Covenant Disrupted

Book 3 - Michael Returns

September 10, 1988
7:00 a.m.

Grace was in an industrial cane field with some of the skinniest sugar canes she'd ever seen. It was also the greenest cane field she had ever seen, and she was wearing a pale green dress, as if to match the environment. Through the long, fluttering cane leaves, she could see Baron approaching. He was smiling, his hands outstretched in her direction.

"Grace," he said, calling out to her. She tried to answer, but no words came. Then he was so close to her that she could smell his Poison. His hands touched hers, and she was desperately trying to speak, but the only sound that came out of her mouth was a croak.

"Grace!"

It was Baron's lips that moved, but the voice was Miss Veta's. Grace looked around to see where Miss Veta was, but everything turned to pitch darkness.

Then sunlight from Grace's bedroom window hit her face, as the curtains gave way to the morning breeze. The hibiscus tree near the window was shivering, even though the sun was out. This is why: there was a restless hummingbird flitting from branch to branch, sucking up sticky nectar. The little green bird was covered in a layer of pink, pollen dust from the tree. It hummed like a mini jet engine and bumped up against the window then plunged its shiny black beak into clusters of sweetness. The low rhythm of the bird's bumping and its buzzing wings reached Grace's ear, as did Miss Veta's voice.

"Grace!" Miss Veta bellowed from the kitchen, "you going to be late for school, you know."

Grace threw off the navy-blue blanket and winced as her bare feet hit the cold ceramic tiles. Her eyes were burning. Not enough sleep. Her head fell into her hands.

"It's a dream. A dream," she said. "Thank God; it's just a dream."

"Graaa-aace," Miss Veta called out again.

"Yes, ma'am," she said, rubbing her eyes.

"If you don't mind sharp, the bus going to leave you!"

Cutlery clattered and clanged in the kitchen sink.

"You want me to make a fry plantain and egg sandwich for you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Grace said, running into the bathroom. Luckily, she had set aside and ironed her clothes from the night before.

Late, again. It seemed she was always late, or about to be late, for something. Late for church, late for work, and so late for her own wedding that the now- deceased old preacher at Holiness who everyone said had the patience of Job nearly cancelled the ceremony. The preacher should have called the whole thing off, she has been saying as of late to Maxine. Her struggle with tardiness was a battle she'd fought for over twenty-odd years. As a child her grandparents took turns waking her up to go to school. Grandpa would tug her shoulders as would Grandma, at first try. However, after the third admonition, Grandma would barge into the room with a belt, smacking her own hands and prophesying how much the leather would hurt her grandchild's posterior if Grace did not get up right this minute. As an adult, it used to be Michael who would wake her. Now, it was Miss Veta who had to pry her from between the bed sheets sometimes.

After a one-minute shower, where she washed only three of the most vital body parts prone to odor, she stepped out of the bathtub and onto a shaggy rug that soaked up trails of water from her body. She rubbed herself dry and brushed her teeth at the same time. Running back into the adjoining bedroom, she rubbed on lotion mixed in with baby oil to moisten her skin and then she started working the pantyhose up her legs. As she got mid-thigh, a snag on a fingernail that she'd been meaning to clip ripped a small hole in the nylon. A long run, stretching all the way to her ankle, was inevitable from that little tear. She grabbed clear-colored nail polish from the dresser and painted the perimeter of the hole. She blew on the polish until it dried, before pulling on the burgundy uniform skirt over it. Crisis averted.