The 79 Club

"What the hell ?! Who are the three of you? " demands a burly African-American senior woman.

A haggard white woman slumped in a metal chair, biting her lower lip.

A swarthy young kid about 5'7 with his foot on an old school basketball, holding a book, barely looks up.

A brown-skinned young woman with oval-shaped glasses who was under the only window in this cold, dusty basement turns around,

"Ma'am, I found this soft, purple velvet scrunchie and this pamphlet for the library. It says on the inside, 'Come downstairs and join the 79 Club, where there will be refreshments for those seeking solitude and guidance.'"

Heels clicking with force against the cement, the older woman, annoyed, approaches the young woman, "Let me see this! We do not offer clubs. Look around. Do you see any refreshments?"

The woman upset and then befuddled. "I don't know where you got this, but this ain't for here."

"It has this address on the front. See, ma'am, I have no neighbors. Signs surround my overgrown grass. "Beware of Dog," "Private Property," and "No Trespassing" signs stop the mail carriers and Jehovah's Witnesses from even getting out of their vehicles if they decide to drive down my long driveway. I don't understand how something familiar and this pamphlet ended up in my house. Oh, I'm Nita."

Flipping through the pamphlet, the white woman, with what was once Marilyn Monroe-esque hair but is now greasy, pungent, and knotted, reads what the young girl said, her facial expressions mirroring those of a scientist when looking under a microscope.

"Well, Nita. I'm sorry, but as you can see, this is just an old basement. I'm a volunteer here, and I do my sorting down here. I'm not sure why the rest of you are here, but you shouldn't be. I usually have this locked."

"I have one, too." The white woman cracks her voice, raising her pamphlet. "My husband, Juan, was a painter..." the widow sniffles, gripping her pamphlet. "Jack and Whiskey, our Siamese cats, knocked over a paint can that my husband oddly left on a side table in the foyer. I ran over, expecting paint to get all over the carpet. But the can was hollow. A $2 bill, a key, and this pamphlet were what fell out. See when, uh, my husband died...I wanted to go into his art room. He locked it, though. I looked under every mat, and drawer. It's been seven years. When I found the key today, I immediately ran to his art studio. I turned it, and it...it started to turn. I know that if this had happened seven years ago, I would have burst inside. Instead, I found myself bawling. My chest began to stab me. My head felt unrealistically heavy. My lungs...so I got in the car to go to the hospital. When I went to turn the ignition, I realized I was clutching this damn paper. I hadn't even read the inside. I glanced at the address, and here I am."

"I've been coming here since July 3rd, 2021. This place is dope. But y'all bringing your spookiness and sob stories is killing the vibe. I come here for some peace and quiet." States the kid.

"But this is the basement. Employees and volunteers only. Y'all in a library but can't read a damn sign." said sassily by the black woman.

"Well, ain't nobody ever down here. Nobody bothered me before, and I ain't bother anyone either."

"How old are you, kid?!" asks the volunteer.

"I ain't no kid. I'm twelve. I was born on October 28, 2013.

The volunteer gasps and grips her bosom.

Nita runs over, grabbing a wide, sturdy rosewood chair. "You okay, Ma'am? You look like you just saw a ghost."

The blonde kneeling at the elderly volunteer's side, "Are you a diabetic? When did you eat last?"

"For a black woman, you look pale suddenly," comments the kid.

"Ma'am, I'm Charlotte. I'm a nurse. Someone get this woman some water. "Ma'am, what's your name? Let me call for some help."

"No, no," waving her hand.

Charlotte responds, "I might have my stethoscope and a blood pressure cuff in the trunk. My husband was a diabetic, so maybe a glucometer, too."

Straightening up in the rosewood chair that is illuminated with sunlight, making the redness of the wood shine, she clears her throat and says calmly but firmly, "I'm fine, children. And to answer you, young lady, I am Ms. Lily Glady's Blue. You all can call me Ms. Lily."

The young boy responds, "You don't look fine."

Ms. Lily lets out a pealing laugh. The laughter in the against the gray cement walls and ground causes a reverberation.

"What's so funny?" Asks the young boy.

Nita chimes in, "Yeah, you had us worried."

In a matter of seconds, walks in a tree of a man, black handsome and long-limbed. "Hello. Ms. Lily? Are you okay? What is going on?" Noticing the worry on the young people's faces and seeing a woman that he had probably never seen sit before, panic sheets his face. "Who are y'all? What did they do to you, Ms. Lily? Are you okay?

Now roaring, Ms. Lily's laughter encompasses the basement.

"Why is she laughing like that?" the young boy asked.

"What are you all doing down here? "Asks the man.

They look at each other.

Lily.

Nita.

Charlotte.

The boy.

The man.

"Sir. I don't know if this woman is a diabetic. She was snippy a minute ago, and then the kid said something to upset her, and we guided her to this chair. We should call for help," Charlotte responds.

"Will you stop it?!" Ms. Lily commands. "I was just laughing. You so smart. You think if I were having a hypoglycemic episode or was dying, I'd be laughing. You young folks always want to run for help. That's what's wrong with you kids these days. 'Oh no, my sink got a leak; let me shovel money into a stranger's wallet to fix it. Oh my! My head hurts, let me WEBMD my symptoms, oh my, I must have a brain tumor, I better go to the ED.' Well, I'm Lily Glady's Blue, and I do not need anyone's help."

"ED? Are you a nurse? Only us in the medical..." Charlotte replies.

"Child. You've got a lot to learn. I ain't got no damn degree. My granddaughter is a nurse. She said ED once, and I thought, why the hell is my grandbaby talking about erectile dysfunction all of a sudden." says Ms. Lily.

Charlotte now chortles. "ED!"

Ms. Lily, who appears to be eighty, ages to a youthful eighteen by giggling in agreement.

Nita titers.

"Now, what are you guys laughing about?!"-states Johnny.

Charlotte's laughter brings warmth to a cold, forgotten room.

Ms. Lily laughs once again..

From the soul of her feet to her crown.

Now stomping her leg.

A teardrop glissades against Nita's cheek.

A dam has broken, and like a hyena, she laughs loudly.

"Now you?!"-states the boy.

The man who knelt by Ms. Lily's side unburdens a bellow that harmonizes with the energetic laughter.

"Peace and Quiet!!!!" the young boy screams, now aggravated. "It's a library..."I came for some peace and quiet!"

As the sea washes upon the sand, silence rinses the laughter. f

Slight body repositioning from them, and they are all facing the young boy.

His chest rises. His clavicle nearly hits his chin.

The mystery man takes his large hand and rests it on the young boy's shoulder. He spreads his other hand out, "Hi. I'm Melv. You're right, we are in a library. People come here for some peace. Some people come here for the quiet. What's your name, young man?"

Pausing, the teen looks at the man towering over him and then down at his giant hand with fingers long and spread wide like a frog.

"Johnny. Johnny Boston. I'm from Tulsa, Oklahoma!"

"Oklahoma?! Thunder fan?!"

Grinning from ear to ear now.

"Yeah! Oklahoma City Thunder is my favorite team!"

"Hmm..."

Cheerful now, "What?!"

"Just memories, kid. See, in 1995, I was supposed to play in the Final Four for the Oklahoma State Cowboys...April 1, 1995. That was supposed to be my ticket. I wanted to play for The Thunders. My favorite team, too, kid."

"You are tall! What happened?"

"February 21st happened."

" I don't get it. What would something in February have to do with a game in April?"

"Everything."

"What is with you people and dates? This whole thing with this old lady started with me telling her my birthdate."

"Well, what's your birthday?"

"October 28th, 2013!"

Melv face sinks inward. He slowly glances over to Ms. Lily. The tree of a man kneels to make eye level with Johnny.

"Now I see. See, Johnny, dates often become markers for adults. The older you get, it's as if you think remembering certain dates will be the key to solving a grand test. The longer you live, the more dates you collect. Sometimes adults hold certain things in their minds and hearts, hoping it will open the door to understanding."

"What are you talking about? I don't get it. What does my birthday have to do with this woman?"

"You're in a library, right? You read?" (The boy shakes his head yes) "Good. You own a dictionary?"-Melv asks.

Johnny shakes his head no.

"The new Oxford American Dictionary. I'll give you a word to look up. Juvenescence."

"Juveee-juva-what?

Chuckling, but softer now. "Juvenesence. Juv-recognize that? Juvenile. Latin. Young. Look it up. It means the process of becoming young."

Puzzled, Johnny asks, "How can something become young? Don't we get old? You make no sense. Did you not play the final four cause you got brain damaged?"

Nita rolls her eyes, embarrassed as if this teen were her young brother. Charlotte is captivated by Melv. Lily is just observing the young teen.

"Haha. Sort of, actually. Grief kid. Grief can do some damage to your brain if you let it. Focus. I want you to remember today's date. Juvenescence. The process of becoming young again. See, when we are young, we often think we get old and die. It ain't that simple. Thank God. You know why us old folks were laughing. We were transforming. Our laughter was the product of each of us becoming young again. Your birthdate was a date that, well, I probably shouldn't speak for Ms. Lily, but I know what April 1, 1995, was for me. It was a day that I thought I'd die. In February, I aged older than Ms. Lily is now, and by April, my brain got well, as you said, damaged, and for all intents and purposes, I died. But kid. I know none of this probably doesn't make any sense. Don't worry too much about dates.. Like you did, fighting for peace and, yes, quiet can be good, too. But sometimes, even libraries need to be filled with roars of laughter. Laughter is a sign that a new beginning is occurring. Laughter shows there is life, and being youthful can be attained whether you are in your twenties, thirties, in a mid-life crisis, or aged like fine wine."

"Juve-a. Can you write that down?"

"Haha, yeah, it's a hard one to pronounce. My wife says words all the time I struggle to pronounce, too. Here, let me help you find that dictionary. I need to go check out a book myself-the Audacity of Hope by Obama. I haven't read it. I hate politics. I'm Republican too. But I heard Mrs. Obama's brother once call her Miche. That was my nickname for my sister... Obamacare. I wasn't a fan of that, but Hope...He talks about Hope, and you know what, laughter is the universal sign for Hope."

"You talk a lot!"

"I've been told that before. Odd for a librarian, ain't it?"

Melv grabs the young kid's head, and they walk towards the stairs. The sun gleamed, making the basement seem less dark. "See you, ladies! Take good care of Ms. Lily." Melv and Johnny walk up the stairs out of the basement.

Lily. Nita and Charlotte.

"Ms. Lily, What happened on October 28th, 2013?" asks Nita.

Looking at the cold grey, hard floor, rubbing her knee a bit aggressively so that her skirt rises a bit high, revealing a scar indicating this woman had a knee replacement at one time. "Car accident. My daughter and my unborn grandson died. I already lost my mom and have been a widow for many, many years."

Charlotte grabs a used tissue, wipes her nose, and leans her head back as if gravity is the reason why tears are starting to fall.

"My daughter was rushing to the hospital. She thought she needed to go to the emergency room. Her stomach was bothering her. I told her she was fine. But she insisted on getting help. A woman got distracted by a phone call. She crashed into my daughter. All three died. My daughter. My unborn grandson. Then the woman …"

"was mysteriously found dead days later? Lainey. Right?"

"How?"-frightened now, Ms. Lily questioned.

"My momma... I was young. I don't know what happened. I remember always calling her when I was a kid. I hated being alone. But she worked a lot. So I was alone most days and every night. She told me to call her anytime I wanted to talk. I talked a lot when I was a kid."

Pouring like a Florida thunderstorm, tears fell from Nita's eyes with heavy breathing.

"Oh, my girl." Said Ms. Lily, knowing, grabbing Nita into her bosom.

"It's all my fault! You're daughter and grandson, and my mama all died cause of me. It's all my fault!" Blubbers Nita.

"What town was your daughter brought to the hospital?" she sternly asked by the white woman as if she weren't even present for the last few minutes.

Still rocking Nita, consoling her without turning around to face the blonde, she answers... "Um… Butcher Hollow in Johnson County."

"Nita! Nita. No. It's my fault! I'm from Tennessee, but I'm a traveling nurse and had a contract in Kentucky that year. I worked in that hospital. There aren't many hospitals in that area, and I was a workaholic. Name a nurse who isn't. I probably didn't do a good job. I worked a lot during that contract. I would do five 12s in a row on the overnights. They allow it, but it's not safe. I probably was exhausted. Oh, Nita. Ms. Lily. It's my fault." Eyes are swelling, and her soggy tissue can no longer absorb the grief.

"No. With everything. You must've been her nurse. But girls, it is not your fault," Says Ms. Lily, pulling the blonde onto her right side and smooshing Nita deeper into her chest.

"I'm sorry." The younger woman echoes.

"Oh, sweet child. What's your name? You are a beautiful blonde."

Sniffling and trying to calm down, the woman finally manages to respond.

"Charlotte. But my brother used to call me Charlie. He used to say I was a strong person. Like a man. Only when I got emotional would he call me Charlotte."

"Your brother is almost right. You are a Charlie. But you still are strong. I don't know for sure if you were my daughter's nurse. But if you were, I know you did your best, and that is all that matters. Girls, my poor old knees are tired. This old lady needs to sit." Charlotte pulls the rosewood chair near the older woman. "Girls, See, I tried to get to the hospital that day. Charlotte, you were right earlier. I am a diabetic. As you know, the government doesn't care if you are elderly and if you serve your country. I couldn't afford my medicine that month. See that man, Melv. I gave him my last dollar that October. He wanted to go to Pennsylvania to visit his sister's grave site. Melv, for a long time, was an angry and bitter young man. Not the man you saw earlier. But when Melv told me he had business and a life-changing opportunity, I gave him my last dollar. I was so weak that October. Just a few more days till the first of the month when I'd get my SSI check, and I would get my meds. So see, I wasn't able to be there with my daughter. I've lived with so much guilt for all these years. I'm sorry, girls. I snapped at you two weary girls. I didn't always be so cranky. I tried, and I tried. But it seemed like I lost God's favor for so long. When I thought God took my daughter and grandson, I thought that was the ultimate sign. But like dear Melv just explained, even to this old coot. It's not that complicated. The answers to life aren't as complicated as we make them. Ladies, I can't tell you how to feel. Nobody should ever tell someone else how to feel. I do not think anyone's death is either of your fault. But that's something you two have to come to peace with on your own. What I can say with confidence is this, though... You, Nita, you, Charlotte, that young boy, Johnny...oh, Johnny, and sweet, kind Melv...all of you gave me something, refreshing, and priceless, like an heirloom, today, so thank you."

Looking at each other, Nita and Charlotte then look at the library volunteer, who suddenly appears taller, stronger, and more youthful. Nita asks, "What did we give you?"

Charlotte, "Wow, Ms. Lily, you radiate. You are beautiful."

Ms. Lily softly chuckles and responds, " You brought the face of my grandma to my memory. To learn what she looked like, read Romans 15:4 and 5. My grandmother was something holy and comforting. Recollecting her laughter in my mind and heart, I have Hope."