The Book That is For Us, By Us

“Hey, Ms. Louise! It’s me. I’m coming in,” Mya shouted.

“I’m in the living room, sweetie,” Ms. Louise called out.

Mya walked in, dropped her keys into the bowl in the foyer, and followed the familiar scent of dried herbs and something warm steeping. The living room was lined with plants—some tall, some tucked into corners—each one healthy, looking like they had been cared for for years.

“Hey, sweetie. How you doing today?” Ms. Louise asked from her recliner.

“I’m here, Ms. Louise. How are you today?” Mya said, placing a to-go plate and a cup on the coffee table.

“I’m good, Mya.” Ms. Louise looked her over. “But you look a little off for such a sunny afternoon.”

“Honestly, I think I need to start eating better,” Mya admitted. “I’ve been feeling sluggish, moody as I don’t know what, and I can’t stay focused for nothing.”

Mya headed toward the kitchen. “Was you fixing me some of that tea I like? The kettle whistling?”

“Ohhh-kay. Yeah, it’s ready,” Ms. Louise said, lifting her cup. “I might should’ve fixed you something else, though.” She smiled. “Where you say you was from again? Up north somewhere?”

“Yeah… New Jersey,” Mya said.

“Mm-hmm.” Ms. Louise nodded. “Mya, sweetie, can you grab that notebook journal from the drawer next to the cabinet?”

“Sure.”

Mya poured her tea, opened the drawer, and pulled out the notebook. Its cover was worn, soft at the edges. She flipped through a few pages as she walked back.

“Did you write this?” she asked.

Ms. Louise smiled. “No. That book been passed down from generation to generation of women in my family. Down here in Louisiana, my people been here our whole life. We more spiritual. They taught me to stay in tune with the earth and my body. We, as African American women, should really eat how that book says to—not just when it’s that time of the month.”

She patted the arm of the chair. “Sit down and read some of it. Those little house chores of mines can wait.”

Ms. Louise studied her for a moment.

“Let me ask you something—and if it’s too personal, you don’t have to answer. You pregnant, My?”

“Nooo,” Mya laughed. “My period came on today.”

Ms. Louise nodded, like that explained plenty.

“You’ve really been there for me since I moved here,” Mya said. “I look at you like family.”

“Aww, sweetie. Good. I look at you like family too.”

Then Ms. Louise tilted her head. “You get rid of that leech of a boyfriend?”

Mya giggled. “Yes ma’am. New year, new me!”

“Well, good. Since it's your time of the month, go to page ninety-nine. Start there. That book the golden ticket to feeling good and living better, health-wise.”

Mya flipped to the page.

“I didn’t know any of this,” she said. “There’s four phases of our menstrual cycle… and certain foods to eat during each one.”

“Yep,” Ms. Louise said. “You know how y’all get snow up in Jersey? Folks say when it comes down good and stay a few days, it kills the germs. Same thing here. When your menstrual on, eat clean. Flush that old stuff out.”

She lifted her plate. “You go on and read. I’m going to eat my food while it is still warm.”

Mya settled back on the couch, the book resting in her lap.

I really need to stop eating the way I do, she thought.

Fast food. TV dinners. A brownie every night. That not even feeding me—it’s just filling me up.

No wonder I feel like this.

I’m not fueling my body properly.

She paused, letting that sit.

Eating blueberries helps with memory. Carrots help skin. Avocados help hormones.

Grandma had thyroid problems. That could happen to me too.

Why wasn’t this taught in that food class I took?

She smiled to herself.

Shoot, I can add avocado and blueberries to a salad. Easy fix.

I can actually eat better.

New year, Mya. New you, girl!

She reached into her bag for her notebook and pen.

“What you doing, sweetie?” Ms. Louise asked.

“Writing this down.”

“Naw. You take that book,” Ms. Louise said. “It’s yours now. I know it front to back. It’s time.”

Mya looked at the book, then back at Ms. Louise. “You sure?”

“Yes, baby.”

Ms. Louise stood up. “Come on. Let me show you something.”

They stepped outside.

“I don’t have much out here,” Ms. Louise said, sweeping her hand across the yard, “but I got the basics. Enough to remind you where food really come from.” If you're not busy tomorrow, we can go to the farmer's market to pick some herbs for that favorite tea of yours."

She pointed toward the back. “Fig tree back there. Make sure you grab some—they good for energy and focus.”

Then she motioned to the side. “Over there are my berries. And I got my greens—collards, kale—and you know I got to have my okra.”

Ms. Louise picked up an old, worn wicker basket and placed it in Mya’s hands.

“You can take whatever you want.”

Mya held the basket for a moment.

“And I’m coming with you to the farmers market tomorrow,” she said. “I want to get what you don’t have growing here.”

Ms. Louise smiled. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Mya stepped forward, basket in hand.

She wasn’t waiting anymore.

New Mya. New way of living.

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ABOUT BRITTY J

Britty J is from the Carolinas, mom of three that starting to use her daydreams as stories.