Red Hats by Damon Wayans Read Free Book Online Page A

and socks—even his underwear—all had the same smell. They smelled like him. The scent God made just for him that only a wife, a lover, or a friend would know. Being all three intensified the experience for Alma. She held his worn undershirt to her face and inhaled deeply. She cried softly and let the fabric absorb her tears.
    Alma opened the hall closet to find Harold’s jacket on the floor. She remembered him standing in the stairwell, looking back at her with the jacket in hand. The memory was vivid—he had switched the jacket into the other hand to grab hold of the banister that guided him safely from her gaze.
    As Alma folded the lightweight, faded blue blazer, she felt something tucked away in the breast pocket. She searched and found the tickets to the dance Harold was going to take her to for her birthday. She had forgottenshe was turning the big six-five tomorrow. She had bought herself a beautiful red satin dress she found in a going-out-of-business sale, in case Harold had wanted to take her out. He was always surprising her on birthdays. “Just be ready,” he would say.
    He’d never tell her what he was planning, because she would be disappointed, never happy once she knew. He had decided early on that he would always surprise her. Alma liked surprises—they were romantic to her—and loved to dance. After all the years of anger and resentment, they still had terrific chemistry on the dance floor. He was in control of her movements, and she submitted to his direction, but only under the flashing colored lights.
    Alma thought about going to the dance by herself but quickly dismissed that idea, imagining people staring at her, asking, “Who’s the old lady standing in the puddle of tears?” Alma wished she could pop another Valium to calm the anxiety that was creeping into her heart.
    “My daddy didn’t raise no punks!” she reassured herself. She had promised herself not to take any more of the pills, because they only increased the anxiety when they wore off. From now on, she was going to deal with whatever life threw her way.
    Alma slept for
twelve hours, and when she woke, she felt exhausted, depressed, and unable to go back to sleep. She realized that was how doctors got you addicted. They madeyou believe the only thing to stop the hurt was to take another pill.
    No,
she told herself as she put the phone down after dialing the doctor’s office to request a refill. She was determined to give them up and decided to drink some coffee and take a long walk to help clear her head.
    Alma was sipping her second cup of Folgers when the doorbell rang. Standing outside was a deliveryman with a beautiful bouquet of pink roses and bird-of-paradise, a rich variation of a rainbow. They were from Harold! The stranger had to hold her up when she collapsed in his arms, crying like a baby.
    How did he send flowers from the grave? Harold must have known his time was short and was taking delight in tormenting her. Wasn’t his death enough? Why couldn’t he have had a little heart attack to teach her this lesson? She would have taken care of him and helped nurse him back to health with her special chicken noodle soup. Harold hated hospital food. If he’d had a small attack, she could have recognized her sins and changed her contrary ways. Instead, he left her with nothing but all this damn guilt! The flowers only poured salt on the wound.
    Alma decided she could no longer bear this tortured state.
    Dearest Children,
    It’s with love and tears that I write this letter to say my good-byes. I can’t take the pain any longer.It’s too hard. It’s just too damn hard for me to move on. I always believed I was tough and would get through this, but now I know I can’t. I can’t because I know what your father knows, which is that I killed him. I killed your father with unkind words, unspoken rage, and a jealous heart that all the love in the world couldn’t tame. I only pray God judges me kinder than I’ve judged