Page 143 of Dock

Her playful retort gets my nose mirthfully scrunching. “Don’t judge me.”

“You…” she angles herself towards me and leans her apron covered hip against the island edge, “are judgin’ you.”

“Huh?”

Gam Gam opts out of answering.

Simply motions to the bowl in front of me.

“Stir, Em.”

I cautiously place the spoon inside the pecan pie filling mixture and move the ingredients around in no particular pattern.

“Gentle,” she verbally guides. “And steady.”

My execution adjusts.

“Clockwise. Call the goodness and healin’ in.”

The corner of my lips threatens to kick upward.

“Let the whippin’ soothe the soul.”

Collecting the contents off the side, I softly announce, “You never used to let me do this.”

“No,” is swiftly stated, “you never wanted to do it. Always afraid you’d do it wrong or bad.”

Yeah.

In retrospect, that sounds more accurate.

“Your whole life really,” Gam Gam continues. “You’ve always been more afraid of the consequences of doin’ somethin’ wrong than the ones of not doin’ it at all.”

Pulling my lips to one side occurs in an effort not to concede to that fact.

“You ain’t livin’ life if you take no chances.”

It’s impossible not to meet her espresso glare.

“And you gotta start livin’ life, baby girl. Really livin’ ‘cause only the ancestors know when you’re gettin’ that call to come back home.”

“Is that…is that what this is?”

“Not yet, so you bes’ make the most of life while there’s still life to make the most of.” This time her arched brow is motherly. “Understood?”

Slowly nodding is all I can do.

“Now, Em, hand over that bowl,” she waves her fingers inward, “get outta this kitchen, go do all things you wanna do, and,” the round object is transferred into her grasp, “go get yo’ man!”

**

Cold air caresses my face causing it to turn from one side to the other.

Abominable aches ripple through my entire system from the simple change, eliciting airy groans and whimpers over just the idea of opening my eyes.

Yet I do.

I need to know where I am.