I place it on the counter and take out my wallet. In a heartbeat, Anne Marie’s by my side, eyeballin’ my purchase. She turns to me, and I do believe her eyes are about to pop right outta her head.
“What?”
The register girl gives me the same look she gave Anne a few minutes ago. Maybe that’s just her face. She stuffs the box in a brown paper bag, then wraps it in another one. Just to be safe, she drops it into an even larger paper bag. She slides it across to counter to me like it’s radioactive waste.
I sigh and take it. We leave.
“You goin’ home or what?” I ask her.
She shrugs with this weird, haughty expression.
I stop in the middle of the sidewalk. She’s surprised but stops too.
“Why’d you stop?” she asks me with that same haughty air.
“I’m not takin’ another step until you tell me what’s wrong with you.”
“Me? Nothing at all.”
“Oh for the love of—will you just say it already?”
“Fine! I’ve never met somebody who uses tampons before! It’s a little odd.”
“Not really! I just got sick a the damn belt! That’s all.”
“I just thought this would be somethin’ that you mighta discussed with me before just doin’ it.”
It takes all my strength not to start laughin’, but I manage. She’s truly upset about this.
“Maybe if we were twelve. I can make my own decisions now, and I know you can too.”
Her mouth draws into a line, and she starts walkin’ real fast.
“Why are you mad at me?”
She increases her speed, so I have to do the same. It is another hot day, and I am in no mood for this foolishness!
“Anne Marie, stop it right now.”
She halts, arms crossed. She turns toward me but won’t meet my eyes. All I have to do is put some heat in my voice, and she’ll listen. She’s like that. Programmed to comply instantly with anything resembling authority. I’m glad, cuz I was a second away from stopping her in an entirely different way.
“Tell me why this is a problem for you,” I demand.
She taps her foot on the ground. She’s shaking.
“I feel like—I feel like you’re changin’ so fast, I can’t keep up.” Her voice quivers now.
“I’m not changin’. Really I’m not. Just cuz we prefer different feminine hygiene products, doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends.”
In spite of herself, this makes her laugh. Then we both break into laughs.
“No.” She regains her grave face. “Don’t make fun a me.”
“I’m not makin’ fun a you,” I assure her. “I just wanted you to laugh. I’m tryna understand where you’re comin’ from, and I’m havin’ a hard time.”
Anne looks at me now, but instead of lookin’ angry, her face is apologetic.
“You’ve never had a boyfriend before,” she mumbles.
Her thoughts are all over creation today!
“No. I guess not. I did go out with that kid from St. Mary’s last year. Eugene? Was that his name?”
“Yeah, once or twice. That doesn’t count. You can’t even remember his name, which was—”
“Wait wait wait! Lemme try again.” I concentrate, tryna remember this poor boy’s name. Even his face I’m strugglin’ to picture.
“Emery!” I say.
“Close. Chester.”
“Oh yeah,” I giggle, a little embarrassed. “Well, I knew there was a e in there somewhere.”
“Yep. You got the vowels down. Now ya just gotta work on rememberin’ the consonants.”
We’re both laughin’ again.
“Regardless, boyfriend or not, you’re my girl. That ain’t gonna change.”
She smiles at me.
“Before you know it, somebody’s hairy knuckles’ll be knockin’ down your door—”
“No, they won’t, and please don’t do that,” she says. “I can handle a lot, but please don’t condescend to me.”
I nod. Feelin’ chastised and rightfully so. I didn’t mean to do that, but it’s no excuse.
“Well. I hope Mr. Clayton Alexander Jr. appreciates all the time he gets to spend with you,” she says.
“Come on.” I throw my arm around her shoulder and lead her down the street.
I think we’ve talked enough about boyfriends and tampons and creepy guys for one afternoon, so I try to think of a new subject. Up ahead, I spot the old post office, and I wonder if my history buff friend knows its story.
“Anne? Do you know how long the old post office has been there?”
She squints for a second, thinking.
“I don’t know too much about the foundation, but the building’s been standing since 1796.” She tells me about its many incarnations, and I enjoy learning about each one.
11
Haints
DREAMS UNNERVE ME. ’SPECIALLY these days. Most nights, I just wanna sleep. I don’t want dreams gettin’ in the way a that. Cuz I honestly can’t always tell the difference between my dreams and my realities. So how the hell am I ever sposeta get any rest?
Early this morning, for example. I was out in a big field. You’d assume that this was just a typical dream. Except every one of my senses experienced that field in a real, concrete way. The wet dew on my bare feet (I wish my subconscious understood the value of shoes). The smell of hay and saturated earth, like from a pond or river, though I saw none of the above. Sounds of birds from overhead. Pigeons, sandpipers, and whip-poor-wills. The sight of nothing but unkempt grass for miles in every direction. I didn’t put anything in my mouth, so I didn’t taste nothin’ special, but all my other senses were wide awake and occupied in this three-dimensional landscape. Another dream-vision that felt all too real.
I walked for a long while. I can’t say why, but I knew I had to walk. The farther I went, the more it seemed I was goin’ nowhere. Nothin’ but grass and an unfriendly gray sky. At
