He chokes and writhes on the ground. He tries to force my fingers from his neck, but I tighten my grip again, and when the blue tint creeps into his skin, I ease up again. He chokes and still tries to talk. This time, because he’s perfectly positioned where I need him, I dunk his head in Bottomless Pit and hold it.
Hold it.
Hold it.
Hold it.
Hey, Evvie girl.
Then I release it and he flails like a fish and I shove his head down again and hold it there.
You’re like nobody else.
I lift his head, and he’s not fighting anymore. You weak sonuvabitch. Breathe!
“Breathe, goddamn you!” I shriek.
He chokes up water and takes another breath. He opens those ocean-blue eyes, and they almost look human in their sad resignation.
He looks at me. I let him speak. “We did have fun. You and me once.” He hacks the words up with more water and some blood. “I know I made you smile.”
I wouldn’t survive up there without you.
“Evvie!” Grammie Atti calls out desperately from the other side.
I sniff. I blink. I breathe.
I dunk his head once more. I cry out like the wounded animal that I am, and the sound I make goes on and on until there’s nothing left. He’s stopped moving.
My hands let go and I sit. I sniff again. Look around.
This is how I’ve killed Virgil Hampton. Without any magic.
Grammie Atti still stares at me, not makin’ a sound. And Mama’s there too.
Go home, Grammie Atti. Go home, Mama, I tell them.
You gonna need help with this, Grammie Atti says.
No. Go home.
Grammie Atti leaves.
“I’m sorry, Evvie,” Mama calls out.
I stare at her and say nothing. She doesn’t move.
Go away.
She sniffles like she’s been cryin’ a lot, and she slowly fades into the trees. Can’t tell if she’s really gone or hidin’. Don’t matter.
I have no practical tools. So I make do. I spend time collecting rocks. I place them in Virgil’s pockets and inside his clothes, and I push him off the bank into Bottomless Pit. Probably I coulda used the jube to float him over to the fire and cook him like the rest. But I didn’t. Maybe I hope his corpse is discovered one day, bloated, rotting, repulsive. Maybe I don’t give a shit.
At the fire, I kick a few remaining body parts the haints left behind into the hot center, and the flames crackle.
If I’d just waited for him a little longer.
A little longer.
Clayton Alexander Jr.
There ain’t much out here but weeds. Still, I find a few wildflowers, and I bring them to Clay. I delicately place them in his hands and wrap the fingers that ain’t been crushed around them. I cry without makin’ any noise. I find a stick, and I write in the dirt Evvie loves Clay.
I lie down next to him and keep cryin’. I wrap my arms around him. We hold each other for a long time. As long as we can.
2 “Your spirit is our blessing” in Gullah language.
3 “She wants, needs you. Here” in Gullah language.
28
Life
“THINK I FOUND SOMETHIN’ THAT’LL fit you,” Mama says.
She takes the nightgown off, lifting my arms for me. She secures me into a brassiere and then slides the black dress over my head. She looks me over. Then she sits behind me on the bed and combs my hair. She says things to me. I don’t know what. I can’t listen anymore.
“You gotta stand up now,” she tells me, and I do.
Next thing I know we’re in the church for the funeral. I stare down at the hymnals and fans on the back of the pew ahead of us. Occasionally Mama dabs her eyes and mine. I don’t hear what the preacher’s sayin’. Don’t matter. I don’t hear all the amens and give us strength, Lords. They don’t matter either.
I do hear Mr. and Mrs. Alexander. They sob. Clay’s daddy, like a lost little boy. Clay’s mama, like a mad woman. Their cries matter.
The casket is closed. A bouquet of lilacs and carnations lies on top of it. Sittin’ just to the side of the flowers is his trumpet. It’s to be buried with him.
When we get back home, I crawl into bed and stay there. The twins come in and say things, but mostly they try not to bother me. Sleep is better. Sleepin’, I dream about him, and he’s still here and he’s makin’ me laugh and makin’ me melt, and I’m real good at wakin’ myself up before it all goes wrong. Sleepin’, I can’t think about everything that’s been taken. All the memories we’ll never have. All the music he’ll never make.
They’re tryin’. Tryna break through. Mama first. Mama’s been knockin’ at the door in my head since I got home that Sunday morning. They say they had to rip him outta my arms, and I screamed and fought. I don’t remember. She’s tryna read me and get me to talk to her with my mind’s voice. But I can’t. Grammie Atti’s started doin’ it too. Even future Atti has tried to check up on me, bless her heart. I just can’t. They need to let me be.
The door opens. My back’s to it, but I blink my eyes open. The sun seems high in the sky. Probably about noon. Don’t matter.
“Baby?” It’s Mama.
“I know you hurtin’ right now. I know it must feel like you ain’t never gonna feel happy again.” She pauses for a second. She might be givin’ me space in case I wanna talk. No need.
“You might not wanna hear this, but God’s here for you. He’s here for all of us. I know he doesn’t always answer our
