26
Clear
“EVVIE, WHERE YOU GOIN’?” CORALENE asks. She keeps hoppin’ around on one foot.
“Movies. Like I said the other three times you asked.”
She hops in a circle. Doralene stares at Beany and Cecil on the TV, oblivious to everything around her. Coralene hops directly in her view a few times, and Doralene just leans over until she can see again, ignorin’ her.
“But you went to the movies last week,” Coralene protests.
“That is true. And now I’m goin’ again.”
“Why can’t we come?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because you’re too little.”
“It’s not fair. You get to go wherever you want alla time, and I ain’t never been to no movies!”
“Gotta wait till you’re older,” I mutter, and check the clock. I thought Mama woulda been home by now. If she ain’t here when Clay comes, I won’t be goin’ anywhere.
Coralene crosses her arms and tries to stomp with her hoppin’ foot. She loses her balance and topples over and it’s hilarious, but I don’t laugh. Her face instantly scrunches up like she’s about to wail, but then she just sticks out her bottom lip and stays on the floor.
“Ain’t fair,” she whines.
I wanna tease her; she’s funny and cute right now, but something stops me. As she mumbles to herself about never getting to go anyplace fun, she grabs a headless doll from the floor. She takes one look at it and slams it back on the floor. This doll once had a head. Until Virgil pilfered it during his late-night visit.
Doralene’s had nightmares about him. Coralene just looked at that doll with a rage in her eyes I’ve never seen. He’s crept into our lives, and that is unforgivable. I clutch my sankofa necklace. This cannot continue.
I’m lost in thought when I hear the screen door in back swing open and slam shut.
“Hey, y’all. Sorry it took me so long. Sister Greta,” Mama grumbles, setting her purse down and kickin’ off her shoes. From time to time, Mama volunteers at the church on Saturday evenings, preparin’ meals for the old and sick or settin’ up if there’s to be an event on Sunday, like communion or somethin’. One a the folks that she volunteers with, Sister Greta, practically lives at the church and is never short on words. Mama’s so polite, she just lets the woman talk without interrupting her, but if you never interrupt Sister Greta, you could wind up stuck with her for all of eternity.
“You know how she normally is. Well, today was worse, cuz she got a bunion on her toe and now she’s convinced her whole foot’s gonna have to be amputated! I told her all she needs to do is rest it some and wear comfortable shoes, but she didn’t wanna hear that. Just kept goin’ on and on about how she won’t be able to get up the steps or take care of herself after her foot’s gone. Damn near had to run outta there. Poor Vicky May. She probably still standin’ there. Sayin’ ‘uh-huh’ and noddin’.” Mama chuckles and sits on the couch.
“They eat?” she asks me.
“Tuna!” Coralene complains. We oughta invest in a couple a muzzles.
“So what? Nothin’ wrong with tuna,” Mama tells her. “Did you have enough?”
“Yes,” Coralene answers through her clenched jaw.
“Did it taste okay?”
“I guess,” she says.
“Then quit whinin’ about it,” Mama finishes. “And what the heck are y’all watchin’? Almost time for Jackie Gleason.” Mama and Doralene get into it about turnin’ the station, and I check my watch. Quarter past seven. It’s only fifteen minutes, but Clay’s never late.
Mama wins the argument and turns to channel nine, even though The Jackie Gleason Show don’t come on till seven thirty, when Doralene’s cartoon woulda surely been over anyway. She whimpers in the corner, and Mama warns her to stop cryin’ or she’ll give her somethin’ to cry about.
Twenty past seven.
I start to feel an itch I can’t scratch. Lolita starts in ten minutes. The Orpheum ain’t far, but this ain’t like him. I feel Mama glancin’ over at me and tryna decide if she should say anything.
“What you say y’all gonna see? The Music Man?”
“Yeah,” I lie.
“Is it at eight?”
“Mama? I’m gonna go,” I announce.
“Well, ain’t he pickin’ ya up?”
I sigh. “His dad ain’t lettin’ him use the car right now, so he’s walkin’ over. He’s runnin’ late, so Imma just see if I can catch him on the way. So we don’t miss the beginning,” I say.
She gives me a long, serious look.
“You sure it wouldn’t be better just to wait?”
I think about it for a second. I think about all the reasons he mighta gotten held up. And reasons why I should wait. What if he had to do somethin’ I don’t know about before meeting me and will be comin’ from the opposite direction, and we miss each other? What if there’s an emergency and he tries to call the house and I’m gone? There is a logic to waiting.
“No. I can’t wait no more,” I tell her, and step out onto the front porch and down the steps. The street is quiet except for the crickets. I look in both directions and don’t see a soul. The Orpheum is between Clay’s house and mine, so it’s possible that I’ll find him on his way to me.
Other things are possible too. But I can’t let my mind go there.
“I am a child of God. I am not ugly. I will do no harm,” I say aloud, just in case. I wish somebody else was on the street right now. Anybody. Where is everybody? Usually kids are still out playin’ at this hour.
I stop in the middle a the sidewalk. I know somethin’ ain’t right. Ain’t been right all day. I just don’t know what that somethin’ is. I walk a bit farther, and I stop again and look around me. I reach for my purple-silver band of energy: awareness. I reach and reach and know I’ve
