Finally, he slows down. My thoughts are coming back. My fear is still alive, but frozen for the moment. Overshadowed by relief: We’re alive. They didn’t kill us.
Clay pulls over. Turns off the engine. Takes a deep breath. And punches the shit outta the steering wheel while loudly cursing. When he’s through, he collapses into it weeping. I pull his head into my lap and stroke him while he cries.
There ain’t nothin’ I can say. Nothin’ I can do. I’m sixteen. I’m a colored girl. I don’t have the words to help him when a couple of scary crackers can do what they want to him and to me, and there’s not a goddamn thing he can do to stop it.
8
Visiting Day
MAMA PULLS RANDOM ITEMS OUT of her pocketbook. Two wrapped peppermints, a skate key, some loose change, and a button that looks like it’s from my old coat. She places them on the table, arranges them, and then methodically puts them back. She pauses before repeating the whole exercise.
“Don’t worry, Mama. He sounded good last time I talked to him,” I try to reassure her. She nods but keeps fooling with the contents of her purse. She’s always doin’ this when we wait for Daddy to come out to the visitors room. She gets nervous, and her fidgeting just makes me more nervous. I get nervous just bein’ here at all. The difference is I feel better as soon as I see him. She doesn’t.
A guard looms over us, occasionally looking at Mama’s items to make sure she didn’t somehow smuggle in any contraband after bein’ thoroughly searched. I wanna tell him to back off, but I know better than to start trouble here. They send me away for smart-mouthin’, they liable to never let me come back.
“My beautiful girls,” Daddy says, comin’ though the door. I notice his blue-gray uniform startin’ to fray at the cuffs, and I hope he can fix ’em. Otherwise the sleeves’ll start unraveling.
“Daddy!” I smile big. I want to grab him and hug him so badly, but it’s against the rules. I hate the rules.
“Y’all ain’t been waitin’ long, have ya?” he asks, a little apprehensively.
“No, just a few minutes,” I tell him. More like fifteen, but I don’t want him to feel bad. Especially cuz it’s probably not his fault he’s late. Sometimes guards will mess with inmates. Set ’em up to miss precious time with their families. They can all rot.
He glances at Mama. She stares down at the table.
“So tell me the latest.”
I try to fill him in on everything I think he’d find interesting that’s happened since the last time we talked. It’s funny. I always want to impress him with my maturity, but as soon as I see him, I turn into a little girl. If I let myself think about it, it’s kinda embarrassing.
“And then she had the nerve to tell her mother I was the one that broke that ugly doll! Right. Cuz when I go over there to watch that kid, I’m really just there to play with the toys. Ridiculous!”
Daddy laughs so hard, I can see the holes in his mouth where a few rotted teeth had to be pulled. I try to make my stories funny to keep him laughin’. I don’t know how much laughin’ he does when I’m not here. I do whatever I can to keep the smile on his face for as long as possible. Because when it’s time for us to leave, he always looks a little broken. A few times, he’s cried. Not even botherin’ to wipe the tears away.
It might sound like a small thing, but I haven’t hugged my father in four years. I wish I knew how to put into words what that feels like, but I don’t think those words exist. As much as it kills me, I suspect it’s worse for him.
“What about you?” Mama asks, surprisin’ us both. “How you doin,’ Jesse?”
And there goes that smile I worked so hard to maintain.
“I’m survivin’. Mostly.” He tries to chuckle. “Been readin’ some. Just finished one called As I Lay Dying.”
“Oh, I know that book! We’re sposeta read that in English this year,” I tell him.
“You won’t be sorry, pudd’n’. I’m not gonna lie to you: it’s mighty sad, but one a the best books I read in a long time!”
“What about classes?” Mama interrupts.
He snorts. “Yeah. Takin’ history right now. Ancient history. We been studyin’ the Macedonian Renaissance.”
“I meant job trainin’.”
“I know what you meant,” he snaps. They look at each other for a long moment, and I wish Mama could come here just once with nice things to say to him.
“Daddy? Did I tell you that Anne Marie’s cookout was on Juneteenth? Do you know what that is?”
He breaks the shared glare with Mama.
“I certainly do. I like her. She seems like a smart one.”
“I’ve noticed there’s somethin’ you ain’t told your daddy,” Mama says to me. I frown at her. She’s actin’ like I did somethin’ and I’m tryna hide it, when I haven’t done a thing.
“What?”
She gives me a look and then turns to him.
“She got a boyfriend now.”
Oh. That. I feel my cheeks burning.
“He doesn’t wanna hear about that,” I mumble.
“Oh, yes he does,” Daddy says. He’s smiling again, his eyes bright and alert. “Who’s the lucky fella?”
“Clayton Alexander,” I say. I do not want to discuss this with my father. This is just makin’ me feel even more like a little girl.
“What? He’s older’n I am!”
“Clayton Junior! Not the one you useta know,” Mama corrects. I hate how she says “useta know.” Like anybody he knew before prison is lost to him now.
“Well shit, I thought he was only ’bout eleven or twelve.”
“They grow up, Jesse.” She says this with a grin. Not unfriendly, though.
“Wow! So he’s— Oh. Okay. He better be treatin’ you right.”
“He is, Daddy.”
“I’m serious, cuz…” He pauses and glances up at the guard. He seems to
