“She’s okay, but she needs y’all’s prayers anyway,” Momly said. They all nodded, except for one old man who had nodded off. “Anyway, I’m gonna go up and see her right quick, and then I’ll be back. Save my seat.” The lady, Theresa, nodded and patted the seat next to hers.
When we got upstairs to Momly’s room, Uncle Tony went in first.
“Good morning,” he said softly.
“Hey, sweetie.” Momly was sitting up, spooning clumps of oatmeal from a bowl. Uncle Tony gave her a smooch. “Who you got with you?” Maddy crept in. And me. “Oh, hey, sweeties.” Then her voice quickly zipped from sweet to sour. “Tony, why aren’t they in school?”
“Don’t worry, they’ll make it there. Even if I gotta roll ’em there myself,” Ma said, rolling into the room, purposely making an entrance. Beverly Jones. The queen of entrances. She planned the whole thing in the elevator on the way up.
Momly laughed. “Hey, Bev.” Ma wheeled up next to her bed. Grabbed her hand. The one connected to the unbroken arm.
“How you feeling, Em?”
“I’m fine. I’m fine.”
“You ain’t that fine if my knucklehead brother-in-law had to pick me up.” Then she leaned in and said just loud enough for all of us to hear. “His SUV is filthy.”
Momly closed-mouth laughed. “I know.”
“Hey!” Uncle Tony squawked. “I mean . . . it got you here, didn’t it?”
“Yep, it sure did get me here. It also got me a two-year-old stale french fry stuck to my butt.” At this, Momly couldn’t contain herself and let out a belly laugh. It was so loud that it caught me off guard. I don’t know if I’d ever seen her laugh like that. She also seemed super rested. Just, like, chillin’ in the hospital.
“Sounds like the morning is starting off on the right foot.” Another man’s voice came from the door. It was Dr. Lancaster. He came into the room, shook Uncle Tony’s hand.
“Dr. Lancaster, this is Beverly Jones.” Ma turned her chair, shook the doctor’s hand.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Jones.” Then he stood by the head of the bed.
“And how are you today, young lady?” he said to Momly.
“Hangin’ in there. My head feels a little better, that’s for sure.”
The doctor nodded. “And you all?” he addressed me and Maddy.
“Good.”
“Good.”
“Great.” He put his hands together. “So, Emily, I’m going to give you the rundown of what’s going to happen. In a few minutes a young man named Terrence will arrive to transport you to the operating room. I will be there waiting along with two others, Dr. Morris and Dr. Fisk. Nice folks, talented surgeons. There will also be an anesthesiologist there, named Patricia.” The doctor paused and pointed at me. “Patty, right?” I nodded. “Short for Patricia?”
“Patina.” I was used to people doing that.
“Ah. Patina. That’s a pretty name. Different.”
“Thanks.”
“Dr. Lancaster, can we make sure Patricia knocks me completely out?” Momly asked. “I don’t want to feel anything.”
Dr. Lancaster laughed. “That’s the plan. And once you’re out cold, which will take all of seven seconds, we’ll get in there and fix you right up.”
“And then she can come home?” Maddy asked, eager.
Dr. Lancaster squatted. “Not quite. We need to watch her overnight to make sure there’s no funny business. But I don’t see why she can’t go home tomorrow. How’s that sound?”
Maddy nodded.
“Well, I’ll be here to get you as soon as we get word,” Uncle Tony said to Momly.
“Me too,” I said.
Momly shot me down fast. “Oh no you won’t. Because you have to run.”
“I don’t have—”
“You do,” Momly insisted. “You’re going to your track meet, where you should be. There’s no use in you coming back up here worrying about me.”
I looked at Ma for a bailout. But all she said was, “Don’t look at me. You heard her.”
“Track, huh?” Dr. Lancaster asked.
“Yeah, she’s a fast one. Got them legs from me.” Ma shined.
“Absolutely,” Momly double-teamed.
“That’s terrific,” the doctor said. “My grandson is a runner. I’ve never seen him race, and honestly, he doesn’t strike me as fast, but he tells me he runs, so . . .” Dr. Lancaster shrugged. Checked his watch. “Terrence should be here,” he muttered, just as we heard a knock at the door. “And there he is.” Dr. Lancaster grinned. “The kid is like clockwork.”
Terrence, who I just need to say was fifty times better than any boy on the Defenders team or at Barnaby Middle, or . . . ever, let Momly know it was time for me, Maddy, Uncle Tony, and Ma to say good-bye.
“Send us all a text when you make it out of surgery,” I said, ironing the wrinkles out of my khaki skirt with my palms.
“A smiley face, just a little something,” Ma suggested, followed by hugs, kisses, and of course, a prayer. (Ma told Terrence he’d better bow his head.) And then we were on our way back to the elevator, but to different floors: Momly to the operating room, and us to the dialysis unit—Uncle Tony would come back for Ma in three hours—and me and Maddy were back in Uncle Tony’s dirt-mobile, headed to school.
At Chester, Uncle Tony walked us to the office to get our lateness excused, and then I wandered down the empty hall toward locker 172. I had already missed most of first period but grabbed my English book anyway. By the time I got to Mr. Winston’s class, he was wrapping up his usual theatrics and a weeklong lesson, explaining the final stanza of the poem.
“When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder’d.
Honour the charge they made,
Honour the Light Brigade,
“Noble six hundred,” he recited, his voice breathy like he was having the most poetic asthma attack of all time. “Is that not beautiful?” Everyone just kinda stared at Mr. Winston, which to most folks would mean, Leave us alone. But not to teachers. To teachers, when no one looks interested, that means ask more questions. “Can anyone tell me what they think this means?” asked Mr. Winston now.
The whole class became mannequins, which is the standard move for please don’t call on me. But for some reason, even though I was late to class, I was feeling bold. Funny thing is, even though I thought Mr. Winston was a weirdo, I actually kinda got this poem, mainly because of church. See, it was that one Bible verse—which is actually like reading one long poem—that Pastor Carter said all the time . . . alllll the time, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” It was his go-to, and whenever he said it, the whole church bugged out. And this Light Brigade poem started the same way—charging into the valley of death. So . . . yeah, I got it. Got it so much I even raised my hand.
“Patina,” Mr. Winston called on me, surprised. I put my pen top in my mouth, chewed on it for a second, then answered.
“It’s basically saying that their bravery should be honored. That they did what they had to do, and they did it together, even though it seemed almost impossible to win.”
The bell rang.