What Start Bad a Mornin’by Carol Mitchell EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Carol Mitchell
- Language: English
- Genre: Black & African American Women’s Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Fairfax, Virginia – August 2003
Five minutes past five; I was going to be late. Only fifteen minutes lef to
pick up Aunt Marjorie before she had a meltdown. Having nally
extricated myself from my last meeting, I waved goodbye to Taylor as I
rushed past the main reception desk. She was on the phone, but she smiled
and mouthed, “Bye, Mrs. Lin.”
I hurried down the hallway to the elevators and entered the rst one to
open. It was empty. ank you, Jesus, I breathed. I pressed the Lobby button
once, then pulsed on it three or four more times, even though I knew my
impatience would not make the doors close any faster. Finally, they slid
together, and the embossed gold sign reading “Gil, Lin and Associates,
Attorneys at Law” was replaced by my reection in the metallic surface of
the doors.
My appearance surprised me. I resembled someone in control of their
day. My eyes were steady and I looked respectable in what my husband,
Brian, called my uniform—a striped, long-sleeved button-down silk shirt
(pink and gray that day) tucked into black work trousers. Observing my
calm exterior did nothing to dampen the churning in my brain. I ran my
hand over my short ’fro then dropped it just as quickly when I saw the mess
I was making of my hair. I could almost hear the seconds ticking away
before the box lurched and began its ten-oor descent.
Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, I chanted in my head, tapping my foot to
the rhythm of my thoughts as if doing so would speed up the elevator or
prevent it from stopping on any other oors. It was not an unreasonable
request, even at ve p.m. is building was occupied primarily by law rms,
banks, and investment rms, all businesses where leaving work before
nightfall was unthinkable, unless you were the boss. Or the boss’s wife.
When the elevator shuddered to a stop and the doors opened on the
main oor, I pulled my briefcase rmly onto my shoulder and glanced at my
watch.
Eight minutes past ve.
As long as traffic was no heavier than usual, I should be able to make up
the ve minutes I had lost, and arrive on time to pick up Aunt Marjorie.
Even when she was having a good day, she barely tolerated the Ramus
House. e staff told me she watched the clock like a child counting the
minutes to recess. At ve-twenty, she would be sitting near the checkout
desk, straight-backed, gripping her handbag in her lap and radiating
impatience in such powerful waves that even the staff, trained to manage the
many manifestations of dementia, kept their distance.
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