Everything by Jeri Williams Page A

and, well, this was a small town and people talked. He told me on many occasions that his mom wasn’t like that, but one could never be too sure.
    When he came back out, he saw that I was getting dressed and started to silently put on some basketball shorts and a tank top.
    “Hey,” I said softly, making my way over to him. “What’s the matter?”
    “Nothing,” he said, hugging me. “I just hate that you have to leave me.”
    “I know,” I said. “But it’s only for a little while so I can get some learning.”
    He smiled but he wasn’t really into it. “Yeah. Come on, let me get you back.” He took my hand and intertwined it with his as he led me out to his truck and only let go to get in, then resumed holding my hand once we got on the road.
    He dropped me off with a kiss and a promise to call me if anything changed with Rufus and said he would see me later. I went in and gathered my shower caddy so that I could take a long, hot shower.  
    Once I was done, it was already going on six thirty, so I decided to head over to Opal’s early, knowing she wouldn’t mind, plus it was always good that I showed up early from time to time, just in case.
    When I arrived at Opal’s, I let myself in with the key she had given me and found her in the kitchen frying fish, at six forty-five in the morning like it was totally okay to be doing so.  
    “Um, hi, Auntie”
    “Oh, hey, chile,” she said as the grease from the pan sizzled and popped.
    “Um, whatcha doing?”
    “I’m fryin’ up summa this here ol’ catfish I got from the store,” she explained.
    “Why,” I asked patiently, “are you doing this at six forty-five in the morning?”
    “Oh, pshh. Haven’t you eva had fish an’ grits for breakfast befo’? You were raised in Florida.”
    “Yes, but, Aunt Opal, we usually fried the fish up the night before so we didn’t have to get up so early.”
    “No sirree, Bob. That ain’t the way to do it. Then it’s not fresh,” she said as she clucked her tongue.
    I realized that Aunt Opal was completely lucid, not crazy lucid, but lucid lucid. This was a rarity in and of itself. The last time I saw this side of Opal was almost three weeks ago. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, whatever that meant—it was a mom-ism I picked up—I went over to see if she needed any help and looked into the frying pan.
    “Did you do something different to the catfish?” I asked, puzzled. “It looks funny.”
    “Oh, this ain’t no catfish. I don’ already ate that. This here is toad.”
    Oh dear god.Lucid went out the window. Back was crazy Opal. And gross-as-hell Opal.
    “Auntie, where did you get a toad from?” I asked, trying to take the frying pan from her.
    “I caught him myself, out back,” she stated self-importantly, not letting me take the frying pan from her.
    “Haven’t cha eva had toad befo’, chile?”
      I swallowed back bile before I replied, “No, that was never on the menu at my house.”
    “Figured. Y’all young people don’t know good food.” She leaned over and inhaled the aroma I’d mistaken for fish.
    “I’ll stick to not knowing. Let me help you with that,” I said, trying a different tactic to get the frying pan, which worked, as she relented and let me take over. I immediately turned off the stove and moved the pan over to a different burner, without Opal even noticing.
    “Lookha’ here,” she smacked her teeth, “I got somethin’ stuck in my tooth. Come see if you can get it out with your fingernail.”
    “What? No ,” I said, glancing around the kitchen half-expecting a camera crew to burst through the door and Ashton Kutcher to yell, “You just got punk’d.”
    “Well, how else am I s’pose to get this out?” she asked snappily.
    “Let me go find some floss,” I said. As I passed the kitchen sink, I saw that she had at some point made catfish and grits, as the dishes were still in the sink. Her spurts of lucidity were coming less and less often, and