Maggie’s pupils rapidly dilated as her eyes scanned the last pages of Thunderstruck: Death, Electrified – Book V. Her palms grew damp as she made her way to the last paragraph of the international bestselling sci-fi/fantasy series. Jody Williams’ action always deeply effected Maggie, even after having read the series five or six times before.

Suddenly, she heard a thud, thud, thud from outside.

Her gray eyes quickly darted from the book to the front door. Whatever that sound was, it couldn’t possibly be as exciting as the ongoing battle in her hands.

Two more thuds immediately followed by a jingle of keys filled Maggie’s ears with more distractions.

The main door swung open and a 45-years-old Black woman, with a countenance that screamed too tired to care, but having no other choice entered. She huffed, “Maggie, get your head out of that book and come help me with this.”

With eyes nailed to the written adventure Maggie responded, “Ma, can’t it wait a few minutes?”

Ma’s exhausted stare still had enough energy to throw daggers at her daughter regardless if she wouldn’t notice.

“Chile, if you don’t get your behind up off that couch right this second,” she growled.

Maggie knew better than to give her mom any more pushback. Her disappointed feet shuffled to where the blue laundry cart stood. Her lanky arms struggled to wheel the three bags into the main hallway.

“Damn I don’t remember our clothes ever being this heavy,” Maggie quietly complained.

Ma walked past her child and lugged the bloated Target canvas bag which hung on her left arm to the kitchen.

She told Maggie, “Yeah, Raymond worked extra shifts this week, so his uniforms and all his other clothes are mixed in with everything else.”

Of course it’s because of Raymond. So much has changed since he moved in, Maggie thought.

Maggie kept her strongly worded feelings about her mother’s much too young boyfriend and their bizarre relationship to herself. She needed to be on her best behavior if she was going to ask Ma for a favor.

*

After neatly putting away (“Work smarter, not harder, my child,” chastised Ma when she saw her daughter hastily shoving clothes in drawers with no rhyme or reason) the clean sheets, towels, washcloths, shirts and pants, Maggie donned her patience painstakingly while she helped her mother cook dinner.

Ma hummed and swayed with “I Put A Spell On You” and other Nina Simone classics that filled the kitchen. The delicious scents of baked chicken, sweet potatoes and green beans wafted throughout the house. Preparing the meal didn’t take as long as Maggie expected. They cooked only for two.

“Ray won’t be eating with us tonight. He’s got some business to take care of,” Ma said while seasoning the meat, her words laced with melancholy.

*

Maggie inhaled the food in what must certainly be record breaking time and eagerly excused herself from the table. She began filling the dishwasher’s mouth with dingy dishes. While scraping burnt brown chicken bits off the Pyrex, Maggie carefully asked “Hey, Ma. Ma’am (Ma’am?) May I ask a question?”

Ma joined her daughter in the kitchen and started to systematically wipe down each counter, though only one was messy.

“Yes, you may,” she answered as John Coltrane’s horn poured out of the speakers.

Maggie delicately arranged the plates in size order inside the machine’s plastic teeth. She inhaled deeply and directed the request to her mother’s stiff back:

“So, you know how much I love reading and you know how the Thunderstruck series is probably my all time favorite. Actually, it is my all time fave. Well, um, the newest book is coming out this weekend and I know we usually wait a couple of weeks until the library has copies, but I really, really, REALLY want to own this book as soon as possible. It’s the last installment. I know you work hard for your money and, um, and you just paid the rent and other bills, but–“

Ma turned to face her daughter. Her almost black eyes kept steady contact with Maggie’s silvery irises. She interjected Maggie’s plea, “Remind me again why you love reading these books so much.”

Maggie’s face illuminated before she even spoke. Enthusiasm saturated her words, “Jody is such a great writer. I wish I could write as good as them. The action sequences are so, so good! They know exactly what phrases to use and the characters are constructed so well. I love how I can hate someone like Daniel one book and then the next, I’m crying because he’s hurting. They created a world that I can fully and happily escape into. I really appreciate that. I need the escape.”

Maggie whispered the last four words.

Ma felt a sharp ache in her heart. Her daughter’s agony always shattered her spirit. She remembered how Maggie spent almost all her free time with her head buried in a book lately. The pieces of the nearly finished mental puzzle connected to paint a coherent picture. She knew her daughter loved to read, but had no idea what it truly meant to her soul. Ma firmly understood: literature is a lyrical salve for Maggie.

Ma’s eyes began to water. She walked over to her daughter and took the sticky plastic cup out of her hand. She pulled Maggie into her arms and let her sweet youthful scents –coconut oil, berries and candy–fill her nose. As she held her, Ma’s tears stained her cheeks glossy.

She let go and cupped Maggie’s cheeks in her calloused hands.

“Ma, I’m sorry! What happ–?” Maggie began.

Her mother cut her off declaring, “Nothing happened, babygirl. You got it. We’ll go to the bookstore and get the book before my shift on Saturday.”

“Aww ma, really?! Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!!!” Maggie squealed.

Ma smiled and reminded her daughter, “You’ll have to get up early though. Like 8AM early.”

Maggie cheerfully blurted, “Oh I don’t care about the time! There isn’t an hour too early or late for Thunderstruck!”

Without asking if she could be excused from the remaining chores, Maggie ran back to the living room couch and picked up the 400 plus pages novel, her eyes knowing exactly where they left off hours before.