“Well now… it looks as if we’re going to have to continue this on a later date.” I stared at him wide eyed because even I knew that there will be no later date.
“I really hate human flesh.” He continued in his Texas drawl.
I put my hand over my mouth to stop the scream that came to my throat as I watched him fall over dead in front of me. Panic shot through me so pure and unadulterated that it robbed me of the ability to think clearly. So, I ran!
The only thing I knew was that I had just killed the Mayor of Sweetwater; the Mayor who tried to rape me on the same night of my grandfather’s funeral. In my ignorance, I thought that I could just disappear and leave that nightmare behind me dead on my living room floor. I had no way of knowing at the time that I was never going to escape him. It didn’t matter how far I ran because he showed up in my dreams every night.
Leaning back against the counter, I exhaled. What was I going to do? I couldn’t keep going on like this. In a constant state of fear and paranoia, I went down to the library every day to use the computer, checking to see if my picture was plastered all over the Texas news—Wanted For Murder.
So far, nothing; which meant they still hadn’t found the Mayor’s body rotting on my grandmother’s cow-hide-rug. Strangely, there weren’t any reports that Mayor Davenport had even gone missing.
And I know he was dead. I watched him bleed out on my floor.
Reaching up I snatched the wig off my head. At this time of night I didn’t have to worry that Shanice would see me. The apartment was dark and quiet which meant she wasn’t here, and would probably not be in for the rest of the night. As I rubbed my hand through my long curls that had been begging to be set free, I walked toward the window to look out on the streets that never slept.
Smiling, remembering the first time my pa-pa brought home a wig for me. I had just turned sixteen and was tired of staying in the house or on the farm all the time. So what did I do? I had a fit. Demanding that he take me to the mall like the kids on TV.
Grudgingly, he agreed but only if I agreed to wear a disguise.
“Heck yeah! I’ll wear a disguise!” I screeched, while planting about a million kisses on his face. Shew! I would have agreed to ride Ms. Willie Mae’s old bipolar bull blindfolded and backwards if it meant getting some time free from my prison.
And so, my disguise was born.
My pa-pa bought me a pair of dark brown contacts for my eyes. He says he ain’t never really seen eyes the color of mine and my great grandmother’s before. I think they’re hazel, but sometimes he say they seem purple. Either way, they drew too much attention. Plus, the contrast they made with my coffee colored skin was very startling. Pa-pa says it’s too much for most people to deal with.
In the beginning before I learned a few tricks, I needed his help to get my long thick unruly curls underneath the wig. The whole time he would grumble about how he ain’t never seen hair like mine and my grandmother’s either. It did what it wanted to do, when it wanted to do it. The only time it seemed to behave is when it was hidden under the wig.
For the finishing touch, he brought a baseball hat. I stared at him like he had lost his mind as he pinched and pressed the brim together, bending it this way and that. When he popped it on my head the bent brim cast the majority of my face in a shadow. I could understand the wig and even the contacts, but I didn’t understand why I had to hide my face.
“That face of yours is just like my mothers. It looks as if it had been sculpted by the hand of an artisan. Her beautiful face brought death to her.” My grandfather would say before getting a haunting look in his eyes as he remembered the tragic night his father shot his mother in a jealous rage.
He said my great-grandmother’s beauty attracted nearly every man that crossed her path. That drove my great-grandfather insane with jealousy. He was convinced he wasn’t good enough for such beauty. He just couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that she loved him and only him. No matter how much she assured him that was the case.
One night after they’d made it home from the local Ju-Joint, he accused her of looking at another man and it didn’t help that he was drunk as a skunk. She denied it but he didn’t want to hear it. When he pointed the gun at her, my grandfather said she laughed because she didn’t believe he would pull the trigger. Moments later, the sound of his gun going off filled their house.
My pa-pa still had nightmares about it up until he died. That’s why it was so important to him that I hide my looks from the world. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tired of being invisible.
Exhaling, I watched the people go about their business on the streets below. Shanice had an amazing view of Queens, at least to me. However, she always made fun of me for being impressed with her meager apartment.
“Poor country mouse, if you think Queens is nice, wait till you see Manhattan.”
I didn’t have to see Manhattan. Queens was a Metropolis compared to Sweetwater Texas. I guess you can say I got lucky bumping
