THE NIKEL chapter 1

THE NIKEL is a novella I wrote a kagillion years ago during the pager days. It seems I'm never going to update it or properly edit it so I'm going to publish it here one chapter at a time. You piece it together for yourself. Oh, you may notice how I tried to change pager to cell phone, don't laugh. I do love this story, which is why I decided to share it. It's just dated that's all. Whatever. Hope you like it.



Chapter 1

Feburary '97 Saba sat with Olivia on the front porch on Cliff Dr. in Pasadena. Saba rarely said much to anyone which made her just the right company for Olivia that day. That day that the parrots flew over the house just as Olivia had finished praying. That must mean something, she thought. The way they sqwaked and chirped and flapped as she got up from folded hands and crossed legs. She and Saba sat there on the porch separate and together the way a cat and its human share the living room sofa late in the day. Each in their own world connected by the occasional sight of each other. Together they inhaled as the breeze whispered the smell of jasmine into their spaces. At the same time they looked up at the clouds and listened to the birds and what they had to say. As one lonely lock escaped Olivia's cream headwrap she brushed it out of her face and looked past her lilies, beyond the roses and the fountain and onto her beautiful Pasadena neighborhood she loved so much. Looked out onto the trees that had been on the block longer than most of the residents. She wondered what the trees would say if they could speak. Her mind raced and landed on her childhood. On her father who often came home from his construction job and plopped down on the couch.

How she waited to hear his old truck making it the best it could to get around the corner. She was a precousious seven year old lady and loved her father like voodoo. A magic, a language, a journey only she was born to understand. She thought about how he used to send her to Den's market on the corner of Wardlow and Delta near their home on Cameron St. in Long Beach, California with a note for John the cashier to please give Olivia a pound of hog-head cheese and zig-zags. She proudly carried the package home to her father like she had just completed a secret mission. In turn he gave her two quarters then rolled up his "homemade cigarettes" and chomped on his stinky meat. Olivia's mother knew nothing about the journey. She was praying. Praying. All the time praying. Singing glory glory unto His name. Olivia was the perfect blend of Mr. and Mrs. Betancourt. She could shoot dice, pick the sweetest watermelon, catch squirrels, fry chicken and pray a sinner saved all before she turned five.

But now, years later, on the porch in Pasadena where she sat with the roses, lilies, lizards, the sky and Saba, she knew. Olivia knew. But didn't know because she did not want to know. A chapter was about to end and another one soon to begin. You could listen or not but ignorance didn't stop it from coming. "Change is the only constant of life, her mother often said. "Things can't stay the same. They can't" was her relaxed response when she and Olivia were returning home from St. Mark Baptist Church after communion Sunday in their white dresses, opaque stockings and big hats and the tire went flat under Mama's black Cadillac whose plates read OSE BABA (thank you Father). They sat right there in the middle lane on the busy Pacific Coast Highway just before Long Beach Blvd. Olivia was glad she was there with her on that day that Mama insisted on driving. She would not let Olivia get out of the car before they held hands to pray. Mama took Olivia's hand and closed her eyes while Olivia looked around apologetically at the cars that inched their way around them and blew their horns.

"I said amen." Mama shook Olivia's hand hard to let her know that she knew that she had not been praying, but had been focusing on "man's world not God's world."

"Oh, you were praying so softly I couldn't even hear you."

"Because I wasn't talking to you." Was Mama's reply.

Olivia easily flagged down help from the gentlemen two cars behind them. In no time flat the spare tire was put on, Mama's three dollar gratuity politely declined and they were on their way again as James Cleveland sang through the cassette player. Mama sat there, centered the whole time.

"Mama, you are gonna have to stop driving, at least by yourself. What if I wwas't here with you?"

"Do you think you talkin' to a fool? If you weren't here with me then do you think I would have just sat here and withered away in the middle of the street like a struck down dog? Something would have happened. It always does. Things can't stay the same. They can't."