Born Blue

by Han Nolan

  "Probably," she said, like she didn't care one way or 'nother.

  "You gonna put me in a foster home and visit me all the time, like Doris?" If she been Doris I wouldn't mind seeing her every month, but this lady didn't look like she liked people at all. I thought seeing her all the time would be the worst kind of torture and I wouldn't take it if she said yes, but she didn't answer me. She shifted in her chair and wrote something down on her board. Then she said, "Why don't you let me talk to Mr. James now, okay?" She said it like I been keeping her from talking to him or something.

  "I don't care," I said. "Do what you want."

  I got Mr. James for her, and he told me to stay in the playroom and play with Samson while he talked with the social worker, but I didn't. I figured any child who got a whole playroom full of toys all to his own self didn't need nothin' else, and I wanted to listen in on what they sayin' to each other.

  I snuck along and got myself to the bathroom just out from the kitchen and heard the social worker saying, "I can take her today and place her in a foster home, Mr. James, or you could act as a foster family—for a while at least, give her some time—then we'll find a more permanent solution for her. I have to tell you, though, she's almost thirteen years old and she looks much older. There aren't too many people out there wanting to adopt a child that old. The best we can really hope for is a foster home willing to take her indefinitely. And I think we'd better find her birth mother and take some legal action there. Leshaya said that the couple she lived with are already in prison. I'll look into that, too." Then the lady lowered her voice and I had to step out of the bathroom and peer into the kitchen to hear what she say.

  "I should add that it's obvious from the lack of feeling expressed when she talks about her past that she's become quite detached from her situation—possibly an attachment disorder. Typical in her situation, though."

  Mr. James shook his head. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure I follow you."

  "Just keep your eyes open," the social worker said, tucking her clipboard under her arm and lifting up her head like she just the smartest thing in the world. "She's likely to steal things, possibly set things on fire. I've seen her type before. And keep an eye on your little one. Children like her don't care who they hurt to get what they want." She turned to leave and I popped back into the bathroom.

  "Now, I'll be in touch soon," she said, "and I'll look into that prison story. For all we know it's all a lie. Children with Leshaya's background tend to make up the most atrocious stories, but we'll look into it."

  That were enough! I sprang out from the bathroom and come charging at the pig-nose lady. "Weren't a lie! Weren't none of it a he! You go on and check You just check and see. And I ain't never leavin' with you, neither. If Mr. James say I cain't stay, then I'm movin' on. I can take care of my own self. I can sing! I can sing and make me lots of money. Ain't nobody takin' me nowhere I don't wanna go. Everybody always snatchin' me up and takin' me. I ain't goin' with nobody ever more. So you go on! Go on! Leave! Leave me alone!"

  Mr. James come behind me and set his hands down on my shoulders, but they was trembling, uncertain hands. "Of course we want Leshaya to stay with us, for now," he said. "Thank you, Mrs. Weller, for coming. I'll be in touch with you later on in the week."

  The lady backed her way out the kitchen door, saying, "Yes, we'll look into things and get back with you. Bye-bye, Leshaya. It's been nice meeting you."

  That lady were phony to the end.

  Chapter Eighteen

  WE HAD ANOTHER meeting in the library that night, and Mr. James and Mrs. James said how they was glad I were staying with them for a while. Then they give me some rules I had to follow if I was gonna get along there all right. They said I had to go to school and do all my homework and take a shower every day. I said I been taking a shower sometimes twice a day for the past five years. I said they didn't have to worry, 'cause their rules be easy to follow.

  Mr. James said that I would need to respect people and respect people's property and speak the truth and act polite.

  Mrs. James said that I had to dress my age and look more proper, and I had to learn to speak correctly 'cause the way I spoke were hard for people to understand.

  I said, "Okay, I will learn," even though, near as I could tell, more people spoke like me than them and they was the ones be hard to understand. I didn't mind 'bout none of their rules, though, 'cause I figured if I could just do those things, then I could stay with them and they could be my mama and daddy till I got famous. After singin' and being famous and meeting Etta James, weren't nothin' I wanted more than a mama and daddy like them who don't hit and who be the right color skin.

  After our meeting 'bout all the rules, Mrs. James put Samson to bed while me and Harmon got out some Cokes and Doritos and set out the game Scrabble. Didn't never play no Scrabble before, but Harmon and Mr. James and Mrs. James, they all champion Scrabble players. Were like they all one team, the way they played and made me look a fool. I couldn't hardly get no points, and I had hard letters, like x and z, that spelled no real words. I kept putting my own made-up words down on the board and Harmon would shout out, "That's not a word! Get the dictionary!"

  That damn dictionary! They was always lookin' in it to prove I be wrong all the time. They was ganging up on me, and the whole thing made my face go hot. I looked at Harmon studying his letters like it be so important, and I hated him. I hated him sitting between his mama and daddy like he king of the mountain. He put down the word quark, which I knew for sure were a made-up word, but they all ganged up and said it weren't.

  I said, "Ain't no word quark. Get the dictionary!"

  And Harmon grab the book all excited to prove me wrong, and he flipped through and shouted, "Hah! Here it is!" when he found it.

  I shoved my hand over the stupid board, messing up his damn quark and all the other words, and stood up. "Ain't no real word," I said. "That be a fake dictionary and I ain't playin' with cheaters. Y'all are cheatin'!"

  I flipped the board off the table and run out the room.

  A few minutes later Mr. James and Mrs. James come up to my bedroom and they say they be sorry 'bout what happened downstairs, and even though it were wrong of me to flip the playing board off the table, they was wrong to make me feel bad. They sat on the bed on each side of me and patted my back and hugged me, and I cried long past my hurt feelings gone away so they would keep hugging me. Then I asked where Harmon be at, and they said he were downstairs cleaning up. I hid my face back in Mr. James's chest like I were still upset, but really I were smiling to myself. Harmon were downstairs cleaning up and I were sitting in the middle of his mama and daddy.

  Next morning we all ate breakfast together, and Mr. James and Mrs. James acted so lovey sweet to Harmon and Samson and just real polite to me, like I be company come to visit. Harmon stood at the stove making eggs and grits and bacon, and Mrs. James bragged on him to me 'bout how Harmon were such a great chef.

  I said, "I can make eggs and grits better 'n him, any day."

  Mr. James said, "I'm sure yours are delicious. We'll have to try them sometime." Harmon set my plate down hard, and Mr. James said, "Now, have a taste of that and see what you think."

  I took a bite of the eggs and spit it back out on the plate. "Yuck!" I said. "Too much butter." Samson laughed and spit out his Cheerios.

  Harmon took away my plate and divided it up between him and his parents, and Mr. James and Mrs. James spent the rest of the breakfast saying how every single bite were just delicious and scrumptious and other big words that meant yummy. I ate some bread, but Mr. James said I couldn't have it with sugar 'cause I wouldn't concentrate well in school. Since when? I wanted to know.

  When we went up to brush our teeth, Harmon asked why I were acting so mean to him.

  "Me? You the one always showing off at me. You waving how great it is you got a mama and daddy and how you get to cook the breakfast Ain't you just a wonder?"

  "I ain't showin' off," he said, and I smiled 'c
ause he talked like his old self and that made me feel better.

  I went to school by myself 'cause I went to the public school. Weren't special enough, I guess, to go to no Christian private school with Harmon. He rode to his school in a car pool. I took the bus. The kids on the bus wanted to know where I come from, and I told everyone how I been kidnapped five years ago and were living in Birmingham and that I only just returned to my real family two days ago. That made me popular right away, so taking the bus weren't as scary as I thought it were gonna be.

  Some white girls in my class asked me how come I talked the way I talked, and I said it were how I learned. One girl called me stupid, and a black girl called me "wigga," and I didn't know what it meant. Harmon told me later it meant I were a white girl who be into the African American culture. He said it weren't a insult, but I said it were 'cause I weren't a white girl, my skin just be real light. "I even got African American parents now, so that prove I be black," I said.

  Harmon said I be crazy.

  Wednesday night Harmon had choir practice at his church.

  I told Harmon I wanted to sing real bad, and he said I could join the junior choir, 'cause the adult choir were for eighteen-year-olds and up. I weren't gonna sing with no baby choir, but I said I'd go with him, anyway. Seemed to me he just didn't want me getting in on his show. Anyways, he were just sixteen his own self and I told him so.

  He said, "The only reason I'm in the choir is because I play the trumpet, and because I'm learning how to direct."

  "That ain't no good reason. Only reason to be in the choir is if you can sing good, and I can sing real good, so I should be in the choir more than you."

  Mrs. James told us not to argue about it no more. She said I could go and audition and let Brother Clevon decide which choir I belonged in. I could tell by the way she gave the eye to Harmon, she figured I'd get put with the babies and that would be that.

  On the way to the church Harmon told me that Brother Clevon be a real grouch and acted like he owned everybody and didn't care what ugly thing he said to somebody when they singin' something wrong. Harmon said sometimes he even got people crying they so upset at what he said.

  I told Harmon that no grouch gonna scare me or make me cry 'bout nothin', and anyway, I sing real good, so he don't gotta worry. "Don't you remember how good I sing, Harmon?" I said.

  He said, "Yeah, I remember. But that was a long time ago, and Brother Clevon wants adults. You're not yet thirteen."

  "I gonna be thirteen in a few weeks, and anyways, I got a adult voice."

  Harmon shrugged like he saying in his mind, Whatever. You ain't gettin' in, anyway.

  We got to the church and I looked out my window when we was pulling into the parking lot. I saw the biggest, cleanest brick building I ever seen. Harmon said the church had a cafeteria, a theater, and a gymnasium. Didn't sound like no church I ever heard of.

  We got out the car, and right away I heard music coming from inside the building, only it weren't no gospel, were jazzy.

  "Hey!" I said. "Listen to that. Why didn't you tell me? This gonna be better than I thought." I started cross the lawn but Harmon grabbed my arm.

  "That's not the choir," he said. "That's Mark's group. You don't want to get too friendly with them."

  "Yeah? And how come?" I stood on the lawn with my hands on my hips, feeling the wet of the grass sinking into my little-girl tennis shoes Mrs. James got me wearing.

  "They're part of the after-school program they have here for kids and teens who have nowhere to go. They're a wild bunch, that band. Preacher Walter lets them practice here to keep them away from the little kids at the gym, but they're trouble, anyway. One guy set off the fire alarm at the church last week."

  "So?"

  Harmon closed his eyes like my stupidness were too much to take in. He opened them again and said, "So there wasn't a fire and the whole fire department had to come to the church. It costs the taxpayers money every time they've got to go out, you know. What if there were a real fire somewhere else? They'd have all been here and someone's house would have been burning up."

  I were gonna say something sassy to Harmon, but I heard the band behind us playing something new and I hushed to listen.

  Without even thinking I turned away from Harmon and walked on toward the music. Harmon followed me and we walked across the lawn, following the sound. And I could feel myself walking to the rhythm, slinkin' along like a black cat looking for some leg to rub against. The music had that kinda sultry, mellow sound.

  Round the back of the church, we come on the band set up on a porch that had glass windows you could prop open, leaving just screens. They was all playing their instruments, and they had their eyes closed or their heads bent low and their instruments up close to their bodies, and they was just feeling the music deep in. Me and Harmon, we standing, watching, and they didn't see us there. They went on playin' maybe ten minutes, and the music got smokin' and I got groovin' to it, moving my hips, my shoulders, my head, and Harmon said in my ear, "Look at you, thang."

  I smiled and banged his hip with mine. Felt good to like Harmon again.

  Then other choir people got showing up and the jazz band stopped playing, but I gave that Mark dude a look. He looked me up and down like he wanted to eat me up I looked so good. I went over to him to talk, and Harmon come with me.

  Harmon said, "Leshaya, this is Mark. Mark, this is Leshaya." He said it like he was bored stiff and didn't care nothin' 'bout their music, but I smiled big at Mark and asked straight off did his band play anything for singin' to, like a Billie Holiday song or any good soul music. He lifted his sax up to his lips and played a quick scale, then said, "Sure, we play R & B, jazz, whatever. Why?"

  "Why? 'Cause I can sing 'em. You wanna hear?"

  The dude sneered at me like I be dirt-filthy all the sudden. He shook his head and turned away mumbling something 'bout how they don't need no girl in their band.

  I called to his back and said, "I gonna be auditioning for the choir here. Why don't you stay and listen and see what you think?"

  Mark looked back at me and shrugged, and him and the band went on and packed up.

  Harmon told me to come on with him to the choir practice room and I did, but all I could think of were that band. I bad wanted to sing to something like that. If I could go to Muscle Shoals with a band backing me up, I just knew Etta James would say she gotta make me a famous singer right away. I could see myself dressed in a long evening gown—something white with gold sparkle trim on it—standing up on a fancy stage with lights all round and a band behind me and Etta sittin' in a seat in front of me and I'm just singin' out my soul for her. I could see it, just like that, in a flash in my head I could see it I wanted it so bad it hurt and I had to push the flash thought away 'cause weren't no bread handy to soak up that kind of longing.

  When Brother Grouch showed up, Harmon told him how I come to audition for the choir and the dude just shook his head and wouldn't take even a look at me.

  I asked, "Why not let me sing for you before you say no?" and he said, "You're too young. Mrs. James told me on the phone, you're just twelve. Join the junior choir."

  I knew Mrs. James weren't really believing me when I said I could sing, and there she went behind my back and told on me. Didn't matter, anyway.

  I said to Brother Grouch, "But I got a good voice. What's it matter how old I be if I got a good voice?"

  "It's not an adult voice," Brother Grouch said, like he know it all.

  "How you know 'less you hear it? How you know 'less you give me a chance? Why you won't give me a chance, even?"

  Old Brother Grouch turned round so his back were to me and he told the choir to pull out "His Eye Is on the Sparrow." I stood behind him, like a fool, and Harmon shrugged at me and joined the choir. Brother Grouch gave a signal for the lady at the piano to start playin', and since I knew that old song by heart, I sang out with the choir, only I sung louder. I sung with all my heart, like I be some kind of heavenly angel
singin' for the Lord hisself.

  The whole rest of the choir stopped singin', and Brother Grouch turned round and stared at me with such surprise in his face I wanted to laugh. I didn't, though. I belted out the chorus and filled the church with my voice. I saw that the jazz band come stick their heads in the door to see who be singin', and ol' Harmon, he just stood with his mouth hanging wide open like he was waitin' for a dentist to come along and yank out all his teeth.

  When I finished singin', the choir people clapped and 106 Brother Grouch bowed to me, but I didn't have no use for them. I looked to the door, where Mark were standing, and I said, "So can I sing with your band?"

  Mark were nodding his head like he thinkin', Yeah, she be all right.

  I turned back to Old Grouch and said, "Too bad for you I too young, ain't it?" Then I marched myself off and went out with my new band.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I RODE WITH MARK and them to the Pizza Hut to grab some food while Harmon did his choir practice. We talked 'bout what songs I could sing, and this one dude they called Jaz got excited 'cause he wrote some songs he thought I'd be good at singin', and he give me a tape of his music to take home with me.

  We rode back to the church after we ate and talked, but weren't no cars parked in the lot, so they give me a ride home.

  Soon as I walked in the door all the Jameses jumped out at me and started asking me questions 'bout where I been and why didn't I call and let them know what I were doing, and I slammed myself up against the door, I were so surprised.

  Mr. James said, "Didn't you understand Harmon was to take you home? He had no idea where you were."

  And I lied and said, "But I told Harmon where I were gonna be. He just trying to get me in trouble."

  Harmon sucked in his breath and said, "You're the one who's lying." Then Air. James said that were enough, no arguing.

  Mrs. James said, "In this house we let each other know where we're going to be so no one worries about us."