Lost Journals

Peri was eight the day she’d met Harriet. She was a wrinkled black lady perched high in her motorized wheelchair with a white pill box hat held tight against silver hair.

Harriet was the sage of Cherry Blossom Nursing Home, offering nuggets of wisdom that often sounded like prophesy.

Peri’s step-dad was the head of maintenance at Cherry Blossom and had been called about a waterline break during the night. Mom was working graveyard. Thus, Peri had to be carted along.

The night nurses were entertaining Peri with dolls made out of tongue depressors and cotton balls, when Harriet rolled up beside her and grasped her tiny hand. Peri was frightened but had been taught not on be rude to elders.

“You must be Larry’s daughter,” Harriet said voice drawling with Louisiana roots.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Is there something in my hair?” Peri began stroking her blonde locks. Even at eight she’d been quite high-strung about her hair.

“No, child,” Harriet laughed tossing her head back. “I wanted to tell you a bit of advice someone told me when I was your age. I followed it and I couldn’t have been happier.” She paused looking over both her shoulders. “You gotta marry a man that loves to eat and loves his mama. If he loves to eat, you’ll keep him happy. If he loves his mama, he’ll keep you happy.”