Reawaken

7.

     To say I had gotten comfortable in this place would be a bit of an understatement.

     Another week had passed, and I did the same song and dance with Miss Eloise when it came to paying my share. The old woman was stubborn, but I was bullheaded so in the end she always took the money from my palm. She never brought up the talk we were supposed to have. Part of me thought that the old woman had an ounce of mercy in her heart. But I could tell sometimes when she looked at me, oh when she would look at me, she'd be figuring me out.

     It was nearing the middle of the month, and the Mayfair Motel was slowly feeling like home. And I was no longer just an outsider looking into the Mayfair dynamic. It was as if in the last few weeks, I had become an addition to their small, dysfunctional family.

     I had quickly learned how family-oriented Eloise was, and that she would do any and everything to protect Norris and Celia. Some mornings I would see her down in the lobby mumbling to herself. I was starting to think this old woman was a babbling fool, I quickly learned her talks were actually her praying to God, to keep a blanket of love and protection over her family.

     Celia was one of the trickiest little girls I ever met. She often could con her Daddy or her grandmother into more TV time, cookies before dinner, and nickels from guests that came through the motel. The girl had a colorful imagination, a vivid dreamer, and a visionary. One morning she told me about a dream she had, an accident with a cherry red car.

     "A couple of people died in my dream," She said with seriousness. Norris and Eloise just rolled their eyes at her that morning.

     Eloise said the girl told too many stories. Until a few days later when we heard about a terrible accident involving a pickup truck and a red Pinto in Baton Rouge. Two people had died, just like Celia predicted. That really made me wonder about the young girl.

     My walks with Reed in the morning always gave me the pick me up to get through my day, and Bunny's bubbliness and optimistic period gave me hope.

     One early evening when Norris was off, I spent time with him, Reed, and Slick. I even got a chance to get acquainted with Sampson, better known as Tips. The circle of buds was all a gang of characters, but they were just trying to make it like everybody else, all had big dreams, it seemed.

     Slick told me stories about the glory days, when he, Norris, and Tips were young and they would make big money, up against some of the biggest hustlers and club owners in the city and some in New Orleans.

     They mentioned how Norris was the slickest of them all; a suave con man who knew all the tricks, stone-cold poker face, and inquisitive to the game, better than any big-time hustler or gangster. It put Norris in a stranger light for me, a bad boy, it seemed.

     He was more like Daddy than I realized.

     "I don't do those things no more," He told later on once the fellas left and it was just the two of us, "Some things ain't worth the gold."

     Norris had his own ounce of shame in his eyes, but I didn't question him about his past.

     Since that night at the club, maybe even before, we had a bit of a silent understanding. I saw something in Norris, and as mysterious as he was, I still couldn't get myself to ask him about his own skeletons.

     The rest of that night, long after Eloise and Celia had lulled to sleep, we settled in the living room of the Mayfair family suite. Norris put on some jazz records and the two of us talked all night long.

     "I never knew my Daddy," He told me that night, "But my mama had a notebook full of poetry he wrote and gave it to me when I was real little. I been in love with writing and books ever since."