Standing back, I watch the novice belt out the entire song with the same enthusiasm I’ve seen when the Second Baptist Church choir performs at the local festivals.
Turning just as she finishes on a high note, both spiritual and vocally, seeing me, she covers her face, blushing.
“Oh.” Pulling down her headphones until they circle her neck, she grins at me. “Saban, it’s so good to see you.”
“Hi.” Dragging it out nervously. “I was wondering if you could help me with something.” Starting up the aisle, I come to a stop in front of her.
Locs are pulled back into a high bun, with a scarf holding them in place. She has on an apron covering a white blouse and a black skirt. I assume it’s her regular uniform. Pulling the gloves off her hands, she tucks them and a bottle labeled linseed oil into the pocket of her apron.
“How can I be of help?” Dipping her head to the side in question, she waits for my response.
Ugh,” I groan. “This sounds silly, but I was wondering if you could help me figure out what this tune is. Long story, but I have these nightmares, and for as long as I can remember, I’ve hummed this tune, and it calms me.” I give her a little shrug, my throat tightening.
This is as much as I’ve ever shared with anyone outside of Snake about my past.
“Oh, how precious. Of course, I will help you. Come, let’s go out back so the smell of the polish doesn’t overwhelm us, non?” Giving me a wink, she leads the way out to the garden.
“It’s really flourishing.” Marveling at the blooms that have taken over in the short weeks after the planting, I look at Peace in astonishment.
“Crimson and Clover say they have blessed hands, and I believe them. Father George says it’s the sprinklers Cruz Construction put in place.” We both laugh at the nonsense.
“So the tune is.” Softly humming the few notes, I watch her for any signs of recognition.
“Hmm,” her face scrunches up. “Can you do it again?” This time she turns away as if not to be distracted by looking at me.
“Maybe —” she hums a melody that is similar. I listen, then she adds words, and it’s as if something cracks inside me.
Tears flood my eyes as not only the melody and words come flooding in the sensation of warmth and love. A soft bosom to rest my head. Strong arms that offer comfort and safety.
“Ohmygoodness.” Not realizing nor caring, I sob into the arms of a woman I barely know as she softly sings the lullaby I intrinsically know my parents sang to me.
Dodo ti pitit manman
Dodo ti pitit papa
Si li pa dodo, krab la va manje
Si li pa dodo, krab la va manje
Manman ou pa la, I ale la rivyè
Papa ou pa la, krab la va manje
Si li pa dodo, krab la va manje
Si li pa dodo, krab la va maje
I don’t no, how long she holds me. After a while, I pull away, looking like a sobbing mess.
“I’m so sorry.” Embarrassment flushes my face hot. With the sun already hammering down on us like we’re some construction project. A builder finally got to do, I know I look horrendous and probably a little touched.
“No worries. I guess now you remember the song?” The kindness in her voice dispels some of the anxiety I feel crying like that.
Already nodding as she reaches out and squeezes my hand for comfort, I have to bite back the emotion that’s fighting to be unleashed, holding it tightly to my chest instead. Wanting to hold on to the feeling of what I felt as she song the lyrics.
“It took me a minute to catch the tune. I'm not an infant anymore. But it is a very popular lullaby back home.” She looks at me like she wants to say more, but she hesitates.
“What?” Puzzled, I look at her. She doesn't seem like the type of person who holds back what she thinks or feels, and I think that's why I was immediately drawn to her. Her expression is an open book, and I can tell that she wants to say more or ask me more questions. I feel like crying on her like a two-year-old kind of forges a bond. She laughs when I tell her that. Raising her hands and I surrender kind of way.
