three
I think someone is stalking me. I say this, not because I’m paranoid, but because I’ve been seeing the same strange car outside my house almost every other day for the past two weeks. I haven’t told anyone but Nita about it. She thinks I should call the police or something, but what are they going to do? Whoever is inside the car hasn’t done or said anything to me, so what would I be reporting? Of course that could change. I realize that today when I step outside onto the front steps of Bentley Mason High. This could be the Friday that changes everything. “What’s wrong?” Nita asks as I stop dead in my tracks, almost tripping some kid walking on my heels. There it is again―the same black car with the tinted windows. I recognize it right away because it has two small dents in the back door and a bright red ball on the tip of the antenna. I still can’t see who is inside, and I can’t tell if the person is even looking in my direction. “What’s wrong?” Nita asks again. She looks across the street and sees the car. “Is that it?” she asks and I nod. “I need to know,” I say as I step down off the curb. The car starts to move forward and I wave and yell for it to stop. It does and I keep running towards it, even though I hear Nita yelling behind me that I shouldn’t go. She catches up to me and pulls on my sleeve, yanking me back before I reach
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the car. “Even three‐year‐olds know not to talk to strangers, Kendra!” she warns. “Come on, girl. Let’s go.” I know she’s right and I sigh, letting her lead me away. There’s a buzzing noise behind us as we’re walking, and I can tell the driver is opening the window now. “Keep going!” Nita whispers, her grip on me getting tighter. All of a sudden, I hear my name called out from inside the car. I stop. Nita hears it too and looks at me. We turn at the same time and step forward a little bit towards the car. I hear ding ding ding as the door opens, and a lady’s leg―rockin’ the fiercest boot I think I’ve ever seen in my life―hits the pavement, and then the rest of the woman slides out from behind the wheel. “Who are you?” Nita asks her, not letting go of my arm. “My name is Meisha,” the girl replies to Nita, but she’s not looking at her. She’s looking straight at me. “She’s my sister,” I add, my voice so low I can barely hear myself saying the words. I’m not looking at Nita either, but I can imagine the expression on her face. As far as she’s ever known, Jada is my only sister. And yet here I am telling her that this woman standing in front of us is my sister too. “I don’t under―” “Hey, I’ll call you later, okay?” I interrupt Nita mid‐ sentence, turning to face her and hoping she’ll listen just this once. “I’ll explain everything, I promise.” “Um, okay,” Nita says hesitantly, letting go of me. She adjusts her backpack silently, then turns and walks away without a word. “Friend of yours?” Meisha asks, probably because she can’t think of anything else to say. “Best,” I answer, nodding. “Cool.” She fidgets a little bit, bending her right ankle
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and turning the heel of her boot over several times before shoving her hands down deep into her pockets. “It’s been a long time,” she says finally. “I mean, how’d you know it was me? You were, like, five years old when I left.” “Mama has some pictures of you hidden in her closet. I take them down every once and a while to look at them. So I wouldn’t forget your face. In case you ever came back.” “Guess I’m back,” she says softly. I nod and then we’re both quiet for a little bit, partly because all the buses pull out onto the street at that moment, but mostly because we need more time to figure out our next words. Meanwhile, I’m staring at her and I swear she doesn’t look that much older than the day she ran away from home ten years ago. She’s still just as pretty, and her hair is still just as long. She looks older in the eyes, though. Like she’s been through some stuff. The very last bus passes and I see Nita staring out the window at us from her seat at the back of the bus. We usually ride home together. She looks worried, but I try to tell her with my eyes that it’s cool. She nods, but her face doesn’t change any. I know I’ll have to call her really soon, though, or Nita will tell her mother. Her mother will tell Mama and I can’t have that. Not just yet. “Was that your bus?” Meisha asks. “Yea. So I’m gonna need a ride home.” “No problem. I was hoping to talk to you anyway. The door is open.” I walk around to the passenger side and slide in across the leather seat. Meisha closes her door and starts the car. The heat hits me in the face full‐blast, and a song from Keyshia Cole’s new CD fills the car so loudly that I jump. My sister adjusts both dials quickly. “Sorry,” she apologizes as she starts the car and pulls out
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onto the street. “Philip would love this car!” I say, peeking into the backseat. “Wow,” Meisha says, shaking her head. “It’s so strange hearing his name spoken out loud by someone other than me after all these years.” “I talk about you guys all the time,” she explains, because I must’ve looked confused. “So I wouldn’t forget any of you either.” “So are we going to talk about why you left?” I ask. Mama always says I’m a cut‐to‐the‐chase kind of chick. I figure now is not the time to stop being that. Besides, Meisha and I really don’t have that much time to talk on the way to my house. I have to be home to answer Mama’s call. “You, uh―you just get right to it, don’t you?” Meisha says nervously. “I figure we might as well just get it out the way. So we can get back to being sisters.” Meisha looks surprised for a moment, and I’m not sure what she’s thinking at first. And then I realize it’s probably because she wasn’t sure I’d ever forgive her for leaving and causing our family so much pain for so many years. “I’m not sure Mama and Daddy will let us do that, Kenni.” Her voice is really soft when she says it, but I jump anyway because it’s been years and years since anyone has called me Kenni. Mama says that after Meisha left, I started telling everyone to call me by my full name, and refused to answer if they called me anything other than that. I shrug my shoulders. “So we don’t tell them.” Meisha looks doubtful but she nods. “So what happened? Why’d you run away?” I ask, getting right to it again. “Some stuff went down. Not for nothing, Kenni, but I would rather not talk about it right now, okay? Someday, I promise. Just not right now.”
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I want to press, but there’s this sadness in her eyes that makes me stop. Something that makes me think she’s suffered just as much pain as the rest of us since she ran away. “So why show up now?” I ask. She takes a turn down a side street, and then pulls over to the curb. It’s a while before she says anything, and she’s just kind of staring off into the distance with this far‐away look on her face. “I have a family of my own now,” she says finally, her eyes filling with tears. “I never knew how important family was before. Even if they do hurt or disappoint you sometimes.” She doesn’t say anything else, but I really don’t need her to because I’ve always known how important family is, and I can’t imagine life without mine―issues and all. “You’re married?” I ask and she nods. “His name is Tariq. Tariq Hill. He‘s an architect turned semi‐pro football player.” “Wow, football is all up and through our family. Meisha Hill,” I say, trying her name out. “It fits you.” She smiles, and I suddenly have this memory of me as a four‐year‐old, pushing in my cheeks with my fingers and hoping the dents―as I used to call Meisha’s dimples back then―would stay there on my face the way they always did on hers. That never happened, of course. I don’t even have dimples. “So you have kids?” I ask. “Twin boys. Jamar and Devon. They’re almost two now.” “Twins! Like Daddy and Uncle Lance.” “Mama always did say they skip a generation on Daddy’s side of the family. Even still, I was surprised. Shocked actually,” she laughs. “Really shocked.” “Can I meet them?”
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“I want you to. I want all of you to. And soon, I hope.” “Maybe I can even babysit sometimes. Do you live close by?” “Lafferty Street. About twenty‐five minutes from your house.” “Fifteen if I ride the number six bus to Ely Avenue and then take this shortcut I know,” I say. “You be careful with those shortcuts, girl. The world is full of perverts,” Meisha warns me. I nod, remembering the eight‐year‐old girl that had disappeared from my neighborhood three years ago on one of those shortcuts. They never did find out who killed her. One of those perverts, I’m sure. “Besides, I would probably just pick you up and bring you back to my house. You know, once everything is right with Mama and Daddy.” “When are you gonna talk to them?” “Soon,” she says nervously, then forces a smile. “Everything will be okay,” she says, trying to sound positive. I think she’s giving herself her own pep talk, really. “I’d better get you home, I guess,” she says, shifting the car back into drive. “I guess.” I don’t want to go, though. I want to spend the afternoon with her. I want to meet her husband and play with her babies. I want to know where she’s been all these years. What her life has been like. All that. “I should probably stop here,” she says as she turns onto my street and slows down in front of a house a few doors down from mine. “I don’t want anyone to see you getting out of a strange car and running to tell Mama.” “She’d go off.” Meisha laughs. “Girl, please. You think I don’t know?” She leans over suddenly and hugs me tightly. She still smells the same, like berries and flowers. It reminds me how much I’ve missed her and I bust out crying before I can
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stop myself. She starts crying too, and it goes on for a few minutes before we finally pull away from each other. I wipe my eyes with a tissue she pulls from the glove compartment, and then I grab my backpack from the floor and open the door. “See you soon, Kenni,” she says as she wipes at her own tears. “When?” “How about Wednesday next week? Can I give you a ride home? We’ve only been here a couple of weeks and I haven’t found a job or daycare for the kids yet. I can swing by the school, no problem. You have a cell phone? So I can call you in case something happens and I can’t get there.” “A brokedown one that Daddy gave me. It works, though.” “What’s the number?” “It’s a D.C. number. 202‐559‐7853.” “So unless I call you to say otherwise, I’ll be at your school to pick you up Wednesday,” she says after I give her my number. “That’s cool. See you then. Have a great weekend.” I get out the car and start walking down my street. She waits until I reach the house before she swings a U‐turn and heads back out onto the main road. I sigh, open the front door, and step into the house.
19
seven
I told Mama that I would probably be home a couple hours late today because I needed to go by the library after school to work on a new class project on the computer there. She looked a little suspicious when I said it—that’s how Mama is when it comes to me asking to do stuff after school—but she can’t really say no, because ever since she watched this news special on teens hooking up online, she put the family computer on lockdown, and me and Jada aren’t allowed to use it unless she, Daddy, or one of my brothers is home. I tell her I need to get started on the project right away and can’t wait until one of them gets there. She knows the computers at the library can block certain websites better than our home computer can, so she gives me permission to go. Of course, I’m not really headed to the library. I just needed a good cover story. See, me and Meisha just haven’t had enough time together to talk and I’ve been wanting to spend more time with her. There’s so much to catch up on, so much that she’s missed since she left. She wants to know everything about everyone in the family, and I want to know even more about her and her new life. I start out talking about how me and Aris don’t get along at all these days. That somewhere deep down inside I’m sure I love him and he loves me, but that he and I don’t seem to have much to say to each other. That it used to bother me a lot, but I think it’s probably for the best now
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because he gets on my nerves, and I don’t have many good words for him anyway. I tell her about how Philip had decided in his senior year that he was going to skip college and try to get into the music industry as a rapper and producer, but had bumped into Jermaine Dupri at an All‐Star party in Atlanta about a year ago and had come back from that trip with a new plan to go to business school while hustling his music so that he can someday launch his own record label and have a bigger piece of the game. Meisha is extremely interested to hear about Jada, who she really never got a chance to know before she left. When I tell her about Jada’s talent for fashion, Meisha gets all excited, since that is something she and Jada have in common. I’m sure once Jada meets Meisha again, they’ll click right away. For a minute, I’m kind of jealous at the thought, but then I push it to the side because I know for a fact that no matter how close my big sister and my little sister may get, nothing can touch the special relationship that Meisha and I already have. I don’t have a whole lot to say about my parents when my sister asks me about them. I tell her Daddy is still working at the same company that brought us to Virginia, except now he’s a manager or something. She shakes her head when I mention that Mama is working two jobs. She says she worries that Mama is going to burn herself out one day soon. I don’t respond, because I don’t want to have to say that I think she started doing that to keep from thinking about Meisha once she ran away. Meisha gets kind of quiet when I tell her I don’t have much news to report about some of the aunts, uncles and cousins she used to be close to, because we don’t really ever see or hear from them anymore. That after she left, things kind of just fell apart for reasons I know nothing about it. She looks kind of sad when I say it, so I try really hard to
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think of something, anything, I can tell her that might cheer her up. Our cousin LaKisha pops in my head, so I talk about her and how she just started college last year. That might not be such a big deal if it weren’t for the fact that she was someone the doctors said would never live past the age of five. Kisha’s mother, one of Daddy’s favorite cousins, was diagnosed as HIV positive just before she got pregnant with Kisha, so Kisha was born with the disease. The doctors said she didn’t stand a chance. And yet here she is, still alive at nineteen and pursuing a career as a lawyer. No one knows if she’ll ever get there, but she’s here right now, and she’s living each day that way. That puts a smile on Meisha’s face. But then she asks about another one of our favorite cousins, and I feel bad that I have to be the one to deliver the news that Niles was killed in a drive‐by four years ago. To this day, no one really knows what happened. As far as anyone can tell, he was just in the wrong place at the very wrong time. I tell her about the funeral and how horrible it was to see Niles laying there in that casket like that. How his mother―who we call Aunt Butta― threw herself in there with him and had to be pulled out by four pallbearers before she finally calmed down enough for the minister to finish preaching. To this day, she ain’t been right. Meisha gets quiet again, and then she finally asks about Uncle C.J., which I figured she would get around to doing sooner or later. “Has he been by lately?” she asks as she digs around in her purse. I get the feeling she doesn’t really need anything in there. That she just really wants to hear about him, but she’s playing it off like it’s a casual question. I remember Daddy telling me once that Uncle C.J. had come as a complete surprise to Nana and Papa, who had married young, had kids young, and had already raised
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three by the time the doctor told them they were pregnant again. Meanwhile, Daddy told me, he and Mama had gotten married and started having children of their own, so growing up, Uncle C.J. was more like a son to him and a brother to Aris and Meisha, who were just a few years younger than him. They were tight, the three of them, even after he went off to college. On breaks from school, he would spend part of his time with his parents here in Virginia in the house we live in now, and part of his time with us in Connecticut. I was really little, a toddler, so I never really got to know him back then. But I’ve seen lots of pictures of the three of them together doing crazy stuff. And of him and Aris playing basketball and football with some of the boys from our old neighborhood. And of him and Meisha laughing. That I do remember—them laughing together all the time, like they shared some private joke none of us ever got. I remember that she would pronounce his name seej and he would call her babygirl. By that time, he was beginning to make headlines for his football skills, and some of my relatives said he started to change. Started getting a little cocky, a little arrogant, Mama told me. He lived with us for a minute the summer he was in training camp for his first season as a professional player. That was the last time I remember him being close with our whole family, though I know my brothers have kept in touch with him over the years. After that summer, no one spoke about him anymore. After that summer, the two sides of the family stopped hanging out together. I could never understand why. “We don’t see him too much,” I say, trying to think of a way to change the subject because I don’t want to talk about my uncle right now. And I definitely don’t want to think about what happened the last time I saw him a few months ago. He had come into town to do some pre‐game interviews
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one Saturday and had stopped by the house early that morning to invite my father to go with him. Daddy was so excited that he didn’t even answer his brother, but he was upstairs and in the shower within seconds. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him move so fast in my life. Mama was out grocery shopping that morning, Jada had gone to a slumber party the night before, and Philip had gone to watch Aris scrimmage with the All‐City high school football team, so it was just me and Uncle C.J. in the living room once Daddy went upstairs. He sat down on the couch beside me and started asking me how school was and what my favorite subjects were. He wanted to know if I had any hobbies and what I liked to do for fun. After I answered all his questions, he told me how much of a young lady I had become since he last saw me, which had to have been about three years ago, I think, because Mama always seemed to have something to do outside the house whenever he called to say he was in town and wanted to visit with us, and she always took me and Jada with her. Then he asked me if I had a boyfriend and I told him I didn’t―that Mama was not having that. He laughed and said that with a body like mine, Mama was right to keep boys from around me. Something about the way his eyes dropped to my chest and then down to my hips made me really uncomfortable. I was glad I could use the excuse that I had to get dressed to meet up with Nita. I got out of there quick and fast. “But he does come around sometimes?” Meisha presses. “Every now and then,” I say. I figure she must really miss him, so I promise to call her the next time he stops by. She nods and then stares off into the distance like she’s lost in a memory, probably thinking about all the fun she used to have with Uncle C.J. I promise myself right then and there that I’ll never tell her about that day three months ago. Especially the part about him popping into my room a few minutes after I had left him sitting downstairs on the
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couch. He had claimed that he’d come up to see what was taking my father so long, and that it’d been so long since he’d been in the house he grew up in that he’d made a wrong turn at the top of the stairs. But the way he looked me up and down as I stood in the middle of my room in my bra and panties told me he was no different than the boys Mama was trying to keep from coming around me. Then he had called me babygirl and asked me if I wanted to hang out with him some time. Stupid me said okay, because I just wanted him to leave. He had stepped into the room instead, though, closing the door behind him softly as he mumbled something about giving me a hug, since it would probably be a while before we would actually see each other again. I remember trembling as he held me because it just didn’t feel right. He didn’t do anything nasty to me. But he did hold me too close for too long, and his hands moved over my bare skin in too many different directions for an uncle hugging his not‐even‐sixteen‐year‐old niece, especially when she’s not dressed in anything more than a bra and panties. We both heard the shower in Daddy’s bathroom shut off down the hall, and that’s when Uncle C.J. pulled away. He gave me a soft kiss on the cheek, put his finger to his lips as if to tell me we had some secret to keep, and then he was gone. I’m not sure why, but I cried for half an hour behind that. I never told anyone about it. And I wasn’t going to do it today, especially not to someone who loves him the way Meisha obviously still does. I can’t break her heart like that. If she wants to see Uncle C.J. again, I will just have to put my personal feelings aside to make sure they get together to catch up on old times. More than anything, I want to see Meisha laugh the way she used to with him. “Can I ask you a question now?” I ask. “Okay,” she says. She looks nervous, like I’m going to
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ask her again about why she left. I’m not. I know she’ll tell me when she’s ready. “How did you find us after all this time?” “Tariq had a meeting in Arlington one weekend, so we left the kids with his sister and I came down with him. Once I realized how close we were to Nana and Papa’s house, I decided to stop by to see them. I figured they would be able to tell me where you all had moved to once you left Connecticut. But when we pulled up in front of the house, I could tell they didn’t live there anymore. Their yard was always such a mess,” Meisha laughs. I laugh too. “The worst on the street. “Mama fixed that as soon as we moved in.” “That’s Mama,” Meisha smiles. “It didn’t even occur to me that you guys had moved in there, and I didn’t want to knock on some stranger‘s door and face disappointment, so we left and headed back to New Jersey. That’s where we were living at the time. I hired a private investigator the next day.” “Seriously?” “Yup. Tariq knew this guy who did some work for one of his former teammates who had a little situation with one of his jump‐offs. We hired him. It actually took me longer to get up the nerve again to reach out to you guys than it did for him to discover that you all had moved into our grandparents’ old house,” she says, looking down at her hands. “I just didn’t know how the family would, you know…” She doesn’t have to finish the sentence. I get it. If I disappeared for ten years, I’d be afraid to just show up one day too. “Anyway, the business meeting that Tariq had in Arlington led to an offer for him to play full‐time, so we decided to move down here to be closer to the training camp. He knew how much I wanted to reconnect with my
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family, so we found a place close to you guys.” “And then you started stalking us,” I tease and she grins. “Yea. I just couldn’t get up the nerve to get out the car and knock on that door. So I decided to start with you. I figured that maybe you would hate me the least,” she says, her voice falling to a whisper. “I never hated you. I was hurt that you left, but I never hated you. Not even a little,” I say. My voice cracks and I clear my throat. She nods, and a tear falls down her face. She wipes it away and lets out a heavy sigh. “I guess I have to get you home now.” I sigh too because I don’t want to go either. But I also don’t want to keep sneaking around like this. It’s wrecking my nerves, because I keep feeling like Mama is going to find out. “Soon, Kenni,” Meisha says, as if she knows what I’m thinking. “I just have to get the nerve up. Not everyone in our family is going to feel the way you do about me coming back. It’s going to cause some drama, trust. I just have to brace myself for that.” “When, Meisha?” I press. “Because it’ll probably only make things worse if we keep doing it this way. You know Mama.” “I know.” Meisha stares down at her hands quietly for a while, then looks up at me. “Next week, I promise. Next week.” I nod and she leans forward to start the car. A few minutes later, we pull onto my street and stop at the spot where she’s dropped me twice before over the past week. I grab my backpack quickly and slide out of the car, almost breaking into a run as I glance at my watch. We had really pushed it today. Mama will be calling in about thirty seconds and I need to be inside to answer that phone. I can’t wait until next week.
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nine
I’m not sure I’ve heard two words anyone has said to me the last couple of days. Half the time I’m thinking about what almost happened to me at Quiz’s studio Saturday, and the other half I’m trying not to think about what almost happened there. I’m still a little shaken up, I have to admit. I mean, I’m not exactly innocent. I know what Quiz had on his mind when we spoke on the phone. Of course, I wouldn’t actually have gone through with it. I don’t think I’m that kind of girl, even if I do kind of let guys think I am sometimes. But it honestly hadn’t even crossed my mind that Quiz would have his boys up there too, planning to do to me what Philip thought they were. Thinking about it now, I guess I should’ve known something was going on when I first started feeling lightheaded. And the way Quiz kept pushing that drink to my lips. I feel so stupid. I should’ve known something was up. And when Philip went back to the studio and confronted Quiz about it later that night, that jerk told him that I had seemed down for whatever when he and I spoke about me stopping by. He apologized to Philip for what he said must have been a quote‐unquote misunderstanding. My brother actually bought his story, which leaves me looking like the slut he obviously already thinks I am. “You okay today, Kenni?” Meisha asks as I slide into the car after school later that day. This wasn’t one of the days
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we had planned to have her pick me up from school, but since I had to stay late for a tutoring session with my Geometry teacher, Mr. Leib, she said she would swing by and get me so that I wouldn’t have to take a city bus. Which is kind of better for us, since catching one bus back to the hub and then a connecting one from there to home at this hour of the day would’ve taken me at least two hours anyway. This way, we can spend those two hours hanging out instead. I’m hoping we can stop by the daycare she found for the kids so that we can pick them up early and go out for ice cream or something. I’m dying to meet them. “I’m cool,” I say, struggling to put on my seatbelt. “Just tired, I guess. I’m cool, though.” “Okay,” she says in a tone that tells me she doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. “You let me know if you want to talk.” I nod. I do want to talk, to be honest. But at the same time, I don’t want her to think I’m what Philip thinks I am. “I have good news,” I say to change the subject. “Miss Wilson has been editing this story I’m working on in class. She wants to enter it into this writing competition Nairobi St. John―that’s my favorite author―told her about earlier this week. She thinks I have a good chance of at least placing, even if I don’t win.” “That’s great, Kenni! I’m so glad to see you pursuing your dream. You’re a great writer. Don’t give up on that, okay? Don’t let anyone ever tell you to give that up.” “I won’t. I promise.” I suddenly remember how Meisha used to always say that she wanted to be a singer someday. I’m wondering now if she had let someone talk her out of her dream. “Do you still sing, Meisha?” I ask curiously. “To my babies and my husband,” she says with a smile as she adjusts the newsboy cap on her head. “And in the shower, of course. The acoustics there are better than any
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other place in the world, for real.” “Do you miss it? Singing in front of people, I mean?” I ask, remembering how excited people back home in Connecticut would get when Meisha sang at church or performed at local concerts in the park. She had a voice that soothed the soul and calmed the senses, they used to say. “Sometimes,” she admits. “Sometimes I really do.” “Sing for me, Meisha,” I say softly. “I haven’t heard you since forever.” Meisha closes her eyes the way she always does when she’s about to sing. She looks so much at peace right then, and I get a little choked up just thinking about how much I’ve missed the nighttime lullabies she used to sing to me when I was a little girl and we used to share a room. She starts singing―
why must you constantly compare me to the girl i used to be as if the woman the woman that i am today is somehow unsatisfactory i try, you know that i try to be a woman of fortitude of dignity of quiet strength a woman of grace a nubian queen but you think that i am just a child one day very soon you will realize that i’m a woman
Her voice gets choked up and she stops. When she opens her eyes, a big tear rolls down her face. She kind of smiles and brushes it away, but I can see pain cross her face and it makes my heart hurt.
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“I wrote that, you know,” she says. I nod. I’m not surprised. I could tell by the way she sang it that the lyrics had some special meaning to her. “It’s beautiful,” I say, touching her hand. We both kind of laugh then because we’re all teary‐eyed and our noses are running. Meisha reaches across me into the glove compartment to search for tissues. She finds a couple, hands one to me, then sits up to check herself in her rearview mirror. “Oh dip!” she gasps suddenly, swinging her body around to look out the rear window of the car. I turn too. Next thing I know, the driver side door opens and Aris appears. His face is twisted and angry and he’s reaching in with both hands like he’s ready to do damage to whoever the driver is. I can tell by the look on his face that he knows about the thing with Quiz and probably thinks that he’s the one at the wheel. But then he sees Meisha. Aris stops cold. He doesn’t move for a minute, just stares at her without saying a word. He looks more hurt than angry now. My door opens at this point, and suddenly Mama’s hand is around my right arm. She pulls me out the car so roughly that I drop my backpack, lose my balance, and practically fall to the ground. “Kendra Renée James, I will teach you to be riding around town in some strange man’s car!” she cries. “Mama,” Aris says in his deep baritone voice. He doesn’t even speak loudly, but something in his tone makes her stop. She looks up to see him standing straight, his head slightly bowed, and his arms dropped down at his sides. Mama releases her grip on me as she slowly bends at the waist to get a better view inside the car. This time it’s me grabbing for her arm as her knees give out from under her and she almost falls face forward into
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the passenger seat. The strangest sound―almost a wail―comes from her mouth as she steadies herself and leans against the car, her forehead resting on the edge of the roof. Inside, Meisha buries her face in her own hands, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably as she starts crying. Aris turns and walks back to his car. He doesn’t get into it, but he leans against the driver side and stares off in the opposite direction. As usual, I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Meanwhile, I’m standing there helplessly, trying to figure out what to say and do. I realize suddenly that we’re attracting attention and I reach out to touch my mother’s arm. “Mama,” I say softly as I move in closer to her. “Kendra, you go on home with Aris,” she says, quickly getting herself together. She realizes people are staring too, and Mama is not about making scenes. Well, not if she can help it, anyway. I pick my backpack up from the ground and walk back to my brother’s car. He and I get in at the same time, watching quietly as Mama disappears into Meisha’s car. They pull off a few seconds later. Aris doesn’t say a word until we get home, and even then he only grunts at me that he has somewhere he has to be as he leans over and opens my door. I don’t say anything as I get out. He pulls off, leaving me standing there in the driveway. I don’t think I move for about five minutes. Finally, I go into the house. No one else is home, of course, so I sit down at the dining room table and try to get started on my homework. It’s hard to concentrate. I can’t help but wonder what Mama and Meisha are talking about, especially when three hours go by and Mama is still not back. I can always tell when Daddy is home, because his work truck sputters and knocks a little on cold days. I’m on the edge of my seat now trying to figure out what to tell him
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when he asks where Mama is, which I know is the first thing he’s going to do when he walks through the door, especially since she’s not in the kitchen cooking like she usually is when he and Jada get home. He looks real tired when he steps inside. He peeks in the kitchen first, then looks over at me. “Hey, baby,” he says, his voice as tired as he looks. “Hey, Daddy.” “Where’s your mama at?” he asks, setting his briefcase down on the table. Mama hates when he does that. “Mama hates when you put your bag there, Daddy,” Jada warns, coming through the door behind him. “Where is she? I need to tell her about my show.” Jada is going to be a fashion designer someday, which is why she goes to a special afterschool activity a couple times a week. I have to admit, she’s really talented. She used to try and help me dress better when I was a thick chick, but she eventually gave up because I didn’t really care what I looked like then. Now I actually use the tips she used to give me, and I kind of watch how she puts her own outfits together. I can always tell by the look on her face whether or not she approves of what I’m wearing. Lately, she looks like she approves most of the time. “I think she and Aris must have gone out together,” I say, my voice steady as I half‐lie straight to my father’s face. “Her car is still in the garage.” “Hm,” Daddy says, glancing at his watch and looking around like her not being there has confused him about what to do next. “Tell me about your show, Jada,” I say, trying to change the subject. “We’re having this really big fashion show,” Jada says excitedly, sitting down at the table with me. “There’s going to be a runway and everything! We get to choose our own model and create three outfits for that person in three
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different categories. The Fashion Design students at Wright Tech are going to actually sew the outfits, but we get to design them.” “That sounds cool. When is it?” “In four months. I mean, it sounds like a lot of time, but it’s really not. There’s a lot of stuff to do. But it’s gonna be fun. And I get to show the fashion design teacher at Wright Tech what I can do. It’ll help me get into her program easier when I’m a freshman there.” “You’ll get in. You’re good, Jada.” “I don’t want to be good for a thirteen‐year‐old. I want to be great, period. I need to stand out. Which is kind of why I wanted to talk to you too,” she says, taking a deep breath. Jada always adds just a little bit of drama to her words. “What’s up?” I ask. “I want you to be my model.” “You’ve gotta be kidding.” “No, I’m not. You’d be perfect, Kendra. I’ve already thought it out.” “I’m too fat to be a model,” I protest. “And I’m not pretty enough anyway.” “First of all, you’re not fat. And second of all, I don’t want skinny. I want someone real. You have the perfect shape for my designs. Trust me, Kendra, I know what I’m doing.” She sounds so grown‐up when she says it that I actually do trust her, and I finally give in after a few moments. “Thank you, thank you!” she says, jumping up and hugging me. I don’t push her away like I usually do. “And Kendra,” she says as she grabs her backpack and portfolio from the table, “you have very exotic looks.” “Which means ugly,” I say. “Which means beautiful,” she says, then turns and runs upstairs. Every now and then that girl leaves me speechless.
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Daddy is in the living room now watching television. From where I’m sitting, I can see him checking his watch every few minutes. I think about going upstairs to my room, but I’ll have to pass him along the way, and I’m afraid he’ll ask me another question about where Mama is. He’s not as good as Mama is at asking those point‐blank questions, but this whole Meisha thing is so huge that I’m afraid my face will give me away if I even look at him. The door opens suddenly and Mama rushes in. Aris comes in behind her with grocery bags in his hands. The three of us lock eyes and with one look make some silent promise not to mention anything to Daddy about what had happened earlier that afternoon. “Loretta? That you, baby?” Daddy calls from the living room. He turns off the television and walks past me into the kitchen, where Mama is pulling food from the bags and setting it out on the counter. “I’m sorry, Lawrence,” she says as she moves around in a rush. “I had some running around to do after work and the time just got away from me. I was so tired that Aris offered to chauffer me. Crazy day today.” I get up from the table to take the plates and silverware she’s handing me from the doorway of the kitchen. She gives me that look again and I throw her a nod so she knows I understand. She doesn’t have to worry about me telling Daddy. He and I barely speak as it is, and a conversation about Meisha being back is most definitely not the way I want to get him to pay attention to me now. “I was just worried, baby,” he says, coming into the kitchen through the door on the other wall. He kisses her on the cheek as he peeks over her shoulder to see what she picked up from the grocery store. “I got that lemon‐roasted chicken you like,” she says as she dishes the food into serving bowls. Mama refuses to eat
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from food containers. “And green beans, garlic potato salad, and that corn bread you think tastes better than mine.” Daddy laughs at that last remark, but he doesn’t deny it. We sit down at the table to eat. Jada talks non‐stop to me about her fashion show, Philip and Daddy argue about who they think is getting traded from one pro football team to another, and Mama and Aris try their best not to look like they’ve just seen a ghost.
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