She Lived In Her Car, Rationed Her Medication, And Died Alone On New Year's Eve. This Is Her Story.

0:00 This is no. Tears for black girls. I'm Samantha Paul. Before we get into today's episode, I want to do something a little different. Every case we. Cover on this show starts the same way, with a name, with a family, with a pattern that should have been interrupted and wasn't. And every time I sit down to research another story, I think about how. We tell these stories. Not just what happened, but how you make someone real to a person who never met them. How you make a listener stop what they're doing and feel the. Weight of a life that the world decided. Didn't matter enough to protect. I've been working alongside. JC Reedberg for a. While now and together we have been building something that lives inside the same universe. As this podcast, JC is the.

0:46 Author of Death Apnea, Part of the No Tears for Black. Girls Case Files series. And there is a chapter in that book that I haven't been able to stop thinking about since the first time I read it. Not because it is about a murder. Not because it is. About a system failure. But because it is. About a New Year's Eve in a parking lot in New Orleans. About a woman getting dressed in the front seat of her car. With the. Precision of someone who has learned to keep her dignity in conditions that were never designed to allow. For it about a dog who loves her. About a letter she writes. That she hopes nobody. Ever has to read? About a woman who refuses. To let the people she loves see her. Falling Apart.

1:30 Her name is Nettie Moreau. She is a fictional character. But I want you to understand something before we go any further. Nettie is fictional in the way that all the best fiction is fictional, which means she is built from 1000. Real women. Women who lost their businesses to gentrification and never recovered. Women who ration their medication because the math doesn't work and it never works. Women who sleep in their cars and. Lie to their daughters about it because they would rather carry the weight. Alone then watch someone they. Love try to lift it. Women whose hearts are giving out while the world keeps moving. And nobody. Stops to ask if they are OK the medical. Crisis at the center?

2:14 Of this book is. Real. The pattern of Black bodies being processed through hospital systems without proper family notification is Real. The history of Black women disappearing into systems that were never built to find them is. Real Nettie's story. Is fiction. The world that made her possible is not. So today instead of a case file, I am reading you a. Chapter Chapter 6 The tower card new. Year's Eve in New Orleans, A gold Chevy Impala a woman who already knows what is coming and spends her last hours making sure the people she. Loves will be OK without her.

2:55 This one is going to sit with you. Chapter 6. The Tower. Card The inside of the gold Chevy Impala is cold and humid, the windows fogged up and dripping. Nettie lies twisted on the front bench. Seat her knees. Drawn to her chest, a thick blue blanket cocooned around her and the sleeping dog pressed against her hips. Goldie's breath fogs. The air in slow dog rhythmed bursts, fur Musk cut with the cloying Tang of old citrus air freshener. Outside, faint jazz slaloms in from Rampart, trailing the last of the midnight crowd toward something louder, brighter and less permanent than the shape of her own morning.

3:39 She is awake. Before her eyes open in the dark, she counts her parts. Ankles, knees, elbows, ribs. Every one of them present, aching, accounted for. She lets her hand rest on Goldie. 'S back the slow. Rise and fall, proof of another. Day's grace. The ancestors. Say every day is. Laniapa, even the hard ones. The seat belt buckle pokes her thigh. And she shifts, careful not to disturb the. Dog. Her body still remembers. The space of a. Queen Mattress the Gentle. Weight of Kiki. Curled behind her knees, but it's been months since a real. Bed her.

4:20 Bones settle in, finding comfort in the nest of laundry and junk mail, the faded tartan scarf wrapped three times around her neck. She blinks. And the condensation on the windshield. Refracts the gas. Station lights and dreamy sunburst patterns. Nettie sits up slowly. A low electric hum gnaws at the edges. Of her chest. The same hum that's been there for months, the one she knows means her heart's skipping beats the one the clinic said she needed. To get checked but. Clinics cost money and money's been tight since Page and poor. Closed, she wraps. Both hands around the steering wheel. Waits for the world to steady the.

5:00 Tremor in her left hand is worse than yesterday. It snakes up her arm and sets her jaw on edge. She ignores it. Instead, she pops the glove compartment and. Pulls out her toothbrush. Travel size Purple bristles splayed like the tail. Feathers of a dying. Peacock, the plastic water bottle she. Keeps for mornings like this is half frozen from the night. Chill. She pours a. Ration onto her brush and spits into a paper. Coffee cup quick. And neat nobody. Teaches you how to. Keep dignity when you're parked on the edge of the quarter. But she's figured it out, Goldie. Stirs gives her a. Side eye the dog. Stretches and yawns, mouth a pink cave before resting her chin on Nettie's thigh. SH Nettie whispers.

5:49 We got. A few minutes share. She glances at the clock. 7 O 4:00 AM. The whole city is still. Hungover or dreaming? Except for the joggers. And the sanitation crews. For a second, she considers climbing out for a walk through Louis Armstrong Park, but her mind's already fast forwarding to the rest of the routine. She pulls the blanket tighter and reaches down into the cracked vinyl footwell for her work uniform. Black slacks collared. Shirt and the battered. Clogs, she thrifted last. Spring. The slacks are wrinkled but clean, folded with the precision of a woman who once ironed for her whole family. She lays them across her knees and begins the practice shuffle of changing clothes in the driver's seat, shoulders hunched, every move calculated to stay invisible. To the street.

6:40 In the rear view. Her face looks older. Than it did. Two weeks ago. The dark skin under her eyes has deepened to the. Color of bruised. Plums the whites. Are shot through. With red lightning, she bares her teeth and checks. For lipstick residue. Then smooths her hair back into a tight bun. A few locks escape wild at the edges. Copper wire glinting faintly in the morning. Nettie shakes her head and tucks them behind her ear, the blue-green tattoo on her right. Wrist. Scorpio for what it's. Worth flares? Against her skin, a warning or a blessing, depending on the day, Goldie whines a wet sound and bats at the glove.

7:23 Box with her paw. All right, all right. I see you. Nettie Pops. It open again, this time for the. Dog's treat A desiccated pig's ear. From a gas station on Carrollton. Two days stale. Goldie crunches it slow, eyes rolling up in bliss. Nettie can't help but smile. The way she sees it, dogs are. The only ones who? Got life figured? They want food, warmth and someone to walk. Beside, not even. Humans, not even the slickest politicians or the. Richest doctors have their desires so pure, she gathers. The rest of her things into. Order wallet with Kiki's school photo a reusable. Tote for her work lunch.

8:06 A knotted zip lock. Bag that holds her. Phone charger, deodorant and a. Battered deck of Tarot. Cards bound with a rubber band. She hesitates over the cards. Don't pull unless you want the truth. Miss Evangeline used to say back in the days of page and poor and mornings that. Started with chicory coffee. Not this burnt at the edges hustle. But the truth already. Lives in her chest, skipping like a. Scratched up jazz record. Still, she slips the cards out and shuffles 3 times. Goldie looks up, tongue lulling as if. She too is. Waiting on the outcome, Nettie draws a single card and flips it in her palm.

8:46 The Tower. Again, she holds the. Card so the. Pale morning light bleeds through it. A stone tower struck by lightning. Bodies tumbling from the parapet. A crown on fire. Third day running. She shakes her head. Lips pressed thin the tower don't play big change catastrophe, but necessary. Burn it down so you can build something new. She knows enough to be wary of patterns, and three towers in a row is not a pattern. It's a warning the tremor in her hand gets. Worse. She claps her palm flat on the dashboard, grounding herself. Today's the day.

9:30 Don't run from it. Don't let them take it from you either. She. Breathes slow and deliberate until the shake subsides. Goldie noses her elbow and Nettie. Rubs the dog's head. Letting herself feel the coarse warmth. She closes her. Eyes and thinks about. Kiki Kiki. Who is somewhere? Across the city, asleep. In her apartment near Tulane, waking to her own hungover dawn. Nettie fights the urge to text her. She'll see her tonight if all goes well. She only has to last a handful more hours. The sun catches on the steeple of Saint Augustine Catholic. Church. Painting gold across the mist.

10:11 Nettie studies the card. One last time, then slips it into. Her breast pocket over her heart, She sets her jaw. Wipes her hands on her pants and puts the car in gear. She is ready. The stretch between Saint Philip and Esplanade. Is a slow crawl. Sun climbing higher but barely cutting the haze, she finds a spot under the twisted oaks on Governor Nichols and kills the engine for a minute. She just sits. Tracing the cracks in the dashboard, the gold Chevy Impala's hood gleaming under a. Crust of dust. Goldie Circles. Three times and collapses in the passenger foot well, snoring Within seconds. Nettie lays her forehead against the steering wheel. Sleep was fitful.

10:58 Last night, even by her standards, the old dreams came back stronger than before. Etta's voice clearer. Than it's been in years, calling her across an endless flood, her hands clutching cards. Slick with river water. Congo Square drumming that shook. The world but left. Her untouched on the other side. You ain't running from nothing, Nanette, the. Voice had said. Low and rough as the sound of beans stirring in a pot. Time to go home, Cher, Don't make me come fetch you myself. She opens her eyes, and the dream. Dissolves but the after. Image lingers. Always does.

11:40 Tonight's the night, then the knowledge doesn't scare her. Not exactly. It's like. Standing at the. Edge of a wide. Slow river. Inevitable, yes, but almost peaceful. She wonders if her own. Mother felt like this. Knowing the end was a question of when, not if. Or maybe that kind of wisdom skips a generation. The phone pings in her lap. Kiki. 7:19 AM Happy almost New year, Mama. You want me to pick you up for gumbo at Miss Lorraine's? A minute later, another text. Or you need a ride somewhere else. You never answered if you're doing midnight mass. Nettie thumbs a reply, watching the little. Dots pulse as she types, erases.

12:27 Types again. She wants to say yes. She wants to say pick me up and Take Me Home. But home is a moving target now, and the thought of Kiki seeing her like this fading at the edges, living out of a car, makes her hands cramp on the phone instead. I picked up an extra shift tonight. Tell Miss Lorraine to save me some gumbo and you. Stay off the roads after. 10 You hear too many fools. Out there the lie slides. Down easy. Practice makes perfect. She scrolls through the other unread messages, one from Jermaine sent last night.

13:07 Congo Square, midnight tomorrow. I'll be there. Can't wait to see. You. Her chest. Tightens, but not from the pain this time. From something else. Something like hope. She doesn't reply yet. She'll see him tonight. Face to face, the way it should be. Nettie reclines the seat and lets herself drift. It's 2023 again, the day after Paige and. Poor's last shift. She stands in front of the plate glass window, paint peeling at the edges, the inside gutted and echoing. They left the bookshelves. Nobody wanted them, not even the flippers. But the rest is gone.

13:50 The hand painted community fridge sign is already tagged. Over. And a flyer for some new vegan bakery is stapled. To the. Plywood on the door. She presses her palm to the glass like she can feel the. Ghost. Of the old place in the sun, warmed residue. The sound of kids laughing 2 doors down. Different faces, same. Stories, people always think. You can erase a neighborhood by painting over it, but memory sticks to the bones of a place. It never leaves. Not really. Nettie takes her. Eviction Notice folds it into the smallest square she can and slips it into her pocket. She opens the back of the Impala and starts packing books. First, nobody touches the.

14:36 Baldwin or the? Blue Spiral. With her own scribbles, then the boxes. Of Kiki's childhood art, last the battered. Coffee pot that's been with her since the FEMA trailer. A man walks by, gives her a polite nod. He wears a neon T-shirt. For a food rescue. Collective. Same logo that's printed on the New Flyer. Nettie smiles back, but doesn't wave. She watches the shop. One last time, then gets in the car and drives away, never looking in the rear view. Back in the present, her phone buzzes again. Jermaine, 7:48 AM. You still coming tonight? Been thinking about you all morning. She types, pauses.

15:19 Then I'll be there. Wouldn't miss it. A pause on his end, then. Good, I got. Something I want to tell you, something important. She lets that sit for a moment, warmth spreading through her chest. Despite the cold, maybe the tower? Don't mean what she thinks. Maybe it just means the? Old has to fall away. So the new can. Rise, maybe? Jermaine is that new thing, a second chance, a sign from the ancestors that she's not done yet. She pockets the phone. The sun is higher now, Goldie. Stirs shakes her. Fur and sits up.

15:59 Alert, ears cocked, Nettie rubs the dog's head. Feeling the comfort of old routine. You keep a secret. Better than anybody, Goldie. Maybe that's why I love you so much. She slides. The tarot deck from her bag again, one handed she thinks about. Kiki about, Etta about. What it means to be the last stop in a broken line tonight, I settle. Up. Tonight I see the. Tower all the. Way to the ground. Or maybe tonight I build something new on the. Rubble She. Draws a single card. Fast like. Tearing off a bandage, the hanged Man upside down arms. Loose a look of.

16:42 Strange peace on his face. She nods, understanding. Surrender. Let go, trust the. Fall. After a moment, she cracks the window, let's the humidity in and waits. For the day to pass by the. Time The sun angles red through the city's haze. The backseat. Of the Impala smells like sage and sweat and the slow funk of candle wax melting against plastic. Nettie works in silence. Every gesture deliberate. She arranges. The dashboard altar with. Steady hands despite the stiffness in her joints. Left to right. She lines up her warding candles white and. Blue wax.

17:24 Nubs pinched from the. Supply she keeps stashed. In an old shoebox. Next come the three bundles. Of dried herbs, Rosemary. Basil and Roux. Bought. Cheap at the corner market, but blessed by her own breath. Just like Etta taught her, she tucks the photo of. Kiki behind the cluster of candles. It's the graduation. Shot from last year. Kiki in cap and gown. A gap toothed. Smile almost splitting her face. Nettie had bought the studio package. The most expensive 1 and insisted on a big print even though she knew there was nowhere to hang it. Now the. Picture is bowed. From months of shuffling, the edges creased.

18:04 But Kiki's eyes, her eyes are. Stubborn, daring the world to tell her no. Nettie whispers. The incantation under her. Breath. Voice so low. Even Goldie doesn't twitch at the sound protection for the child of my blood fortune, for the daughter of my bones. Let the gates. Open and the way. Be clear spirits that walk. Hear me, stand with her. She repeats it 3. Times then lights the first candle and lets the flame catch the way it burns. Tall steady means the. Words took root. The car rocks slightly as. Someone leans against the trunk. Voices outside rise and fall.

18:48 Brah. That's a whole vibe, I'm telling you. Then laughter. Then music thudding from a rolling. Speaker Mardi. Gras sequins face paint. Feathers, some tourists, some locals. For a second. Nettie feels the old ache. The ache of missing out, of being invisible in your own home, but then the moment. Passes you got. What you need right here, woman. Stop pining for things that never loved you back. She leans back, let's the candlelight flicker over the ceiling. Goldie paces restless. So, Nettie. Cracks the window. The sounds from Congo Square drift in drums. Laughter, the pop pop of early fireworks. Impatient revellers setting off bottle rockets and M 80s. The city.

19:39 Too drunk to wait for midnight, Night is coming fast. She digs the notebook from under the seat, flips to a blank page for 10 minutes. She just stares at it. Pen balanced on her knee, the words want to come out in a rush, but she makes them walk instead. Slow and careful each one. Waited Kiki. I know you going to be mad finding this instead of me. I know you got every. Right, I tried to leave. You better than I found you, baby but sometimes the world don't give us the story we. Want It's nobody's fault. But mine? I lost the shop. Wasn't the storm, wasn't the white folks, wasn't even the city. I could have asked for help, but I was proud. Stupid.

20:26 Maybe I slept in the car. Because it was all I had left. That was mine. I want you to know this. Every single day you woke up and made me smile. You saved me. I mean it, even if I never said so. All those times I acted like it was no big deal. Just know it was everything to me. You got to be strong now, Kiki. You got to finish what I started. Take care of the dog. Trust your own heart, even when it's breaking. I'm sorry I'm not there to see you do the next big thing, but I'll be watching. Always Etta. Said the ancestors. Walk with us. And now I know it's true.

21:08 I'll be right over your shoulder every step. Love, Mama. She folds. The letter careful and tight and slips it into her purse alongside her ID and Kiki's phone number, the old Polaroid of her and. Kiki at Jazz Fest. Both of them sunburned and. Happy. She presses her lips together. Holds the bundle to her chest for a second before letting it. Go, she checks. Herself in the mirror, straightens her collar, smooths her hair, wipes the sweat from her forehead. She's never looked more like her own mother. Face set. Hard jawline. Stubborn. Eyes a little too bright.

21:48 If you're going to go out, might as well go out looking yourself. She. Breathes in through her nose, slow and deep, and blows out the candle with a single decisive. Puff Goldie lays her. Head on, Nettie's knee content. For a few minutes everything is quiet, a stillness between the clamor of the street and the fear in her chest. Then far off the church bells chime the half hour she is almost ready. Night in Treme moves in tidal surges by 9:00 PM the. Street outside is a. Parade bodies in sequins. Lit up by sparklers. Cheap champagne popping under the church.

22:29 Bells. Goldie alternates between sleeping and standing sentry by the window, ears flicking with every distant firecracker. Nettie lies curled on the. Seat, her cheek pressed to the cool. Vinyl at first. The pain is. Dull a slow twist. Under the breastbone, something she's learned to ride out. But as the hour crawls, it builds needle jabs that steal her breath. Muscles locking tight with each spasm, she counts through them in the silence between the riot of the street and her own ragged inhale. It's just another spell. You've had worse. She remembers Etta's Home Remedy 3 slow. Breaths.

23:15 Press the. Root of your thumb to the spot. Picture the blood untangling. Itself like river weeds that used to help. Not tonight. Tonight. Her hands shake. And. Sweat her heart. Stuttering in her. Chest like a bad spark plug. She considers texting Kiki again. But deletes the draft. Better to let her remember you as strong unbreakable instead. She scrolls through old pictures. Kiki as a toddler. Sticky. With beignet sugar, the two of them at City Park, arm in arm, matching smiles for a minute. Nettie laughs, the sound surprising. Her a bark of. Defiance against the world at 11:16 PM, her phone buzzes Jermaine again, I'm.

24:03 Here where you at? Starting to worry. She types back. Fingers numb and heavy. Running a little late. Wait, for me, it's easier to let someone down by. Degrees outside the world ratchets up. Fireworks explode early. Illegal. Roman candles and cherry bombs shattering the black sky into strobe lit fragments. The window glass vibrates with music bounce brass voices in every. Key the. Tower of Saint Augustine glows in the reflected. Bursts a lighthouse for a shipwrecked city. Nettie sits up. Pushes her hair back and wipes her palms on her pants. She tries the door.

24:47 But her body won't cooperate. Her legs dangle. Useless over the threshold, the cold. Air from the cracked window tingles her skin. The pain crests, sharp and total, a vise closing around her ribs. She can't breathe. The air won't come. Her left arm goes numb, fingers tingling like they've been dipped in ice water. She gasps, tries to call for Goldie, but it. Comes out as a. Rasp. Her hands. Claw for the dashboard, the letter to Kiki. Slipping to the floor, she thinks of. Etta of the. Kitchen on Iberville, cardamom and coffee and the old woman's.

25:29 Laugh like a church. Bell. She thinks of her daughter. Kiki at every age. From birth to tonight. The whole story of her cradled. In a single heartbeat, she thinks of Jermaine waiting for her in the square, not knowing the last thing she sees is. The dog's wide. Wet eyes at exactly 11:47 PM, with the city howling toward midnight, Nettie bows her head and let's herself go. The world narrows. Blue white flashes the chemical sting of fear, then a widening blackness that is neither kind nor cruel. Her. Breath feathers the air. One final time, Goldie, confused, pause, her arm whining, licks the salt from Nettie's hand and whimpers, not understanding the stillness. The fireworks reach their peak, the. Impala glows gold in the aftershock, The inside of the windshield a shifting canvas of light. Nettie's eyes are.

26:30 Open unblinking. Fixed on the explosion above. If there is an afterlife, it comes disguised as the night sky over Congo Square A. Riot of color, a taste of. Freedom and the dog's head heavy in her lap. Outside, the city forgets itself. Inside the car, everything is finally silent. That was chapter. 6 of death apnea. No tears for black girls. Case files. Written by JC Reedberg I want to sit in this for just a moment before I let you. Go what? Makes Nettie's story land the way it does is not the death, it is the morning before the death. It is the toothbrush with displayed bristles. The prescriptions folded into the glove box next to the expired insurance.

27:18 Card the Tower card. Showing up for the third day in a row and her nodding at it like she already knew. The letter to Kiki that she folds tight. And tucks next to her ID just in case the candle she. Lights over the dashboard altar. The text she. Sends Jermaine telling him she is on her way when she already knows she is not going to make it. Nettie did not die because nobody cared about her Nettie. Died. Because the systems that should have. Caught her the healthcare. System, the housing system, the economic. Structures that swallowed. Her family's business and called it market rate. All of them looked right at her and kept moving. She was not invisible. She was ignored. There is a difference, and it is important. There are Nettie's in every city right now, women sleeping in cars and parking lots behind shuttered churches, rationing blood pressure medication lying to their. Daughters about where?

28:12 They are living because pride is sometimes the only thing left that belongs entirely. To you. Women whose hearts are under constant strain and who cannot afford the machine that would help them breathe in their sleep. Women who are writing letters they hope no one ever has to read. The full story of what? Happens to Nettie after that parking lot what the system does. With her body? What? Her daughter? Kiki does when the hospital won't give her answers what Samantha and JC find when they start pulling at the threads of a pattern that goes back 400. Years that. Story is in Death Apnea and I need you to hear this next part clearly. If. You go to Death Apnea's page on Amazon Kindle today, March 25th. The digital edition is completely free. Not a.

28:57 Trial not a catch. Free today. And if you have a Kindle Unlimited subscription. This book is free for you. Indefinitely, anytime, any day. Just search death apnea. No tears for black. Girls on Amazon and it will be there waiting for you. The paperback. Edition is also available for anyone who wants to hold this story in their hands the way it. Deserves to be held. The link is in the show notes. Go get it tonight, read the rest of Nettie's. Story Read What? Kiki does when the hospital turns her. Away Read What? Happens when Samantha and. Jaycee start.

29:38 Pulling at the threads of a system that has been swallowing black women for centuries and calling it protocol. Nettie deserves a reader. Who finishes her story? Say her name? Nettie Moreau. This is no. Tears for black girls. I'm Samantha Paul. Stay loved, stay safe and. Remember, whenever you're trapped in a World of Darkness, Never. Allow fear to. Overwhelm you, Believe in your inner spirit and remind yourself of God. 'S first words let there be light.