“It’s not rocket science, honey.” She had a natural-born acumen in almost everything she attempted to do. It was a trait I admired, and one I wasn’t sure I had inherited.
My mother and Martha arranged the funeral while David took care of all the legal aspects of my father’s estate. I knew decisions would have to be made but I wasn’t ready at the time, so I decided I would go back to Ann Arbor after the funeral, wrap up my life, and then move to New York for a few months until I could decide what to do. Moving to New York was never part of my plan before Pops died, but that’s where I found myself.
Everything regarding his estate was cut and dry. I was the one and only recipient of his assets. However, I knew there would be items that Pops would want Sheil and Martha to have, and I was sure he would have requests regarding Kell’s. When I opened the letter, I knew from the tone and formality that it was something Pops had dictated to his lawyer and then signed. He wanted to be official. Everything financial had already been dealt with in another section of his will. I knew the letter I was about to read would address his personal belongings, along with his hopes and dreams for Kell’s. I skimmed through the logistical pieces in the beginning, obviously put there by the lawyer, until I got to the specifics. I braced myself.
Sheil Haryana and Martha Jones shall have access to my apartment to gather their personal belongings, as well as any music, letters, or photographs that pertain to them. Several moments passed as I studied the sparse document. I ran my index finger under each word, slowly searching for a hidden message, but there was nothing more. It’s all up to me. He left it all up to me. The buzzer rang, startling me out of my daze. I went to the speaker. “Yes?’
“It’s Martha.” I buzzed her in immediately and could hear her bounding up the steps beside my four-legged friend. I opened the door and fell to the floor as Jackson pounced on me with the full weight of his front legs.
“I missed you, buddy!” He licked my face and shifted from paw to paw as I scratched behind his ears. I stood up and sank into Martha’s embrace. “Thank you for taking care of him… and Kell’s.”
“Oh, my Mia Pia! It’s so good to see you, sweetheart.” She pushed my shoulders back to study my face. Looking right into my eyes, she said, “We have some work to do… don’t we?”
That was the understatement of the century.
Track 2: Hello, I Like You
Sorting through a box of pictures, Martha pulled one out and held it up. “Do you remember this, Mia Pia?” I scanned the black-and-white photo as the memory came flooding back. We were at the Memphis Zoo, all of us. I was about six, sitting atop my father’s shoulders. On one side of us stood my mother and David, on the other side stood Martha and her husband, Jimmy. We were all smiling exuberantly at the camera except for my mother; she was looking at my father and me. Her smile was different—it wasn’t excited, it was warm and full of love.
Martha, Jimmy, and Pops had been on a road trip all over the U.S. My mother and David decided we would meet them in Memphis. Just moments after we took the picture, it began raining. Instead of calling it a day, my father pointed and shouted, “To the butterflies!” Showered by the warm rain, he skipped toward the exhibit with me bouncing above his six-foot-four frame. I held on to his ruddy brown locks while he hummed “Rocky Road to Dublin.” I remember feeling safe, loved, and exactly where I should be. Inside the screened enclosure, he pointed to a chrysalis and explained metamorphosis to me.
“Pops, will I have a metamorphosis?”
“Of course, luv. We are ever changing, always learning, always evolving.”
“So I’ll be a beautiful butterfly one day?”
He smiled and chuckled. “You’re a beautiful butterfly now. It’s the change that happens in here that matters.” He pointed to my heart.
Before handing the picture back, I stared at it for several moments, absorbing everyone’s youthfulness. Martha’s hair had gone completely silver since that time and her eyes, still wildly expressive, had dulled from a stunning blue to a cloudy gray, framed with heavy lines. She rarely wore makeup; instead she maintained her classic hippie vibe, always in colorful shirts and long, flowy skirts or faded jeans. I handed the picture back while she continued sifting through the box. When she reached for it, she glanced up and noticed my puffy eyes. She began taping up the box hurriedly.
“Hang on to all of this for yourself, sweetie, and go through it when you’re ready.”
I carried the box to the hall closet and shoved it onto the top shelf for another time.