After that I would always sit in the room closer to the kitchen and do my homework. I’d always ask Mama if she wanted me to help her, and then I’d help her. Even though he was sitting in that room too, I was closer to her, and if he said anything, she would hear him. I guess she thought it was funny me sitting in there when I used to sit back in the living room. Maybe she thought I had a crush on Tyrone or something and was sitting in there where he was. I didn’t even like his eyes on me. like when I was writing my math problems or reading, I could feel his eyes on me. I didn’t dare look up at him.
Tyrone was standing down below the stairs when I got home from school. I wasn’t going to say nothing to him, I was just going on up the stairs.
“You see me, you can speak,” he said.
I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, but still didn’t say anything.
“You felt me and you can still feel me,” he said. “You still know how it feel.”
“I didn’t feel nothing.”
“Yes you did. I felt it, so I know you did.”
“You crazy, man.”
“Don’t you call me crazy, you little evil devil bitch. Don’t you call me crazy.”
He reached his hand out like he was going to grab at me and pull me down there beside him. That was when the noise came. It came real soft at first, but it made Tyrone jump back. “Hoot.” Then it came again louder, like somebody was calling. “Hoot.” like when somebody is out in the street calling. Tyrone stayed under the stairs. I stood there for a second and then I cut out and ran. When I got to the top of the stairs, Mr. Logan was looking at me. He was looking like he hadn’t heard anything. I didn’t know whether I should tell him thanks or not. I kind of smiled at him and then I darted inside.
When Tyrone was late coming back from the market, he told Mama he had stopped to talk to an old buddy.
It was as if Daddy was waiting till he saw them together. He knew about it but it was like it wasn’t happening until he saw it. It was the same day he quit his job and came home. He said he wasn’t going to work and take shit too. He said if he was going to work, he wouldn’t take shit. And he said he wasn’t going to take shit. He never did tell us what had happened at work. He didn’t tell us that was the reason he came home early until about a week later. He’d go out every day, looking for another job, and we’d think he’d be working. He had come home early, and yet he knew what he’d find, knew they’d be there. And at the same time he was waiting to see it. He could have come home early at any time. Mama thought he had come home early just to see them. What I’m trying to say is he wouldn’t come home until there was a real reason for him to, and yet he knew what he would find when he got there. He didn’t find them doing anything, because if they ever did anything, it was before I got home from school. Because I was there. I was back in the living room. And anyway, when he came home they were sitting in the kitchen talking. I knew who it was when I heard that other door, and I knew they knew who it was. They’d stopped talking. I heard one chair moving. I kept waiting for Daddy to say something. They must’ve been looking and waiting. I don’t know what kind of look Daddy must’ve had on his face, but I wouldn’t have wanted to be Mama and seen it. That’s what’s still so strange to me, though. He knew it, and yet he had to see them sitting in there in his home, before he’d do anything, react, before he let his feelings out. I kept listening for him to say something.
“I left the door standin’ open, buddy.”
I remembered I had only heard the door open but not close. Tyrone didn’t talk back to my father or nothing. He just got up and on his way out, Daddy said, “Close that door behind you, will you, buddy?” He closed the door. I was waiting to hear if he’d slam it or close it, but he closed it quietly like he was afraid of making any noise.
Then there was this other silence, waiting. I heard Mama’s chair scoot a little like she was going to get up. Neither one of them was saying anything. I don’t know how long it was. It seemed like ten minutes to me, but it couldn’t have been that long. It must’ve seemed longer to her, having to see his eyes. Because she would’ve been looking right at him. She would’ve been looking right at him.
“Come on,” he said.
The chair scooted and scraped, and he had hold of her arm. I didn’t see them until they got to the bedroom. He had her arm and he was undoing her blouse. My eyes must’ve been all wide and scared. Daddy looked at me and kind of smiled. It was a love smile for me but a hurt smile for him. I don’t know what kind of one it was for her. It must’ve been a love/hate one for her.
He said, “Close that door, will you, honey.” He said it just like that. Real soft. Real gentle.
I got up and closed the door that separated the living room from their bedroom.
Then it was
