Chapter 1: Destiny

1993 Renee

Atlantic Ocean

Can you hear it? Is it howling or the wind passing through? When I hold my fingers up to the sky, I can feel the wind slipping through the spaces in between them. Then there’s the smell of seawater and the back-and-forth motion of the waves. The movement seeps into me, making me want to close my eyes. I miss home with everything in me. I place my hand over the side of the boat. But, can you hear the howling? It’s like a dog.

After only five days at sea, I’m confusing the sounds of dogs with the wind. It figures. Last night, I fell asleep on the boat and heard a pounding. With my eyes closed it sounded like my Mom or my sister Jen, banging on my door early in the morning to wake me up for Sunday service. I always got up too late. It was only until I heard the violent sounds of the water under me that I woke up. When I looked at the ocean, there were fish ramming their silver heads against the sides of my boat. They were trying to eat the algae off the bottom. Their eyes watched me from under the clear surface. It was early in the morning, and everything felt like something from home; the way the sunlight reflected off the waves, the feeling of my thighs brushing against the fraying wood, and the sound of the wind. That howling has been in my ears for days. Everything reminds me of what I left.

I was told these things before I left my island: I would find a new world and have a daughter named Anita and a son named Nelson. Three months before Anita’s 20th birthday, I will die in a place called Washington D.C.

Chapter 2: Losing

Present Day Anita

Washington D.C.

Last year, we were in the waiting room at the hospital while Mama finished her last procedure. I was sitting between Nelson and Auntie Jen when a woman with these long legs came in the waiting room with three boxes of donuts. She smelled like hand sanitizer and Epsom salts. The tips of her fingers were pruned like she just finished a bath. She bent down in front of me and opened one of the boxes of donuts.

“Take one.” She smiled. Damp brown hair stuck to her freckled neck. “Who are you waiting for?”

“My Mom,” I muttered, looking at Nelson. He was staring at the front desk where nurses were picking up and putting down the phone.

“My Mom died 20 years ago.” She said, casually, as I reached into the box. “I probably have a million pictures of her. But no videos. Isn’t that funny?”

Cherish these moments. That’s what she said on her way out. The donuts were stale. They tasted like sand in my mouth- then, strangely, seawater. When Mom returned from surgery, her

words were slurred, and I couldn’t look at her. I mean, that wasn’t really how she talked. I didn’t want to remember that part. So, I closed my eyes and let Nelson speak back and forth with her. Outside the hospital, I tried smoking for the first time. Tamia from across the street gave me one of her cigarettes. She said she knew what I was going through. I placed the Newport in my mouth. Two people kissed on the side of a red Honda in the emergency room parking lot. Who kisses like that in front of a hospital? A dog howled in the distance, probably a stray. I decided to start watching Mama again last week. She was sitting on the porch with Auntie Jen in a white linen dress that billowed in the warm July air. Auntie got up to clip the

stems of our rosebush.

“Remember when you cussed out that boy who tried to give me a rose after school?” She picked the prettiest flower and gave it to Mama. “And then you had the nerve to try to fight

him!”

“Only man I never liked for you was Michael and that’s it.”

Mama let out a laugh. Not a big laugh, but loud enough so that I could hear her through the screen door. The way her eyes closed and the soft dimple on the side of her cheek became the

new memory I wanted to keep. I turn 20 in three months.

––––––

Today, I’m taking the clothes out the dryer. I’m stuck in the basement. The pipes beside me rattle with hot water and there’s lint in the air. Dryer sheets are scattered all over the unfinished floor and my bare feet scrape against the damp ground. My breath stinks. Inside my head, there’s a pounding. Like a little drum. I can hear Nelson walking down the stairs.

“Anita!” he calls. “Everyone’s here, why are you still in the basement?”

Nelson’s wearing the t-shirt Mama bought him in Wilmington. The words “Port City” stretch across his chest in neon letters. His nose ring reflects the dim basement lights.

“Why is everyone still here?” I ask, reaching for the warm pile of clothes on dryer.

Everyone was waiting their turn to see Mama. She told every close friend about the day she believed she would die. Most people called her pessimistic (or worse, crazy) but when she

got her diagnosis last year, no one doubted her prediction. Even our landlord was sitting upstairs on our couch. Mama met him on New Year’s Day in 2000, so the story goes. Mama and Auntie Jen were walking down the street in Chinatown at 6:00 am. It was the first time they stayed out all night. Mama took off her shoes and her stockings were ripped from the thigh down. She limped down the street in a corduroy mini-skirt and her favorite black sweater. Auntie wore a dark green satin gown that dragged on the pavement. The sun was almost up when they sat down on the stairs of what they thought was an abandoned townhome. As they were talking about their aching feet, an older man walked out of the crumbling door behind them and quietly sat next to Mama. He told them that it was days like New Year’s that he missed Jamaica. He missed the mountains, the mango trees, the music, and his family.

“Us too.” Mama and Auntie probably said.

They always talked about missing home- Wilmington, North Carolina. But, they didn’t sound like anyone from Wilmington. They sounded more like our landlord than anyone from North Carolina. On those townhouse steps in 2000, he told them about wanting to buy a house in D.C.

“If I buy it, will you rent it? Then maybe I could go back home and build a house there.”

At the time, Mama thought he was being funny or that he was a little drunk from the night before, but after exchanging numbers, she got a call a year later about a house in Columbia

Heights. When Mama and Auntie Jen got to their new home, our soon-to-be landlord was standing on the front porch with a set of keys and a suitcase in hand.

“My plane leaves in 8 hours!” He yelled, hurrying to a taxi in front of the house. So the story goes.

At 74 years old, Mr. Lorenzo flew back to the U.S. from Kingston. He told me at the door that he never thought he’d return to this “wicked country.” But it was just to see Mama again.

“Just one more time before we all meet in the next place.”

Something is waiting. It’s lingering at our door. I don’t have enough time left with my Mom. I feel stuck in the basement, next to the washer and dryer, still in my clothes from the

night before.

“Anita, come upstairs.” Nelson pleads. “I can’t do this without you.”

He looks at me only for a few seconds before turning to go back upstairs. When he opens the basement door, I can hear the sounds of Mama’s friends talking in the living room.

I reach my hand back into the dryer and pull out Mama’s favorite sweater; a black cashmere knit that she found at a vintage store in Maryland. She calls it her “too pretty” sweater.

I roll it over my shirt. I’ve borrowed Mama’s clothes for years, but this time, it felt like I was stealing. In the mirror, I smooth my shoulder-length braids into a low ponytail. I look closely at

my face and see the bags under my eyes. Today I look nothing like her. Slowly, I climb the stairs. Auntie is pacing the hall with her phone pinched between her shoulder and ear. I only

hear pieces of what she’s saying.

“We can’t just bring her home!” She whispers while tapping her finger aimlessly on the wall.

When she turns around, she quickly hangs up and walks towards me. Her glasses slide gently down her nose.

“You’re wearing her clothes!” She smiles, “That sweater’s lucky. Last time your Mom wore that, it got us a house with rent control.”

I don’t believe in luck. And if I did, it certainly passed by my family line.

“You want me to come in the living room with you?” Before I say a word, she leads the way- holding my hand behind her.

Carefully, we walk towards the room full of people who love my Mother. Nelson is sitting with Mama’s co-worker, Ms. Gwen, who’s wearing all black like someone just died. She

reaches for a beer on our brass coffee table- Mama’s beer from the fridge. She doesn’t even bother to use a coaster. Around the room, there’s curry goat and oxtail from Mr. Lorenzo. He sits

awkwardly cleaning his glasses with his shirt. Nelson walks over to me.

“Are you going upstairs?” he whispers.

I nod while Auntie runs into the kitchen like she forgot something. She comes back with a bowl full of what we call “rain soup”—a special recipe from home.

The stairs creak as I walk up them. It’s dark. The higher up I get, the warmer I feel. Or rather- hot, the hotter I feel. I’m sweating. I can tell that Auntie turned the air conditioning off

and opened all the windows instead. I think she still believes that Mama can sweat out her disease. In the middle of July, it feels almost as hot as it is outside. But, when I peek through the

crack in her door, I can see Mama wrapped in sheets. Her back is turned and she’s looking at our pomegranate tree. Her hair has grown back on the crown of her head. That’s the only perk of

stopping treatments. I can have my hair back, she would tell the doctors who were encouraging her to do a few more rounds.

“Now, look at that. You’re wearing my clothes, ’Nita.” She smiles, resting her cheek on the back of her hand. I nod my head and step through the threshold of the room. It’s cold in the

space around her. Gently, I climb onto the bed and set the tray in my lap.

“Auntie said the sweater is good luck.” I can see the beautiful folds around her almond-shaped eyes. I watch the way her deep brown skin still soaks up the light from the open window. I give her a spoonful of soup, then clean the sides of her mouth.

“I cleaned you up like that- if I could get to you. You would always run from here to there,” She mused, pointing her finger slowly from one end of the room to the other. “You’re just

like me.”

I close my eyes- thinking about how good it felt to run away, only to be found by Mama a few minutes later. She was always after me. Always knew the places I liked to hide.

“At first it frightened me, that you liked to wander but now I know, it’s destiny.”

“What’s destiny?” I ask.

“For you to wander and find our home.”

Mama lifts the rain soup from my lap and slowly sets it on the side table.

“North Carolina?”

“Do you know where rain soup is from?” Mama questions, looking at the pomegranate tree outside. “We used to cook it when I was little. We waited till it stormed and collect the water. We always had storms.”

“In Wilmington?”

“No,” She grabs onto my hand. “A place farther out. An island that we called Flooded Waters. I’ve missed home for so long but every time I tried to go back, I lost track of my steps.”

“But if it’s off the coast of North Carolina then it’s probably one of the sea islands and we could find-“

“Anita, it’s not a place you find on a map. There’s no retracing your steps with Flooded Waters. You leave and usually don’t come back. Unless the island reveals itself.” Her voice trails.

“The island wouldn’t reveal itself to me after I left.” Mama’s eyes are closed and her breath sounds like wind. “I was 24 when I left. We didn’t know there was actually a world out there.

Can you believe that? We were taught we were the only ones left on Earth.”

How could they believe that? Maybe things are getting fuzzy for her- I remember the doctor told us that she might start to hallucinate because of her cancer. I remember her telling

Auntie that her bedroom drifted into the sea one night after her treatment. Her thoughts became tangled.

“When I got here, it was a whole new world. I came to D.C not because I wanted to but because it was fate.”

“Why tell me now?” I breathe. “I could’ve taken it,”

What about all the times I was jealous of my friends because they had hometowns and cousins and family reunions? I always wanted it to be more than just us. She shakes her head, letting her tight curls brush against my shoulder.

“What kind of mother would I be- telling you about a place even I couldn’t find in my own lifetime? I didn’t want you to suffer like me. But now I know, it’s fate.”

_____

I look up at my bedroom ceiling and listen to the rain. My conversation with Mama keeps replaying in my mind. Auntie pulls up in front of the house in Mama’s red car. Its wheel glide

over the stick road. I promise myself not to think anymore. Just listen to the rain. I close my eyes and drift. When I open them, water is pouring from the ceiling. I’m being pelted with rain. The carpet is soaked. I slide out of bed and run towards my window. The water is up to my ankles. Outside, it looks like morning. Maybe 8 am? Mountains are in the distance. The houses are painted soft pinks and yellows. Where’s Tamia house? Where’s the road? Wild rice sprouts on the wet ground beneath my window. Strange birds fling their bodies across the orange sky.

“Come home.” A voice says. I hear a knock at my bedroom door. I turn around.

When I open my bedroom door, Auntie is standing on the other side. I look out the window again. The mountains are gone, Tamia is sitting on her porch, and the road is back. But,

my sheets are wet like someone just dragged them out the ocean. Auntie wraps her arms around me and cries.

“What happened?” I ask, holding my breath. I hear strange bird calls coming from my window. They sound like trumpets. Auntie pulls back. She can’t speak.

“I-I, uh- found her this morning. Your Mom is in the next place.”

I collapse in her arms. Auntie holds me like I’m a child. I pry myself from her hands. It’s unbelievably hot. I start to choke on the wet air. I run outside. Nelson is sitting on the back porch

with his head in his hands. Clouds gather like they want to fall on us. Mosquitos jump at the chance to suck my blood. I hit my ankles over and over again. I’m sweating and remembering. Sweating and remembering. Remember last Wednesday? It rained last Wednesday. You talked about the message from Bible Study. Exiles, promises, land. Your doctors said miracles happen and we all got excited. Except you. Everything was about fate with you. I’m not having the right thoughts.

Thunder shakes me. I run back inside. No one is there. Not even Auntie. Why is no one here? Remember when I crawled into your bed at 4:00 AM because I didn’t get into the one

college I applied to when you told me I should’ve at least sent out my application to five? You held me tight until morning. Never said I told you so. Even when I deserved it. You just got your

nails done at the salon down the street. Remember when you wrapped your cherry nails around me and cried for me? Remember Mom?

“I’ve seen the future, Anita.” You whispered. “And I promise you, yours is a triumph.”

How do you know?

I lean over the kitchen sink. Letting the water run over my hands and nails and arms and hair- I can only think of you. There is no tomorrow without you.

Copyright (c) 2025 Amara Evering