The Prayer

Amani Jackson

Her heart was sinking lead. She felt the weight in her chest cavity. Every breath she took
threatened hyperventilation. Lillian stared through her windshield, but what she saw wasn't in
front of her. Zora's face had been the only thing her mind envisioned for weeks. Her coarse,
black hair in a high bun; escaped spirals adorning her face. The brown, almond eyes, a family
trademark, sparkling with mischief. From birth, she and Zora enjoyed a playful relationship.
Motherhood taught her that the bond between mother and child could strengthen exponentially
after birth. Odd. You have this new life within you, dependent on you for its nurture and care.
Each movement, each milestone of development is a sacred secret betwixt the two. The sound
of a horn in the distance brought the green traffic light into focus. It was time to move on.
She pulled a late model silver Jaguar F-Type to the back of the parking lot where there were
more spaces between vehicles. Sure, she'd have to walk a few more feet, but she couldn't stand
parking next to others. Every time she did, it seemed like a new scratch, scuff, or dent greeted
her upon her return. She pulled a folded blanket from the backseat and headed inside.
The automatic double doors opened like the warm welcome of family or friends who long
awaited your return, although she visited daily.
The indifferent desk attendant looked up from her book but never spoke.

"Oncology. Zora Reed. Room 304." She offered.

The attendant typed the information, scribbled in her visitor's log, and presented a guest
wristband. The reality of her daughter's situation always hit her the hardest once she was inside
the hospital. She felt possessed walking down the hall, gliding toward the elevator, propelled
by a force not herself. Suddenly she stood outside the door.
"Hi Mrs. Reed." A young nurse, born with a permanent smile, greeted her as usual. Her
manners wanted to respond, but her body froze. She stared through the thin glass window in
the heavy wooden door; Zora's beautiful profile visible. Although her hair was gone from the
therapy, Lillian still saw it when she looked at her. Something had her smiling. Lillian
wondered what it was. She owed it her gratitude.

"Hi Baby." She entered and kissed her only child on the side of her bald head, leaving her lips
to feel the skin for seconds longer than an average peck. She took the blanket piled at the
bottom of the bed off and spread out its replacement. This one needed washing. Zora asked for
her mom's blankets in place of the hospital's, not even her own. She wanted to smell her
momma for comfort.

"Hey Momma." Zora continued staring out her window.

Lillian rubbed her scalp, dropped her purse on the hospital bed, and removed a small bottle.
She'd been using rosewater on her hair since she was a little girl.
As her mother's hands caressed her flesh, she heard everything she spoke.
It was the I'm proud of you from her first ballet recital. The “It's oks”, from each time she didn't
achieve a goal. The countless “I love yous”, and the “I'm right heres”, every day of her life.
Her life.
"Where are you?" Her mother's voice cut through her thoughts.

She laughed. "I'm here." A lump formed in her throat. She missed her cloud-soft throws, her
yellow leather chaise chair for Sci-Fi marathons, and the eucalyptus and lavender she filled her
house with. The days of hearing her heels tap against the condo's hardwood floors after a long
day of photoshoots and networking. She missed choosing a bottle from her bar and enjoying a
shot while deciding if she would entertain one of her fans for the night. A smile swept across
her face.

"These Cherry Blossom trees are beautiful." The hospital grounds were full of them. The mix
of pink and white outside her window, with the blue sky peeking through the branches. How
could she not be mesmerized?
And just like that, Zora hurled herself off the bed, onto wobbly legs, and into the bathroom for
a bout of vomiting.
"Don't come in. I'm fine." She hated being seen like this. Face hovering over a toilet.
"Oh!" As she walked back to the bed. "Guess who came by today."
Lillian didn't have to guess. "Who baby?"
"Nick." Zora grinned as if there were any secrets left about the two of them.
Of course Lillian knew. He'd been maintaining Zora's condo fees and housekeeping expenses
during this recent hospitalization. He begged her mother not to tell her. She thought her mother
was paying for everything out of her savings account. Worst-case scenario, paying some of it
herself. Zora's independence was bred into her from both sides of her DNA. It pained her to
depend on others, although she knew her family didn't mind. Nick, president, founder, and
CEO of Zora's fan club, intended to propose as soon as she got released. The ring: purchased.
The party: planned. The guest: invited.
He'd do it at the rooftop venue booked for the event. When he asked Lillian for Zora's hand, he
told her, "I feel alive. Every time I see her, my life's purpose comes into clearer focus." Nick
was decent enough. Great character, even better career. Zora controlled his heartstrings from
their first encounter in high school, and she'd continue til his last breath whether they were
together or not. Zora didn't share his sentiment. She needed more frill and thrill than his box
would allow. But she knew a good thing when she saw it.
"Where's Dad?" She asked.
"His client had an emergency. He's at the studio." Lillian made her way to the small couch
across from the bed, covering herself in the blanket she removed from the bed. It smelled like
her baby, and hospital. She sat, staring at her daughter. "What's next after this?" She cocked
her head in feigned curiosity because they both knew. They had been warned against high
hopes. Her numbers were low. Her body wasn't responding to medications or therapies well.
She couldn't keep food down. Nothing kept her energy up. Walking took everything out of her.
She found herself in bed more and more, longer and longer. The word hospice entered
conversations about her. Her. At thirty-six. Hospice. Her.
What the heck? What harm was there in hope? "There's a swimsuit campaign I want to addition
for." They both smiled. "Seeing as I have no body fat left—" She opened her arms to showcase
her diminishing figure.

"You'd still beat the competition by a longshot." Lillian thought her daughter was the most
beautiful thing ever created.
"Right." Zora rolled her eyes.
"You're a hot little number. You get it from your momma." She didn't. Zora was the spitting
image of her father's mom, except for those dazzling eyes. "What about the casting call for the
TV show your agent mentioned?" She regretted mentioning it as soon as she did.
The sadness draped itself across Zora's face like a falling shadow. All the light left the room,
and her sunken cheeks were suddenly even more apparent, her tear-filled eyes protruding.
Lillian threw the blanket aside and opened her arms, beckoning her daughter to her. Zora swung
her beautiful mocha legs over the side of the bed and pulled her IV stand to the couch.
Snuggling against her mother, Zora wept. Nothing seemed possible for her anymore: children,
a 10-year anniversary, caring for her parents in their old age.
Lillian held Zora in her arms, rocking them both. Tears soaked her shirt from two pairs of eyes.
"Mom, I'm not ready." She bawled.
"Baby, God is bigger than this. He's with us." Lillian needed encouragement herself. She
couldn't save her child. She barely comforted her. The only thing she had to offer was God.
"I don't want to be in the ground. I don't want to be in a box." Zora's sobs were convulsions. A
nurse peered into the room and Lillian waved her off.
A box. Her baby in the ground, buried in the dark. Alone. As she went about the rest of her
half-life, seeing new days Zora wouldn't. Laughing at jokes she couldn't. Watching others
accomplishing similar goals to her baby's, imagining it was her. And the difficulty of looking
at her husband every day, noticing Zora in him.
Here, this monster stared her daughter down. Scratching and burrowing into her. And were not
parents the slayers of monsters, proverbial and real? Yet this thing was having its way,
patronizing, tormenting, playing the ultimate game of cat and mouse where her very life was
at stake. A small piece of Lillian's heart splintered off.
"I love you Mom. I'll miss you when I'm gone." Zora whispered against her Lillian's shoulders,
inhaling her scent. A plush coffin, surrounded by dirt, would take the place of her mother's
embrace. Her heart raced with panic. She pushed away from her mother and sat up, trying to
calm herself.
"So, what did you bring for us to do?" Zora used the hospital gown to wipe her eyes.

"What?" It took Lillian a moment to grasp what she had been asked. "Oh. Nothing. I figured
we'd see what was on TV. I think I saw a Star Trek marathon on one of those streaming
platforms."
"Did you bring any snacks?" She knew her stomach wouldn't have it, but just the presence of
chips or chocolate during a good movie made it complete.
Lillian dug in her bag and retrieved a bag of peanut M&Ms and white cheddar popcorn. Zora's
cheekbones lifted in glee. She might just risk it.
The two cuddled under the homey blanket on the hospital couch, marveling at the graphic
advancements and costumes over the decades. Her grandfather loved Star Trek, raised her
mother on it; and after his death, she watched it often to feel close to him. At first, Zora sat by
her mother while she watched it for her company. Then she began paying attention and falling
in love with the premise and characters. Now Lillian had both her daughter and Father to mind
each time an episode or movie played.
As The Search For Spock concluded, a nurse starting her shift came in. He drew blood for a
platelet count. A little later, her doctor entered. Lillian and Zora listened as lower numbers
were spoken and less hope was given—a hand on Zora's shoulder, a solemn glance toward her
mother, and a somber exit. Zora didn't want her final time with her mother to be full of crying,
and it wouldn't. But in this moment, she lacked composure. Zora rolled onto her side, facing
away from her mother, and watered her pillow with tears.
On the couch, Lillian prayed to her God in silence. Anything, she pled. Anything to save my
daughter, Lord. I'll give it. What mother wouldn't?
Night arrived and Zora's soft snore filled the quiet. Lillian's mind swirled with memories and
prayers. The giggles and green hands when Zora was six years old fingerpainting her bedroom
walls. The dress hated wearing to her aunt's wedding despite how beautiful she was in it. I
won't survive losing her Father. Give me strength. The excitement of Zora's first audition and
the pride of landing her first modeling job. Taking her to buy her first vehicle, shop for her first
apartment—receive her diagnosis and the first round of chemo. Her mind held the image of her
daughter visiting right after cutting off all of her hair. She put it all in a satin bag and gave it to
Lillian for a keepsake, which she sat on her vanity. God, your mercies and healing are beyond
man. You've healed and made whole. Please, give Zora and our family a testimony to your
grace and mercy. Lillian sobbed quietly as her heart broke into a million pieces from fear and
desperation.
Mid-night, Zora roused from her sleep, coughing and nauseated. She felt terrible seeing her
mother on the couch. She had to work in the morning. She couldn't be getting a lot of restful
sleep staying with her overnight. Zora tapped her mother to rouse her and tell her to go home
for better rest. Lillian's mouth was downturned, an unusual expression on her. Zora prodded
her more aggressively. After a minute of staring down at the still face, Zora dropped to the
couch and curled against her mother under the blanket. She couldn't bring herself to call for
help. She couldn't bring herself to call her father. All she had in her was to smell her mother
and feel her next to her for as long as she could until they were discovered.