Page 20 of It's Me They Follow
Chapter 10
JANUARY 10, 2020
9:33 P.M.
Elle,
I hope all is well with you and work and that you’re writing even though you’re not joining the group this session. The class was good up until recently. I can’t figure out if the new teacher is a quack. Ray and Rose are enrolled, and a few new people have joined, but I can’t recall their names because their writing bores me to tears. It is not the same without you. You balance us with your wit and wisdom.
I am writing to ask if you can come visit class sometime soon, like you used to do. And bring more honey when you come, please. As usual, I’ve been putting it on my tongue twice a day and reciting the mantra “I deserve sweetness. I deserve sweetness” in the mirror. The honey is smooth going down. Helps me think of sweet things, like our walk by the river years ago and our stories about the honey goddess and the flowers we gathered and placed in the water for her. Thank you for that. The honey must be working. Though, I don’t know if it will heal me. Itcertainly has attracted the sweetest-smelling man into my life.
Today we went on our second date—to a junkyard. At least, he said we were going to a junkyard, and he said we were going on a date. I almost turned him down, because who invites you on a date to a junkyard? But like our grandmother used to say,God don’t make no junk.It went in one ear and out the other. But as usual, our grandmother was right.
When I got to the bookshop yesterday morning, tucked in the door was an envelope. It saidMs. Harriett, large, on the front. Inside was a letter he’d written.
If you are reading this, our date has begun. Do you trust me? Inside this envelope you’ll find a blindfold. Any minute now—a black SUV will arrive. If you decide to get inside, put on the blindfold. And don’t take it off until your driver says it’s okay. Okay?
Just then, the black SUV pulled up. Now, I know you’re like,Girl, do not get in no strange car with no strange man and put on no strange blindfold. This is not an actual fairy tale. This is real life. Blindfolds and SUVs never end well in real life. Especially because you’ve known this sweet-smelling man of yours all of what, two weeks?
But you know me. I love a good love story.
When I got into the car, the driver was an elderly man in a suit, with a big mustache and a very soft voice.
“Good morning, madam,” he whispered. “In your console is an apple. Would you like it before you put on your blindfold?”
His small voice made me feel safe. Of course, I wanted an apple. I had been fasting for a week. I poured a lil honey on it, ate that thing to the core, put the seeds in my pocket. And then did as I was told. Blindfold on and head back. We rode for thirty-three minutes listening to John Coltrane’sA Love Supreme. Sometimes when you’re blindfolded, thirty minutes can feel like thirty hours, but when you are blindfolded with Coltrane, time stops.A love supreme. A love supreme. A love supreme.
I dozed off into a dream about ME. In it, we walked through a river together like Ms. Harriett, with water up to our waists, then chests, then chins. As we crossed to the other side, something suddenly pulled him under, and only his hand was reaching out for me as he bobbed up and down for air, but when I went to grab his hand... I passed out and woke up. These apples really give you vivid dreams.
“You may remove your blindfold, madam,” the driver whispered as we pulled to a stop. “And there’s your next letter.” He pointed to the door of an old stone mansion in the middle of nowhere. I rubbed my eyes. All about the grounds, as far as my eye could see, were garden benches and wrought iron chairs and chaise lounges and fountains surrounded by a sea of winter wheat in mixed hues of browns and yellows.
“Is this still Philly?” I asked the driver, but he didn’t respond and just drove away.
When I opened the next letter, it read:
Welcome to My Junkyard: Where One Woman’s Junk Is Another Woman’s Treasure. When you are ready, ring my bell.
At the side of the door was an old bronze bell as tall as me. I tapped it with the gong that hung by its side, and I felt the vibration throughout my body. The bell made the oversized double doors open like the pearly gates, and I was welcomed into antique-furniture-store heaven. Dressers and wardrobes, side tables and rugs, mirrors and lamps, vases and chairs, couches and paintings and sculptures and birdcages and buffets and headboards—room after room after room of the fanciest junk you’ve ever seen.
When I picked my mouth up off the floor, I began taking note of every item I wanted, as though my bookshop isn’t just one small room. You know handcrafted furniture is my jam.Where am I gonna put all this junk?I laughed. After hours and hours and hours of uninterrupted browsing and totally forgetting I was on a date, I got to the fourth floor of the mansion and realized it was dark outside.
“Hello, my s-s-sister,” an elderly woman’s voice stuttered, but I didn’t see anyone around.
“Hello,” I said to the thin air.
“And y-you are knowing what you are w-w-wanting?” the voice asked.
I still had no idea where the voice was coming from. I assumedshe was asking if I was ready to check out, so I started looking for my list. “Yes.”
“Did you find everything you ever wished for?” the voice said, emerging from behind a small bookshelf. It belonged to a tiny four-foot-tall woman with pale silver eyes and bright silver hair. She wore an off-white dress under an off-white coat that was much too long. Her clothes dragged but somehow remained pristine.
I tried to hand her my list without getting too close (you know my issue), but she didn’t take it and just kept talking. “And you found th-th-things you never i-imagined.” That’s when I realized that perhaps she couldn’t see me.
“I can’t see you, but I feel you,” she told me, like she could read my mind.
“What do I feel like?” I was confused.
“You feel r-ready. Well, almost r-ready.”
