Black and White

by Dawn Lee McKenna

  “I’m cool, I’m good. How are you?”

  “I’m okay,” Jennifer answered.

  “When did you get here?”

  “Last Thursday.” Jennifer nervously twirled the yellow cord around her finger. “I was hoping…I would really love to see you.”

  “Well, come on,” Inez answered. “Mama’s at work, but she’ll be home soon. She’s gonna freak out.”

  “How is she?” Jennifer could see Mama Tyne clearly, in a voluminous checked house dress that didn’t conceal her enormous chest or extra hundred pounds, with her hair cut short and curled, always wearing big clip-on earrings.

  “She’s good,” Inez answered. “The same.”

  “Would today be okay?”

  “Girl, get off the phone!”

  Milton Street was on the east side of Dismal, only a couple of miles from Grandma’s place. At one time, once they were seven or eight and allowed to leave the adults’ eyesight, Jennifer and Inez and Jonah had ridden their bikes between the two places. Daniel had come along later, the summer before ninth grade. Jennifer had fallen for him instantly. But she was his buddy’s twin sister, so Daniel didn’t really look at her until they were sophomores.

  The neighborhood had changed since Jennifer had seen it last. There were more cars parked in the driveways and on the streets, or at least it seemed that way. Most of the homes were still well-kept, though none of them was remotely fancy. There were a few places whose yards were decorated with cars on blocks, mangy dogs and barbecue grills made out of 55-gallon drums, but there were houses in some of the white neighborhoods that were decorated the same way.

  Young men still clustered on the sidewalks, listening to somebody’s car radio, smoking cigarettes and drinking cans of Shasta cola and Frostie root beer or Schlitz and Pabst Blue Ribbon. Younger men and older boys moved out of the road as Jennifer drove slowly through their kickball and stickball games. Old men talked over chain-link fences and in pockets of aluminum folding chairs set up in somebody’s front yard.

  Jennifer was watched as she passed through, sometimes curiously, sometimes cautiously. A few people held a hand up in the traditional Southern greeting.

  236 Milton Street was a cinderblock house, still painted light blue, with white rocks in the narrow flowerbeds that lined the front. White aluminum awnings over the jalousie windows, and a sprinkler attached to a garden hose, twirling strings of water that looked like Mardi Gras beads in the sun. Just like eleven or twenty-five years ago, there was a pile of bicycles under the tree out front, though the bikes were different, and the tree was taller.

  But when Jennifer parked in the dirt driveway next to a blue, ’65 Ambassador, all she saw was Inez.

  She had been bent over the sprinkler, one hand on the hose, like she was about to move it. When Jennifer pulled in, Inez straightened up. She dropped the hose, but stood there in the sprinkler, one hand on her cheek.

  She was still the most beautiful person Jennifer had ever seen, more beautiful than she’d been at eighteen. She was wearing white cut-offs and a yellow tube top, and her legs were impossibly long. The water glistened on her beautiful brown skin, shone like diamonds in the hair that was still chin-length, but now touched with red and left to its natural, dainty curls.

  She still had small breasts and a torso that went on forever. Her hips had widened just a bit, but they just made her waist look even tinier.

  She was so beautiful standing there, her almond eyes wide, and without warning, Jennifer burst into tears. Not silent, delicate tears, but great, wracking sobs that made her jaw ache and her chest tighten. She saw Inez shudder, saw her clamp her hand over her mouth, and Jennifer put her own hands over her eyes. A moment later, her car door was jerked open and there was Inez, tears streaming down her face, grabbing at Jennifer’s shoulder with both hands.

  “Get out the car!” Inez sobbed.

  Jennifer half-laughed and half-choked. “I can’t, I think I sprained my boobs!”

  Inez, squatting down beside the door, covered her mouth again, laughing and crying. It was an old joke, born when Jennifer was weeping like an idiot on Inez’s shoulder. They were about fifteen, and Jennifer had just heard the mean rumor about Daniel and Liz, which had turned out to be untrue. Inez, always picking on Jennifer for her ample breasts, had made her laugh by telling her if she kept crying like that, she’d sprain her boobs.

  Inez swiped at her nose with the back of her hand and pulled a pack of Kools and a matchbook out of her back pocket. “Aw, man. My matches are soaked.”

  She pointed in the general direction of Jennifer’s dashboard, and Jennifer punched the lighter in.

  “I can’t believe you smoke,” Jennifer said.

  Inez grinned. “You would, too, if you were black.” That, too, was an old routine.

  They both laughed. The lighter popped out and Jennifer handed it to Inez. She lit her cigarette, then exhaled as she handed it back to Jennifer.

  “You want one?” Inez asked once Jennifer had put the lighter back.

  “No. I’ve got enough problems.” She watched Inez take a drag. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “Me?! I live here. I can’t believe you’re here.”

  Jennifer swiped at her eyes. “I was just calling to talk to Mama Tyne, and get your number.”

  Inez nodded, her curls bouncing. “This is gonna blow her mind.”

  The last time she and Inez had talked on the phone was in ’65. Inez was in her sophomore year at Howard University, on a full scholarship. Jennifer didn’t have a scholarship, and Aunt Milly hadn’t had any money, so Jennifer was waitressing in the French Quarter to save up for junior college.

  “I expected you to be…I don’t know, someplace else,” Jennifer said. “When Grandma came out for Aunt Milly’s funeral, she said you were getting ready to graduate.”

  “I was really sorry to hear about Grammy,” Inez said quietly. Jennifer nodded. “Yeah. I did graduate. The kids and I have been back for almost a year.”

  It was only then that Jennifer noticed the wedding set on Inez’s long, slender ring finger.

  “So, you did get married. The guy from Howard?”

  “Morgan. Morgan Johnson. Yeah.”

  They looked at each other for a moment, uncomfortably. Jennifer knew they were both thinking about Jonah. Inez had been like a sister to Jennifer. In another world, she would have been her sister-in-law. She forced a smile.

  “I’m sure he’s great. I can’t wait to meet him.”

  Inez looked down and focused on her cigarette for a moment, flicking at the filter with her coral-painted fingernail. “Girl, get out of the car, I’m gonna get a charley horse.”

  Inez stood, and Jennifer grabbed her purse and got out. She closed her door as Inez ground out her cigarette.

  “I’m looking forward to that, too,” Inez said quietly. “He hasn’t come back from Vietnam yet.” She saw the questions in Jennifer’s eyes. “He’s listed MIA, but I’m thinking maybe he’s one of the POWs they haven’t gotten to yet. Every time the news shows another group of men coming home, I watch.” She shook her head. “I’m sure there’s a lot of men they haven’t found or don’t have names for yet.”

  Jennifer smiled, meaning for it to look reassuring. What kind of strength did Inez have, to lose two men? One who had wanted to be her husband and one who was?

  “Anyway, we were at Fort Bragg, but it just got to be too much,” Inez said. “Chaplain knocking on a different door every day. Every day a different mother of three or nineteen-year-old girl weeping at my kitchen table. I needed to come home. And it helps Mama.”

  Inez was the oldest of five kids; all but her were boys. She had always been needed at home, even before her father had keeled over from a stroke when the girls were fourteen.

  “I can’t imagine,” Jennifer said, and felt stupid for saying it. They’d been too
close for too long to have to spout platitudes.

  Inez smiled, then shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “Me, neither. It doesn’t seem real yet.”

  “How long are you gonna be here?”

  Jennifer swallowed. “I’m staying.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, my gosh.” Inez shook her head. “Why?”

  Jennifer shrugged. “I wanted to come home.”

  Inez stared at her for a minute. “Does Daniel know?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You seen him?” Inez asked. Jennifer just nodded. “Bad, huh?”

  Jennifer shrugged. “Nothing out of line.”

  “Please,” Inez huffed. “Daniel has never been out of line.”

  “You know what I mean,” Jennifer said. “He has every right to hate me.”

  Inez put her hands on her hips. “He doesn’t hate you, Jen. It was just really hard for him for a long time.”

  Jennifer nodded. Inez had told her that the first few times they’d talked on the phone, after Jennifer had left. But that was too hard, and one time Jennifer had just had to end the call. By unspoken agreement, neither one of them mentioned Daniel again, and eventually, they stopped calling each other, too.

  Inez grabbed Jennifer’s shoulder. “Oh, girl. Here comes Mama.”

  They watched as Mama Tyne got out of the back of a black Falcon, and waved as it drove off. Mama Tyne hadn’t changed much. She wore a gold and brown caftan, and those plastic sandals older women were wearing, sold in the back of the TV Guide. Easy-somethings that were supposed to be comfortable but looked like Barbie had tightened her budget. On her arm was an enormous brown purse with an assortment of outside pockets.

  Mama Tyne frowned at the Dart, then looked up and saw Inez and Jennifer. It took a minute for curiosity to change to recognition. Her mouth dropped open and Jennifer smiled at her nervously. Mama Tyne raised a hand to her mouth.

  “Oh, my sweet Jesus Lord,” she said without irreverence. “Oh, my—”

  She stopped talking and started charging down the driveway, breasts slamming up and down, hands waving in the air beside her ears.

  “Yes, Jesus, yes, Lord!” she hollered. “It’s my little white baby!”

  Mama Tyne arrived, and grabbed up Jennifer so hard and so fast that she didn’t get to speak. It wouldn’t have mattered, because Jen was crying again, anyway.

  “Oh, my Jenny! Oh, my girl!” Mama Tyne was saying over and over, as Jennifer’s face was pressed into her bosom.

  Jennifer had been lonely for years, but she had forgotten what being in the presence of family felt like, how comforting and grounding it was just to be in the presence of people who loved you. She had mourned for so much, for so many people, but she hadn’t realized how alone she had really been. She knew it now, as she wept into Mama Tyne’s polyester caftan, breathing in the scent of Jean Naté and baby powder.

  “I don’t believe it!” Mama Tyne said. “I don’t believe you’re standing here!”

  “Mama, you’re killin’ her, though,” Jennifer heard Inez say.

  Jennifer and Mama Tyne sat at a fake-oak kitchen table with tan vinyl chairs on wheels. Mama Tyne had always kept a nice home. Much more furnished and accessorized than Grandma’s place. Every surface was covered with figurines, potted plants, or candy dishes, and if Mama Tyne had any more grandchildren, she’d need to get some more walls. All of hers were covered with oil paintings and family photographs.

  There were assorted children in the living room, out back, and in the bedrooms, ranging in age from seventeen to two-and-a-half. Jennifer was overwhelmed and couldn’t keep them straight when they were introduced, though she knew some were the children of her brothers. There was also an assortment of cousins, nieces and nephews. There always had been. Mama Tyne liked her house to be noisy and full.

  The youngest child was Inez’s son, Isaac. A serious-looking toddler wearing Garanimals overalls and a tiny afro. Inez’s daughter Ruthie was four, with a Josie and the Pussycats T-shirt on and two little braids with purple ribbon. They sat on the carpet in front of a console television in the adjoining living room. Jennifer could hear Big Bird talking sense to somebody.

  Inez was standing in front of the fridge with the door open. “We’ve got red Kool-Aid, sweet tea, water or orange juice.”

  Jennifer smiled. “I haven’t had Kool-Aid in so long. I’d like that.”

  “Mama?”

  Mama Tyne was opening one piece of mail while she fanned herself with the other. “Tea, please, baby. Did you take something out for supper?”

  “I thawed that chicken,” Inez answered. She put both the tea and a jug of Kool-Aid on the counter, and pulled three avocado-green glasses out of a cupboard.

  Mama Tyne looked up from her mail. “You’re eatin’ with us. You look skinny. Who feeds you?”

  Jennifer shrugged. “I just feed myself.”

  “Well, you’re failing at it. Inez, get her a bowl of those greens to nibble on ’til supper’s ready.”

  Mama Tyne had always had at least two pots going on the stove at all times, usually a soup or stew and some greens. No one ever left her house hungry, and they were usually told to eat “a little somethin’” within four minutes of walking in the door.

  “It’s okay, I’ll save my appetite for later. I ate lunch.” Mama Tyne narrowed her eyes at her. “Really.”

  Mama Tyne let it go, and Inez brought tea for herself and her mother, and Kool-Aid for Jennifer. Jennifer hadn’t gotten past staring at her yet, and after Inez sat down, she caught Jennifer doing it.

  “What?” she said with an uncertain grin.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Jennifer said, shaking her head. “I mean, I remembered that you were, but you’re even more beautiful now than you were when we were eighteen.”

  “So are you!” Inez laughed. “You still don’t get that.”

  “Oh, piffle,” Jennifer said.

  “And you still talk like Grammy.”

  Mama Tyne plopped a warm hand over one of Jennifer’s. “Have you seen Daniel? Of course you have. Have you seen him?”

  “Yeah,” she answered vaguely.

  “Good, good,” Mama Tyne said, patting her hand. “That makes me so happy.”

  Jennifer and Inez exchanged glances. Jennifer wasn’t ready to explain herself and Daniel to Mama Tyne, yet. She just wanted to warm her soul here at this table.

  One of Inez’s cousins, a girl of about thirteen, came to stand where the green shag carpet of the living room met the tan linoleum of the kitchen.

  “What you need, Franny?” Mama Tyne asked.

  “Louis is licking the window screen again.”

  It was after nine and well past dark when Jennifer pulled into her lane. Through the trees, she could see the porch light she’d left on, but she didn’t see Daniel’s truck until she rounded the curve. She parked beside it, and looked over. He wasn’t inside.

  She grabbed her purse and a paper bag from the passenger seat. In the bag were pink and yellow Tupperware containers full of leftovers that Mama Tyne had shoved through her car window.

  She took a deep breath and got out of the car. When she was halfway up the path to the porch, she saw Daniel sitting on the top step, and she stopped.

  He was just sitting there with his elbows on his knees, chewing on a toothpick. He used to take a toothpick from every place they ever went to eat. He had always said it helped him keep his mouth shut.

  He was wearing jeans and one of those white Wrangler button-downs with the tails out, and his blue eyes glowed in the dark. She realized in that instant that she had never actually recovered from loving and losing Daniel Evans Huddleston, and she likely never would.

  “Hi,” she said.

  He nodded and twisted the toothpic
k with his tongue.

  “How long have you been here?”

  He waved a mosquito away from his ear. “About an hour.”

  He let the silence expand until she filled it. “Why?” she asked finally.

  “What are you doing here, Jen?”

  She didn’t answer right away. She had expected this question for weeks, but she couldn’t remember any of her answers. So, “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “What do I mean?” he asked mildly. “I mean you’re a cop, and you’ve come back to the place where your mother and brother and friend were murdered, so what are you doing here?”

  “That’s not the only reason.”

  “No?”

  “No. It was a lot of things…Grandma and…I wanted to come home.”

  “Why are you suddenly employed by the Dismal Police Department?”

  “Because I’m a cop.”

  “But why are you a cop here, is what I’m asking.”

  “Because I’m staying.” She shrugged her purse strap back up her shoulder. “Yes, I want to know what really happened. I want to look at the cases. But, that’s just one of several reasons I came home.”

  “Have you considered that the people responsible are probably still here?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded and looked away, chewing at the toothpick.

  “I was at Inez’s,” she said for lack of something else. “She says she hasn’t seen you since you caught Leon smoking pot a couple years ago and brought him home.”

  “Little Leon’s old enough to smoke grass, can you believe that?” he asked quietly. It wasn’t really a question, and she didn’t answer. “I’ve arrested Willie a few times,” he said, meaning her father. “Drunk and disorderly, peeing on the front door of Woolworth’s in the middle of the night, that kind of thing.”

  Jennifer felt a tendril of shame wrap around her throat. That had been one of the reasons she hadn’t stayed, or let him come with her, even if he could have. His family was so clean and whole, and her family was not. Her mother was an activist, her father was a drunk, and they had to live with her grandmother to get by.