granny or Mama.  I also knew that I wanted to come back and hear more, but just to be safe; I looked around to make sure no demons lurked in the corners.

       It felt as if Mrs. Bouvier had been giving me lessons to which I needed to pay attention even though I didn’t really understand why.  She told me while tapping my head with her finger that one had to be very careful about using magic.  I sat taller and listened more attentively.  I heard all sorts of axioms of magic that I only partially understood, yet I nodded politely as she told me more. 

      Making magic provided special challenges. You couldn’t interfere with destiny (whatever that meant), but you could fix certain problems when necessary.  Finally, I mustered up the nerve to ask a question.  I asked how one determined the difference between interfering and helping.  “My child, you must be carefully taught by a good teacher.  Then you have to rely on your imagination to show you the way.  That’s why we keep it hidden from most folks.   Few people have the talent to follow the truth. 

      I didn’t really understand what she meant, but I was afraid to hear more.   I changed the subject. I asked her if the potions she sold in her shop violated one of her “divine laws” since they promised to change people’s fate. “Oh, pah”! Those things are harmless.  I sell them to give hope to their users.  Hope is the only magic they possess. ”

      “Don’t you feel guilty about deceiving your customers?” I asked without wanting to look into her eyes. 

      “Honey child, I am giving them a great gift.  They come to me in despair, and I give them the faith that things will work out.  I have no misgivings about that.  Real magic is something else.  Its power lies beyond anything you can imagine.  We always look for the special ones who are ready for training.

 “What special ones?”  I felt my heartbeat accelerate again and wished I hadn’t asked that question.        

“Some people come into this world ready to practice magic. Others, whom we name the “special ones”, receive a call when needed.  Teachers look for signs so we can recognize our new apprentices when they find us. Then we must teach them everything we know.” 

      There must have been a reason why she told me all this.  Did she think I could do magic?  I didn’t dare ask out loud for fear of hearing something I didn’t want to know.  Certainly, I didn’t possess any magical powers.  Anyway, magic didn’t really exist; right? 

Eventually, Mrs. Bouvier said, “As much as I enjoy your company, you must go home now.  A strong storm heads our way.  When she said that, I heard rain drops pelting the roof.   I agreed.  I needed to hurry on home.  Granny would worry and fuss if I returned any later.  I certainly didn’t want to explain about my visit with Mrs. Bouvier.  As I left, Ms. Bouvier took my face in her hands and looked straight at me.  My whole body heated up as she did that.  Afterwards, she smiled with satisfaction.  “The next time we meet, Lucinda, you’ll understand.  Look for me when you are ready.” 

I left the shop feeling puzzled.  What did Ms. Bouvier mean?  It was as if she were telling me something in a foreign language that I didn’t speak, and yet, I kind of wanted to learn it.  My curiosity grew as I walked home.  Thoughts of magic whirled about my head as unsettling as the violent rain and wind that blew my coat open.  I barely noticed the weather as I braved the storm within my head.

I came home soaked.  Mama had already returned from work.  She and Granny sat in front of the TV with grim concentration.  Instead of the scolding I expected, Granny released a huge sigh and said, “Thank God!  We worried about you being out in this weather!  Come sit with us”.  Relieved at not receiving one of Granny’s “lectures”, I sat down on the sofa between the two women.  None of us even noticed my dripping wet clothing.  A news commentator said something about a hurricane alert.  We had them all the time in the summer.  I didn’t usually pay much attention to those reports, but as Mama and Granny watched their brows wrinkled with worry. 

“Lucy”, said Mama with a scratchy voice, “the news says a big one is headed our way!”  I shivered and snuggled closer to Mama.  Granny said that we didn’t dare leave home.  So we listened to the news and waited. 

When the hurricane blew into New Orleans, we lost electricity.  Too afraid to leave the house, we stayed huddled by our battery operated transistor radio.  The fridge stayed closed as much as possible so the food in it could keep for a while.  We sat together and watched like the children in the Dr. Seuss story.  Your mind can imagine a lot of terrible things when you wait helplessly like that. 

      Outside, powerful winds and floods tore up our neighborhood.  Granny and Mama prayed a lot.  I did too.  I also thought about Ms. Bouvier.   I decided to pray for her safety too.  I needed to see her again.  I imagined her eyes as I prayed.  They held a secret about my future. 

Those eyes didn’t warn me about Granny’s death or that Mama and I would become homeless.  After the storm, Mama and I left for Minneapolis at the invitation of Auntie Tess.   I never went back to Ms Bouvier’s shop in New Orleans.

Becoming

She hovered formless in the hazy place and observed the pinpoints of possibilities.  Any one of those would lead to the next reality, yet she remained frozen unable to proceed; to commit to a new reality.  Around her, comets of potential flashed by.  Even in her unformed state she sensed forces blowing her off balance; pushing and pulling her; urging her to commit.  She grasped the threadbare shawl of past existence and wound it around her consciousness as though it could protect her from the necessity of change.  “I need an eternity or two before I am ready,” she sighed even as she felt herself moving toward a single point of light.

Eventually, the dance began.  That unbearable pain that compelled her forth even as she resisted became ritual; two steps forward; one step back, then knock, knock knock.  The creaky door slowly opened to the limits of the chain bolt.  A pair of squinted eyes peered in at her, but she, lost in the dance, didn’t notice.

“Why are you so long in arriving?” thundered a voice that made her yearn for a retreat no longer possible.

Two steps forward; one step back; that compelling ritual finally thrust her with such force against the door that she burst open the bolt.  The door opened but not in a welcoming way.  Cold shivers permeated her being as blinding light overwhelmed consciousness.  All she could do was shriek repeatedly pausing only to catch a breath.  She didn’t notice a thunderous voice exclaim. “Congratulations Mrs. Jones.  You have a daughter!”