Page 50 of It's Me They Follow
“It will say I jumped out of the pool and answered the phone because I couldn’t take it any longer.”
“Don’t touch my phone,” their grandmother said. “Don’t touch my books. Don’t touch my things. Don’t touch me.” Their grandmother laughed.
The Shopkeeper was shocked by their grandmother, who let out a loud cackle, which made it impossible toknow whether she was making fun of The Shopkeeper in some way.
“Don’t touch, don’t touch, don’t touch,” their grandmother mocked as the phone continued tobrrerrrnnnng,brrerrrnnnng. She threw more herbs into the water like she was cooking them in a stew. “Now, these are for you.” She began throwing in puffs of white mushrooms. “Lion’s mane.” The water felt like it was heating up. Like The Shopkeeper was being boiled in a tea. “And finally, a tip of honey.” Their grandmother let just a drop into the water too.
“I deserve sweetness,” all three said in unison.
“Are we gonna drink this?” The Shopkeeper was up to her chin in the water as she sat. Elle swayed from side to side in pain. Her big, ballooned breasts bobbed up and down through the decoration of colorful potpourri.
But then her sister stood up as if she had an announcement to make. Her eyes were closed, her big, low belly covered in flowers. She was like a goddess, beautiful and golden in the light, except as she stood up, she turned around and vomited into a bucket on the side of the pool.
“Get it out,” their grandmother said, rubbing her granddaughter’s shoulder. “Release it,” she said, over and over, which made The Shopkeeper’s stomach turn.
She searched for a joke. Something funny to make Elle laugh. “Remember that time when you rode me on the back of your bike?” Her sister didn’t laugh like she usually would have. She was no longer there. Pain and herbs had taken her sister to a new state—onewhere she was both present and very far away. She sat back in the water with her head on the edge of the pool. Herbs floated about, speaking out loud, but not to anything they could see or hear.
“Make pretend she’s not here,” their grandmother said, speaking directly to The Shopkeeper. “She can’t hear us. She’s where she is now, so make pretend it’s just me and you.”
And then it was. The phone’s ringing muffled; Elle’s moaning muffled. The thoughts and interruptions and distractions and mistrust muffled.
“You are finally here, at the best part of the story. The part when we find out if you can or cannot defeat the fear that has kept you from birthing this book for all these years. All these years you’ve run from it. And now here you are, with just minutes to spare.”
The Shopkeeper stared at their grandmother in pure disbelief. “We don’t have a lot of time. I don’t have a lot of time. Look! I’m withering away.” She pointed at her cane and then at her aching knees. “Your parents are gone. That story died with them. You’ve been all alone. You’ve remained safe and untouched. You have this desire to birth a new you. But you’re the one writing the story. And it’s not so much what you will choose but what it will take for you to choose you.”
The phone rang again. And this time, without hesitation, The Shopkeeper grabbed her towel and marched past their grandmother apologetically. She dried off as she ran andhopped over the mess and into the living room to answer the call.
“Yes?” she said.
“Yes?” the phone echoed back.
“ME, is that you?”
“ME, is that you?” her own voice responded.
“I know it’s you.”
“I know it’s you,” the voice repeated.
“Ms. Harriett?” she asked.
“Ms. Harriett?” the voice responded, but she realized she was just responding to herself.
She wanted assurance, an answer, a sign that she’d made the right decision at the right time. That she was the one who could do what she was already doing.
But when she was silent, so was the voice on the other end.
“It’s ME they follow,” she said.
“It’s ME they follow,” she heard herself repeat.
The Shopkeeper put the receiver down. Gripped her towel around her and stomped back toward the pool and got inside. Her sister still appeared to be bargaining, asking for forgiveness and praying and crying and breathing and cursing, all back-to-back, but low and under her breath like she was leading an exorcism. Their grandmother sat in her chair, reading an old recipe book. She didn’t look up at the two sisters.
The Shopkeeper got up close to her sister and whispered in her ear, “I am not gonna let you go through this alone.” She reached for Elle’shand under the water. And meant to grab it, fully aware that she might pass out, but also hoping that the water and the herbs made a difference and somehow protected them both. When she found her sister’s hand, she grabbed it. Her sister snatched her hand back. “Just because you’re ready doesn’t mean I am.” It had been a lifetime. But when the next contraction came, Elle found her hand underwater and squeezed it as hard as she could.
“Bear down,” their grandmother hollered, loud. “Bear down and breathe.” Having a baby is hard and catching a baby is hard, but being a baby is harder. The baby came headfirst, face up—the best position to be birthed; the only issue was, the baby had a big head. It ran in the family. The baby had known for months that it would be difficult to move its ever-growing head through the short, narrow tunnel of its very petite host. So it had devised a plan to escape. It thought that it could be most helpful to its host if, instead of coming headfirst, it came out feetfirst and completely in its bag to make the passage easier. It’d charted this course months ago and proceeded to strengthen its legs and its amniotic sac with exercises. It kicked and stretched and kicked and stretched and tested the resolve of its bag day in and day out. What it hadn’t planned for was the first water break in the restaurant. It’d had to patch that hole quickly with its thumbs. That gave it exactly enough time to get Down South to Grandmother’s house and have the poolfilled up before it had to be delivered. But time was up, and it was coming out with the next push whether it wanted to or not. No matter what, the baby resolved to be born in its sac.
“It’s time,” their grandmother said from her rocking chair, staring out into the woods.
