Hail Mary, Full of Grace

When the clouds grew tall and dark on the north-western horizon, I knew it was time to go across the street. Joe had died not long before, I wasn’t working and Mary and I were both afraid of storms. So I walked over, knocked on the door and sat down to strong, strong coffee and cake.

Mary always had cake.

We drank our coffee and picked at our cake, never really eating much, because we both knew that this one was the “big” one. Cigarettes helped calm our nerves.

Right up until the sky turned black, almost like night, the wind started howling and the rain whipped up under the eaves, trying to blow the whole roof off. The lightning could be awful, striking over and over again within spitting distance of her kitchen windows.

That’s when we walked around the house, and she showed me the crucifixes that Joe had left in the windows. “As long as those are there, we’ll be okay," she'd say in that gravelly voice I miss so much. "I don’t believe it, really, but Joe did, and they’ve kept us safe up til now. Some things you just don’t mess with.”

I didn't argue.

The winds howled, the rain beat down, and we sat at the kitchen table picking at our cake, swigging on coffee and smoking. We always ended back up there, at that little kitchen table, the same place, time after time after time.

She told me stories about her life. She was born not too far away, in Hickman, KY. She had family here, there and everywhere. She married Joe and lived with him in Chicago most of her life. Joe wasn’t Polish, like always said: he was Sicilian.

Joe got Alzheimer’s, and his decline was painful to watch. The decline started when he wandered away the first time and left Mary frantic. Neighbors found him down the road, but by then, he was having trouble getting in an out of the bath. A few months later, she couldn’t lift his legs to get him in or out and he didn't know how to.

We were both alone that summer, Miss Mary and me. Joe had died earlier in the year, and I couldn’t find a job. So we rode it out together. Both of us, I think, felt a bit powerless. We found our power in each other.

Mary died a few years later. Or at least the physical part of her did. As long as I’m alive, she will be, too.

Every time the weather gets bad, I remember her.

Hail Mary, full of grace.