Reawaken

3.

It wasn't long before I learned the story of the Mayfair Motel.

I had come back that evening after playing card games and telling stories with Reed, the pungent aroma of spices filled my nostrils. The smell was wafting from the parlor. Following the scent, I found Celia, Norris and Miss Eloise all sitting at a table in the parlor, talking with large bowls of red beans and rice in front of them.

A swelling feeling met my chest at the sight of them. It reminded me of family dinners I had with Nana and Daddy.

Celia gave me a smile, and Eloise insisted I join them. Norris stared at me skeptically, enough to make me decline to her generous offer.

"Thought yall woulda been heading home," I commented.

"This is our home," the little girl stated, full of pride, "Tell her the story of great-great granddaddy Theodore!"

Eloise then went on about her grandfather, Theodore, and her father Eugene. Who took to start building this motel after inheriting this slab of land from another member of the family. This was during a time when negroes didn't have much, Eloise explained, especially in the south. Eloise said she remembers being a young girl when the Motel was up and running, hurrying down the halls and welcoming guests, much like Celia does.

"This place is the only mark of my family in this world," Eloise told me, smiling widely at her son, "Mayfair Motel was the only black-owned motel in the Mason Dixon for decades."

Big corporations to this day were trying to buy them out, business officials constantly raising the taxes to the old motel. After her father inherited the motel, he built a large private wing for their family (since they spent most of their time at the motel anyway).

"It helps cut costs," She explained to me, "Especially since we haven't had many frequent guest in recent years."

I had to admire the old woman; she was determined to keep her motel in the family.

It made me wish that Daddy or Nana had left me a piece of them now that they were gone. The Mayfair's family dynamic left me feeling sour, and full of shame.

I lay in the middle of the bed in my room, staring at the willowing canopy under the ceiling fan, and I wept. The weight of grief laid heavy on my chest as if Nana and Daddy had been taken from me this second.

It was rare when I felt like this. Daddy always told me I had to be tough, push through everything. Like a weed growing through a cemented ground.

At this moment, I was crumbling and falling. Like white sand between narrow fingers.

For the first time in a long while, I realized how alone I truly was.

The next morning, I woke up late, spending all night writing in my journal – trying to figure out what I was going to do next. The few days I spent in Eva was amazing, but eventually, I had to move on. I had no idea where I was going to do, or what it was I really wanted to do.

In my heart, I still wanted to teach. Give other young children in the south different opportunities I didn't have growing up. I feel like Daddy would want that for me.

That is, if I don't spend the rest of my life wasting away in prison.

I walked into the parlor, one guest sat in the corner by himself, while Norris and Celia sat at a middle table. Both Mayfair's had their nose in some early morning reading; Celia reading a schoolbook and Norris' eyes skimming the morning paper. He glanced up at me for a briefness, before his eyes continued to skim the newspaper in his hands.