Something She Can Feel

by Grace Octavia

  “That’s from the purse?”

  “What do you think?” she asked, annoyed.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said. “I know she didn’t mean to do all of that.”

  Ms. Lindsey stood there unmoved by my explanation.

  “What do you want?” she asked coldly.

  “Well, it’s about last night,” I started and trying not to look at her eye to figure out just what part of the bag slammed into it, I knew there was no way she’d ever agree to keep the night a secret. I was lucky she hadn’t pressed charges and held a news conference. It was the biggest shiner I’d ever seen and I could almost make out a Gucci symbol over her eyebrow.

  “What about last night? You want to talk about how that crazy bitch assaulted me?”

  “Really, I wasn’t coming to talk about Billie,” I said. “It’s about me.”

  “You?” She turned and picked up her finished copies from the machine.

  “I need you to ... I need you to—”

  “Just come out with it,” she cut me off. “My left ear is ringing.”

  “I was just wondering if you could not mention that you saw me at the club,” I said finally.

  “Not mention?”

  Ms. Newberry and another administrator walked into the office laughing loudly. They excused themselves when they noticed us at the copier and I saw Ms. Newberry look at Ms. Lindsey and say something to the other woman. They both nodded and separated as they went to their desks with their eyes still on Ms. Lindsey.

  “As in, not ever tell anyone I was there,” I whispered, pulling her to the side of the copier where there was a little wall separating us from the pool of desks where the assistants sat.

  “And why would I do that?” Ms. Lindsey asked.

  “Because I don’t want people to know. I was just there trying to support Dame, and you know how people are around here; they’ll try to make more of it than what it is.”

  “Well, what is it?” she asked.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It didn’t look like nothing.”

  “Karen, could you please just help me,” I said, trying to find some sympathy in her. “I can’t have that kind of gossip going around about me. With Evan’s career and the church ... I just—”

  “Stop it,” she said, rolling her eyes and pausing. “Look, I don’t have any beef with you, so I’m not running to tell everybody.”

  “Thank you.”

  “If anyone in this school knows what a bitch gossip can be, I do,” she said. “Ever since I walked in that door, people have been calling me a whore and a slut ... and for what? Because I’m dating a man who asked me out?”

  “Well, you know there’s more to it,” I said.

  “Really, there’s not. Clyde can do whatever he wants. He’s not married and he wasn’t in a committed relationship, and unlike everyone else here, I don’t think anyone can belong to someone else just because they’ve been linked to one another for a hundred years. I knew I was getting involved in a sticky situation when I agreed to date Clyde. He obviously still loves her.”

  “He said that?” I asked.

  “I tried to call the police after last night but Clyde took my cell phone and said his mother would kick his ass if Billie went to jail because of him.”

  “I don’t understand, then, Karen,” I said. “If you know he loves her, then why would you keep seeing him?”

  “I’m twenty-one. I just want to have fun. And Clyde just wants to have fun, too. He’s right here in Tuscaloosa and it’s not like I’m trying to marry the man. Clyde’s too old for me,” she scoffed. “I’m seeing someone else anyway and that’s why I wanted to go to the club to see Dame.”

  “The club? You’re trying to date Dame?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, grinning. “I’m trying to get back with my ex-boyfriend—Benji. You know, Dame’s bodyguard that came over when you were talking to me and Clyde at the club?”

  “Oh, that’s why he seemed so angry and rushed.” I recalled the furious look on Benji’s face when he saw me with Clyde and Ms. Lindsey.

  “Yeah, he’s the jealous type, and I thought if he saw me with Clyde, he’d get upset and want me back. He’s been tripping off all those groupies ever since he’s been on tour with Dame. But I keep telling him when it’s all over, he’ll be looking for me. I know it sounds insane. But I love him... . You know how love can make you do crazy things.”

  “I’m learning that,” I said.

  “Anyway,” Ms. Lindsey said, looking at her watch, “I only have fifteen minutes before my monsters come back from lunch.” She looked at me. “Don’t worry about your secret. Just keep your friend away from me.”

  “I’ll do that,” I said, and we walked out of the office together. “Ms. Lindsey,” I called when she turned to walk back toward her classroom.

  “Yes?”

  “Did you tell Clyde you’re not serious about him?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “He knows I’m just having fun.”

  “No... . He’s a little older than the ‘just having fun’ age,” I said. “I think you should tell him. Make sure you two are on the same page.”

  “Gotcha,” she said, winking her good eye like she was breaking in a flag football game. “I’ll think about it.”

  Watching her walk down the hall, I noticed that on one of the benches in the lobby sat Zenobia. Even though this was her normal resting place between classes, I didn’t expect to see her there because she hadn’t been to my class. I was sure she skipped other classes, but for most of my students, music was at least tolerable if they were in the building. She was slumped over with her head resting, cheek down on the tops of her knees. Her arms were hidden somewhere, folded into her lap.

  “Ms. Hamilton?”

  I stepped toward her. She didn’t look up, move, or shrug her shoulders to acknowledge that I’d called her name.

  “Zenobia?” I called again. Nothing. “Zenobia?”

  I tapped her on the shoulder.

  She moved slowly to lift her head, looked at me, and averted her eyes. They were dry but red and puckered.

  “Everything all right?”

  “No,” she said blankly.

  I sat down beside her and pushed my body close to hers, easing down to rest my elbows on my knees to be head to head with her. We sat there for a minute, not saying a word. Zenobia just stared out toward some of the students rushing to their classes, and some of my own even walked by en route to my classroom, but I felt I needed to wait there with Zenobia.

  “Ha, ha, you ain’t gonna make the cheerleading squad next year,” one girl teased another. “You dance like you got two left feet, Calaya!” The two laughed and popped their gum as they followed the crowd down the hallway. A single tear slipped from Zenobia’s left eye and she wiped it away quickly with one of her fists.

  “You want to go to the office?” I asked.

  “No.” She looked at me for the first time. “I went today.”

  “To have the operation?”

  “Yes.” She looked away again.

  “Well, why are you here? Shouldn’t you be at home resting?”

  The bell rang.

  “Mrs. DeLong, everything all right out here?” Ms. Newberry asked, poking her head out of the office in front of us.

  “Yes... . Actually, could you go down to my classroom for a minute until I get there?” I put my arm around Zenobia.

  “Sure,” she answered quickly.

  “Let it out,” I said to Zenobia when Ms. Newberry left. “It’s okay to feel sad. You just did something very adult. You just have to be strong now. You hear me?” I lifted her head with my hand so she could see my face.

  “I didn’t do it,” she mumbled.

  “What?”

  “I couldn’t do it. I went and my mama left me because she had to go to work and I waited and waited and I just left.”

  She started crying openly then; tears were coming from her eyes faster than she could wipe them away.<
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  “Oh, Zenobia,” I said, and she went to rest her head back on her knees.

  “I can’t kill my baby,” she said and her voice was both angry and sad. “I won’t do it. It’s my baby. I won’t kill it.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Just let it out. No one’s going to make you do anything.”

  “Mrs. DeLong,” she said, “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I keep thinking that—that I don’t know what I’m going to do. But I have to figure it out because I can’t kill my baby.”

  “So, this is really what you want?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t lie to you. It’s going to be hard. Really hard. And there will be a lot of sacrifices. But if you pray and really keep God first, you can make it.”

  “You believe that?” she asked tearfully, and in the eyes of this girl who’d fought me so many times and complained and turned her back on me, I saw for the first time that she really needed to hear my opinion of her and that it mattered.

  “You can do anything you put your mind to, Zenobia,” I said. “You’re a strong girl. You’re passionate. You’re bright. You’re smart. If you use all those skills—skills that God gave you—you’ll be blessed.”

  She shook her head, and I could see that she hadn’t heard these things about herself before. But I meant each of them. As feisty as Zenobia was, her passion always shined through. Similar to most of the kids like her, she just had to focus this energy on a goal. And now, she had one.

  Chapter Eighteen

  As desperate as things seemed to be getting in my marriage, in my family—in my personal life in general since my thirty-third birthday, there were moments like the one with Zenobia that day out in the lobby of the school at the beginning of sixth period that brought some clarity. The days following, I remembered what my mother said about taking stock of my life and I realized that while I wasn’t clear at all on the direction anything was going to take—at that point I was willing to admit that—I had to begin to trust myself. As I told Zenobia, who was now having to take stock of her life and start planning a path that even I couldn’t imagine how dark it was going to get, I had to believe in myself. That only I knew if I wasn’t happy. That I knew if I was happy. And that soon, I’d have to make a decision about everything and trust, like I’d told Zenobia, it would be okay. Now, this was just a tested theory in my mind at the time. While I’d tried to seem confident and allknowing like adults did whenever they shared advice with children like Zenobia, I was preparing myself to take baby steps to get to wherever I was going. So when Evan came to me each night when the moon was high and he wanted me to make good on my promise to start a family, I kept a secret to myself and just said I was tired. But the truth was I needed time to think. Time to make a decision to stay and move forward. To fall back in love with my life and having him in it. Or time to plan away out. To just walk away from everything and leave my past behind and Evan with it. And then I’d think about Dame and how he’d left and went out into the world even before anyone said he should. Just like me, everyone had plans for him, but he had plans for himself.

  At church on Sunday, it was as if I wasn’t even there. I was sitting in my seat beside Evan and next to May and Jr, but I wasn’t there. I couldn’t hear the sermon or focus on one song that was sung. I was praying. Not in a formal way. Not with my hands lifted or my head bowed. In fact, if anyone found my face in the row, they’d think I was just listening. But I was in my mind. Meditating and thinking of the better me. The better Journey I wanted to be. The things about myself that I hadn’t said to myself in a long time. My wants. My desires. My strengths. The things that Dame had said to me that tickled my ears like the lightest feather.

  Evan rested his hand on my lap and laughed at something my father was saying. It was a big laugh—one that let me know that Evan was just in his world while I was in mine. As he was static, I was racing. As he was staying the same, I was changing. And then I looked out over the congregation and suddenly all I could see was moving parts. Everyone was the same. The way my mother looked at my father—even when she was angry with him. The way Jr rolled his eyes when Jack Newsome stood up. Mrs. Alice sitting in the third seat from the aisle in the fifth row. The choir in the loft. They were all the same as they’d always been. The same grudges. The same fears. The same happiness. The same sadness. The same praise in the same place I’d been every Sunday of my life. And for the first time, I thought maybe I wasn’t even there. It was like I was watching a movie. I wasn’t even there. Just in it. Participating as expected and playing a role, saying lines when cued. After this, Evan and I would walk to the car, talk about the sermon, and head to my parents’ house for dinner. There, my father would press me about children. May would be quiet. Jr would say something mean and I’d sit and wait for it to be over. The act was the same and I’d be there for the entire thing until I went to bed and lay in my space in the bed where the moon looked down on me to see that once again, I was exactly where I was supposed to be. This list turned into a tornado in my mind. It was spinning and kicking up dust all around. Forever—forever. I was breathless just thinking about it. Just wondering how I could do it all and come out okay on the other side. Could I still be me each night when I went to bed? Could I be my best? Or was I someone else?

  I looked up into the rows in the second and then third balcony to try to find something still to stop the spinning—to focus on. Six faces I counted—all laughing, all smiling at the same thing. Seven. A door swinging open. A man with his back to me. He was walking outside the doors, but even from my seat I could see his size, his gait, how he carried himself in the loose fitting jeans and buttoned-up shirt he was wearing.

  “Benji?” I said, and hearing Dame say in my mind, “Whenever you see Benji, know that I’m just two steps behind,” my heart immediately began to palpitate.

  “What’d you say, honey?” Evan asked, leaning toward me.

  “Nothing,” I answered, but there was something. Like a rope was tied from my navel to Benji’s waist, I was being tugged somehow from my seat. “I have to go,” I said next and I didn’t know where I was going or what excuse I was about to use to get out of that church. But I just had to. I had to see.

  “Go where?” Evan looked at me.

  “My head ... it hurts.” I massaged my forehead. “I need to go home.”

  “Well, let’s go,” he said, moving to get up.

  “No.” I put my hand out to stop him. “You don’t have to come with me... . I don’t want you to miss the rest of the sermon. You were enjoying it. I’ll just go home and rest up a bit and come meet you at my parents’ for dinner. I’ll take the car and you can catch a ride with Jr and May.”

  “You sure?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I just need some rest. Some quiet.”

  He handed me the car keys.

  “I’ll see you later,” he said, kissing me on the cheek.

  “Yeah.”

  “Wait! Wait!” I hollered at Benji’s back. I’d run—not in an inconspicuous trot, but in a full dash as if the very air I was breathing depended upon it—out the doors by my seat, down the stairs, through the lobby, and out into the parking lot to catch him. I was out of breath and sweating, my hair had come loose and I realized I’d left my purse in my seat, but I was still running.

  Benji stopped.

  “Wait,” I said, reaching out to grab him as I fought to keep my breath. “Wait.”

  He turned to me.

  “Is ... he ... here?” I managed. “Dame?”

  “He’s waiting for you,” he said, “by the river.”

  They called it Princess Pale Moon’s Throat. A secluded, untouched corner of the Black Warrior River where a gentle stream created by rolling hills beneath the fall line separating the upper part of the river from the lower part ran beneath canopies of maple, sweet gum, and poplar trees. Behind the trees, a mixture of sand, gravel, and mud that washed up from the floor of the stream when the river ran high created
a path that was just wide enough for a car to come winding down to get up close to the stream so that someone could get out and walk over to enjoy its beauty. For years, this path was known as “the Throat,” a road that led lovers to the most beautiful face Alabama had to offer—Princess Pale Moon, a Choctaw beauty who was said to be loved by more men than Mataoaka, known to most people as Pocahontas. It was the most secret place in Tuscaloosa every lover, old and young, knew about. Unlike other parts of the river, which were now largely rerouted for navigation and big business with the coal from the basin, nothing was ever built there or left along the edge of the path to let anyone know it had been discovered. And we liked it that way. So much so that if anyone arrived in a car with their lover, hoping to park and be alone in the world for a little while, and there was already another car there, the new arrivals would quickly shift into reverse and head back out onto the main road. The face was to be enjoyed alone. The secret of the place had to be kept.

  When Benji said Dame was waiting by the river, I knew where to go, where to head off the main road and catch the start of the throat to lead myself to the sweet gum trees. In the clearing, where the throat turned for the last time and then a straight path led to the stream, I saw the old pickup truck. It was up on the side of the path and the driver’s-side door was open. I pulled up behind the truck and turned off my engine. All around outside was silent when I got out of the car, but then a yellowhammer flitted off the top of the stream and flew up into the sky. I watched the bird disappear and then looked back at the quiet truck. I couldn’t see Dame.

  “You’re scaring off all of the birds,” he said behind me. I didn’t turn. I just laughed and shook my head.

  “Maybe he’s going to tell his friends I’m here,” I said.

  “And maybe he already knew you’d be here, but he was too scared to approach you face to face.”

  “Scared?” I turned around as I laughed. But Dame wasn’t there.

  “Got ya!” He poked me on the shoulder and I turned again and there he was—brown and beautiful again.