“That’s messed up,” said Damon. He was at a loss as to what else he could say so he kept quiet.
“I didn’t even tell Stump, because he wouldn’t understand at all,” said Ephraim. He rubbed one long hand over his face and then rubbed his forehead, looking like he wanted to cry. Damon thought about the time they’d called Ephraim five head, because he had such a big forehead, he could fit all of his fingers on it and still have forehead showing. They’d all laughed and acted stupid. That seemed a million miles away from this. This was serious.
“I don’t know what to say, man,” said Damon.
“The killing part is,” said Ephraim. “She acted all sad and haunted about the whole situation. She’s all like, E, you don’t understand, this is my body, my life, my future, like I didn’t count for nothing.”
“Man, she was probably scared,” said Damon.
“I know,” said Ephraim. “But I told her that I would be there for her. She didn’t have to kill my baby. We could’ve made it. She called me on the phone and told me, ‘it’s done’. I wanted to kill her or kill myself.”
“Don’t do nothing like that, E,” said Damon, feeling chilled. “Talk to my dad or something.”
“No, I won’t,” said Ephraim, covering his eyes with his hand. “I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. But I’ll always wonder, would it have been a boy or a girl? How would it have acted? Would my baby have looked like me? It’s like she killed me, too, man. I loved that girl.”
Damon was speechless in the face of his friend’s anguish. Ephraim dashed his hand across his wet eyes and sniffled. Damon pretended not to see.
“I would have loved my baby, too,” said Ephraim. He dropped the video game controller and buried his face in his hands. Damon got up and put his hand on Ephraim’s shaking shoulders, more freaked out than he’d ever been in his entire life. After a while, Ephraim got himself under control. He wiped his eyes and nose with his sweatshirt sleeve and the back of one long slim hand. By mutual consent, neither mentioned the tears. Damon picked up the controller and handed it Ephraim and they played another video game.
Brielle
“Ow, mommy, don’t pull,” said Brielle. She grabbed the side of her head, to protect her freshly done French roll from the hair jewelry her mother had just yanked off of her head.
“Sorry,” said her mother. “It got caught in a strand of hair.” She repositioned the ornament and stuck it into Brielle’s hair. Brielle was sitting at her vanity in her bra, panties and pantyhose, putting on makeup. Kyzie was sprawled on Brielle’s bed in a blue chenille robe.
“I don’t know why you had to get your hair fried, anyway,” said Kyzie, patting her twists. She, too had opted for an up do, but hers was still in its natural state. She’d just pulled the twists to the top of her head and put glitter jewelry in it to dress it up. “And I don’t see why we have to wear pantyhose anyway. They itch.”
“You don’t have to wear pantyhose,” said Mrs. Bronson. “You can stay home and have naked legs.
“Mom,” said Kyzie. “Nobody else is wearing hose.”
“You are not a hooker,” said her mother fiercely. “The only time you will go without hose to a formal affair is if it is ninety degrees outside. Besides, I have told you before that you cannot do everything everybody else is doing.”
“That is so old fashioned,” complained Kyzie.
“You trying to stay home?” asked her mother.
“No,” Kyzie’s reply was sullen.
“Then take your little narrow tail into your own room and get dressed,” said her mother. “I’ll be there in a minute to help you.”
Kyzie obediently got up and slunk out of the room muttering, “You’d think this was the nineteen eighties or something.”
Mrs. Bronson cast her eyes to the ceiling. “I don’t know why I had to have girls,” she said.
“Mo-om,” said Brielle.
Her mother looked at Brielle’s reflection in the mirror and smiled.
“I could have had some boys,” said Mrs. Bronson. “Then, somebody else would be doing heads and helping with the primping.”
“You said that daddy is just as prissy as we are,” said Brielle.
“That’s true, he does stay in the mirror a lot,” said Mrs. Bronson. “I guess boys wouldn’t be the answer after all.” She finished putting the last ornament into Brielle’s hair and then helped her daughter into her deep purple strapless gown. The dress was very simple with rhinestones around the bodice and discrete sparkles woven into the material. Because of her height, they had had the dress modified to tea length so it wouldn’t hang too short. She had on sheer hose and purple satin sandals with silver heels. Sammie had loaned Brielle long silver gloves and a little silver sequined bag to carry. Once Brielle was done dressing, her mother stood back and looked at her older daughter with tears in her eyes.
“Your first big dance date,” she said. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you, mommy,” said Brielle. She glimpsed herself in the mirror and smiled broadly.
“Mom,” called Kyzie. “Come on, or we’ll be late!”
Mrs. Bronson hurried from the room.
A little later the doorbell rang. Mr. Bronson answered and nodded tersely to Damon, who was resplendent in a black suit, lavender shirt, and purple and silver printed tie. He was carrying a box with a lavender rose in it. The rose was surrounded by silver sprayed baby’s breath and purple and silver ribbon.
“Good evening, sir,” said Damon, nervously. Mr. Bronson looked like he wanted to kill someone, probably Damon, but he stepped to the side to let Damon in.
Damon started to say something but was saved by the breathless arrival of Sammie, Jamel and Asia. They piled out of Jamel’s car and onto the porch like a small tornado.
“Hi, Uncle George,” Sammie sang out in her sunny voice. “How are you?”
“Great, babe,” said Mr. Bronson, with a soft
