Free Like a Mule Bringing Ice Cream to the Sun by Sarah Ladipo Manyika Page B

sunshine and good food, you have already good music and beautiful flowers and books, you know.’ She stands up now to tidy the books she has seen caught beneath my bedcovers. ‘So you must come to visit me in my country.’
    ‘I’d love to, Bella,’ I say, and making an effort to appear cheerful, I cautiously swing both legs out of bed.
    ‘And tonight you’ll go to dinner, no?’ Bella pats my hand.
    ‘I’ll try.’ I manage a smile. No more moping around, I tell myself. No more doubting. I mustn’t let this get me down. I must simply get myself home and have a proper sort out with the DMV, the bank, and my apartment. As we hug I’m enveloped by her sweet perfume.
    ‘Dulce y Cabana,’ she tells me when I ask, and I know from her smile that she knows that I know what this is. She knows that I recognize it as expensive, as having class. She’s told me that her life has not always been as hard as it is now. That once upon a time she used to live in New York, in midtown Manhattan, where she was ableto afford many things, even her own maid. She’s also told me that she holds a university degree, as do her brothers and sisters, many of whom own mansions in Managua.
    ‘Dulce y Cabana,’ I repeat, deliberately echoing Bella’s mispronunciation. ‘Sweet shelter, how perfect.’ And then the phone rings. ‘It’s my friend,’ I whisper, covering the handset. ‘It’s Sunshine.’
    ‘Sunshine is good!’ she whispers back, as she waves goodbye.
    I apologize to Sunshine for having shouted at her. I admit that I overreacted and that, contrary to how it might have appeared, I appreciate what she was trying to do for me. ‘Books can always be replaced,’ I say, hoping she’ll sense how difficult this is for me to acknowledge, let alone believe. But she doesn’t seem to notice. And now I’m fed up of listening to her sobbing down the phone, yet I’m still trying to be the mature and wise one because that is what I’m supposed to be at this age. I remind myself that Sunshine is still young and has her hands full with looking after the children. I’m older and ought to be wiser. I should understand that she was just careless and not deliberately trying to hurt me, not even when she suggested a conservator. But I’d told her so many fucking times, that I never wanted to be looked after by strangers. I’d told her more than once that if it ever came to that I would prefer to find a way of quietly slipping into that good night ahead of time. She knows this. And while I understand that what she said earlier was uttered in a moment of anger, I now have no faith that when the time comes she will honour my wishes. But I’m tired ofcrying, so after we say our goodbyes I make my way to the sink and wash my face. No point in wallowing in self-pity. What is done is done and I’ll wait until I get home to see how bad things really are. Consider the birds in the sky, I remind myself. Consider the birds in the sky.
    To cheer myself up I decide to dress nicely for dinner. Thinking of my red leather jacket, I look for it in the wardrobe. ‘Red-leather-yellow-leather,’ I whisper, reminded of a childhood game. But whoever did my packing had only packed dull-looking clothing. The only colourful items are a green T-shirt and a Walt Disney sweater, neither of which belong to me. It makes me wonder if some of my own clothes might be hanging in other people’s wardrobes. I also wonder if this strange looking T-shirt and sweater might belong to people recently deceased. ‘All the more reason then, to dress with panache while I still can,’ I announce, while choosing trousers and a loose fitting blouse, neither of which flatter my figure. But once I’ve twisted my hair into bantu knots and added the lipstick, I don’t look too bad. Antonio always liked my red lipstick. Chanel was his choice. So now I’m ready. Except. One more thing. A book. This way, if I’m unlucky enough to sit next to someone crazy, then at least I’ll