The Goddess of Fried Okra

by Jean Brashear

  “Need someone to wash your back, sugar?” he said before I got out of range. I just shook my head and bit my tongue near half in two to keep from saying the wrong thing. I was never that good at flirting. Mama was, I think, but I was too young to pay attention. Sister, she didn’t hold much truck with men as she got older, with the odd exception. Not that she was a lesbian or anything—though mind you, I don’t have a problem with women who prefer women. I think they’re actually smarter than the rest of us.

  Cowboy was gone when I emerged from the women’s shower half an hour later, hair spreading a wet spot over the back of my tank top—homegrown air conditioning. I felt more human. Teeth brushed, body bathed, clean clothes . . . amazing what we take for granted. All that was on my mind as I headed outside—trying real hard to ignore the seduction of frying bacon—was making sure Isis was still okay in the car parked in a patch of deep shade I’d found behind the building, windows rolled down as far as I dared.

  Until I heard the screaming.

  Halfway around the building, a girl’s voice from out by the gas pumps intended for passenger cars. Not a squeal. No giggling. Anger—abruptly cut off. Then it turned to unmistakable fear.

  I whirled and saw her, small and pulling away, one wrist caught in the grip of a young man with shaggy, greasy blond hair, dangerous and gorgeous. Despite her loose black T-shirt and tight black jeans ripped at the knee, her rows of earrings, spiky too-black hair and troweled-on eye makeup, she seemed a girl playing dress-up, much too fresh-faced and well-fed. I would have bet the farm her mother had never seen that outfit before.

  I looked around, expecting someone else to notice, but no one reacted. I wasn’t unfamiliar with domestic violence—one of Mama’s boyfriends used to like to knock her around, and I still had a scar from where his big fat ring connected with my forehead when I jumped him.

  I wasn’t five anymore, and I would always hate to see a man use his size against someone smaller, so I hollered, “Hey, cut that out!”

  He didn’t hear me. He was too busy yelling at her, towering over her while she shrank away.

  “Let her go or I’ll call the cops.” By that point, I was within ten feet and juiced up from fear.

  His head whipped up, and gorgeous blue eyes narrowed. “This ain’t your business, bitch. Get the fuck out.”

  A smart person would have left it to the cops, but nobody ever called me a genius. Not when I could see her lip bleeding. Not when her fear rolled over me like fog. “I don’t think she wants to go with you.”

  She froze. He yanked her along, storming up, getting right in my face. “Nobody asked what you think.” He whirled on her. In a voice cold enough to freeze blood, he said, “You want to tell this ugly bitch how wrong she is, Alexandra?”

  When she didn’t speak, he jerked her up against his side. Tears rolled mascara rivers over her skin.

  I looked at her, ignored him. “You don’t have to go with him, you know.” I wanted to pour strength into her the way I never could with Mama. “I’ll call someone for you. No one has the right to treat you like this.”

  His fist shot out and slammed into my ear, knocking me sideways. I kept my balance, but just barely. My ears rang, and I couldn’t see so good. Then I caught a glimpse of him rounding on her again.

  And I charged. I don’t know why; I just lowered my head and barreled into his chest. All three of us hit the pavement.

  I tasted blood. I grasped for him and felt the roughness of his jeans, then the telltale softness beneath. Dizzy and desperate, still I knew I had the family jewels in my hand.

  So I squeezed. Hard.

  He let out a shriek that just about poked a hole in my eardrum.

  But his vise-grip fingers lost their hold on me. I rolled away, staggering to my feet. Grabbing the girl’s arm, I ran. Beat feet toward my car while she was sobbing in my ear and jerking away. From somewhere I found the strength of ten and held on, my voice tight with how high the stakes were. “Come on!”

  We reached my car, and I all but tossed her inside. I jumped into the driver’s side and turned the key, tires squealing as we fishtailed our way out of the parking lot. People stood around, mouths open, wondering what on earth was happening.

  I sort of wondered that myself, but it was a good ten miles before the adrenaline faded enough for me to stop shaking. For my fingers to relax the death grip on the wheel.

  Finally, I had to pull over because I was shivering. My passenger had fallen deathly silent. The day was already at least ninety, but I was freezing to death. After a minute, I looked over to see her a small ball in the seat, knees under her chin, staring forward, with her face blank.

  “Are you okay?”

  She remained utterly still, except for one fist clenching and releasing the leg of her jeans. She said something too quietly for me to understand.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t get what you said.”

  No response except for the relentless clenching. Her nails were bitten down to the quick, flakes of black polish clinging to them.

  “Are you hurt?” I asked. “He hit you hard. Let me look at you.”

  Finally, she lifted her head. Her pupils were huge, her blue eyes dark in that delicate face. “Take me back.”

  “What?” I blinked. I could not have heard her right.

  “I said, take me back.”

  “Are you crazy?” I laughed, harsh and hysterical. In the rearview mirror, I saw Isis, claws still clinging to the seat back, and I just laughed harder. Like a loon. Like I escaped from an asylum.

  “I have to go.” She gripped the door handle.

  I still couldn’t believe what I’d done, and my astonishment made me slow to respond.

  When the girl—whose name I couldn’t recall—cracked the door to get out, though, reality smacked me in the head. “You can’t just leave.”

  “I have to. He might not wait for me.”

  “Why would you care? He was beating the tar out of you.”

  “I need him. He loves me.” Suddenly her entire frame crumpled. “He just hasn’t gotten used to the idea of having a baby.”

  Baby? I pretty much lost the power of speech then. My gaze dropped to her belly, and I realized that her t-shirt hid a small mound beneath.

  “Ohmigod.” I swiveled in my seat to face her. “You’re pregnant? Are you okay? How far along are you?” As if I had the faintest clue about the fine points between one month and another.

  “Five months, I think. And I’m fine.”

  Fine, oh yeah. “He hit you. Dragged you. Something could be hurt. You need to see a doctor. Where do you live, and I’ll—I’ll—” I couldn’t seem to make my mind work. “I have to take you home.”

  “No way.”

  “But I can’t take care of you.”

  “Nobody asked you to.” Her voice was shaking. “You should have left me and Nicky alone.” She was tensed up, desperate, and I had absolutely no idea what to do with her.

  Then she burst into tears, dropping her face into her hands.

  I patted her awkwardly, and she flinched. The hunch of her slim shoulders made her look much too young to be having a baby. “How old are you?”

  “What does that matter?”

  Having spent a whole lot of years running from the laws governing the fate of children, this was one angle I did understand. “Because I think you’re underage, and The Authorities—” The words were always capitalized in my mind, my own private bogeyman “—won’t let you keep your baby without a support system. If you want to keep it, you need to go back home to your parents.”

  “I can’t.” She scrabbled at the door handle, then jerked it open. “Never mind. Just leave me alone. I’ll hitch.”

  I was out the other side just as quick. I finally remembered what her tormentor had called her. “Alexandra . . . ”

  “Don’t call me that!” She whirled and started walking fast, her thumb sticking out.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and sighed. Charged after her.

&n
bsp; She sped up, but my stride was longer. She was just a little bitty thing, barely more than five feet. “Alex—” When she didn’t fuss at the nickname, I went on. “Alex, it’s hot out here. You don’t have any water or a hat or sunscreen.”

  “You’re not my mother.”

  “Thank God. But she’s got to be worried.”

  “No.” She whirled on me. “She’s not.” Her chin was jutting, but it was also trembling, and her eyes were pure devastation.

  So I treaded lightly, improvising as I went. “Listen, you might have trouble getting another ride. This road isn’t that busy, I don’t think.”

  Her eyes popped. “You don’t think so?”

  “I’m not exactly sure where we are.”

  “You’re lost? You just, what, took off from the truck stop without knowing?”

  “I was a little bit busy,” I reminded her. I tried for a smile.

  Wrong move. One fat tear rolled down her cheek. “You have to fix this.”

  As if I had the faintest clue how to do that. “What do you suggest?” Before she could answer, I spoke. “Besides take you back to him.”

  She shrank into herself, looking exhausted. As lonely and scared as anyone I’d ever seen.

  Thinking madly, I spoke again. “Okay. Let’s get back in the car, and I’ll find us a nice air-conditioned place where we can have a bite and just talk. Figure out who to call. Your family and friends have to be missing you.”

  “There’s no one—” Pride clamped her mouth shut. She glanced away, but not before I saw an instant of pure terror.

  Oh, lordy. What if she really didn’t have anywhere to go? No one who wanted her? I didn’t sign on for this. What on earth was I thinking when I laid into Pretty Boy? I could barely take care of myself, much less her. But I saw how her shoulders were rounded, and I had to do something. “Listen, we’re both tired and hot, and I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.” Like someone talking to a wounded animal, I kept my voice slow and quiet. “Ride with me that much farther, would you?”

  She clasped her elbows, arms crossed over her middle, and stared at the ground, but her shoulders eased just a little bit. “I guess,” she said in barely more than a whisper.

  Why I felt relief, I cannot begin to imagine, since my head was whirling with so many questions that I was fixing to get a sick stomach. “Okay.” I started to reach out and hug her, but I wasn’t sure she would consider me any kind of comfort. “Okay. Let’s—let’s get back in the car.” I turned but waited for her to follow. Over my shoulder, I saw her brush at her eyes. I whipped my head around quick, so she wouldn’t know that I saw. In an act of pure faith, I started walking. It took a minute, but I finally heard her steps behind me.

  We got back in the car. I started the engine and tried real hard not to think too much about what I would do next.

  Alex quickly fell asleep like an exhausted child.

  As I drove, I wondered just how insane I was to be doing this and what the detour would do to my journey. First a cat, now a girl . . . a pregnant one, at that.

  Pregnant. Wait a minute—my heart literally skipped a beat. Holy cow—what if—

  No, it couldn’t be.

  But babies were the most common method of reincarnation, most every source I’d read agreed.

  Sister? I glanced at Alex’s belly. Had this sudden urge to touch it. To put my ear close and listen. What were the odds that Sister had chosen this child?

  Not good. A long shot, surely.

  But why else had I been at that truck stop, just in time?

  I gripped the steering wheel hard. There were too many variables, and the world was full of babies.

  I could be doing everything wrong. The uncertainty chilled me to the bone.

  Sister was so much braver than me. Her life had changed in an instant—in the space of one car wreck, she’d been saddled with me. She hadn’t sat around whimpering, though; she’d taken action. Not that she hadn’t wished things were different. I remember hearing Sister and her friend Carla late one night right after Alvin skedaddled. I was this close, Sister said to Carla, and I imagined her finger and thumb only a breath apart, to being free, but—

  In that moment, something huge and scary had stood just outside the back door of the tiny, scrubbed-within-an-inch-of-its-life trailer. It mushroomed real fast, casting its shadow over the front door, too, and all the windows. Like how the Stay Puft marshmallow man in Ghostbusters smothered everything in goo and squished all the air out.

  I leaned my ear closer to the crack of the door with my eyes squeezed shut, wishing I knew how to pray. Understanding that from then on, I would have to be better than good.

  Please, Sister. I’d heard the whispers: foster care . . . ward of the state . . . no living relatives. Even with only the vaguest idea of what those phrases meant, their threat was clear, and only Sister stood between me and that unnamed fate wrapping slimy tentacles around my throat. Sister, please—Terror locked a stranglehold on my voice.

  Then the quiet words. What can I do? She’s my sister.

  I collapsed to the floor, my head ballooning so fast from relief that I thought it was fixing to pop. I must have knocked against the door and slammed it shut because the next thing I knew, Sister and Carla were pounding on the door and shoving at it. Pea, what’s wrong? What happened?

  As the knob rattled and turned and the hard edge of wood jammed into my shoulder, all I could think was this:

  Sister had mojo. And with it, she saved me.

  So I kept driving, pregnant teenager and cat in tow, hoping like crazy that a little bit of Sister’s mojo would rub off on me.

  You have to fix this.

  If I hadn’t felt so much like crying, I’d have laughed. I was not the best of fixers; Sister could have testified to that. When her disease put me in charge, the results wouldn’t exactly make your chest puff out. Mama’s approach to life was to dream of better times, then run when reality reared its ugly head. Sister stayed on point, never letting reality out of her sight, but my very existence stacked the deck against her, so in the end, she, too, had to run.

  Me, I tended to get right up in reality’s face and dare it to pop me one, back in the days when I knew Sister had my back.

  But since she’d been gone, well, my report card wouldn’t have won me any medals. I hadn’t dreamed like Mama or faced things all that well, either. Mostly I’d just kept putting one foot in front of the other, sometimes landing myself in a mess. Like moving in with Jelly Davidson and thinking he was any kind of solution.

  I heard Alex’s stomach growl then, and the sound snapped me right back into the present. Soon I spotted a tiny store with one lone gas pump outside. A glance at my fuel gauge made the decision, and I hit my blinker to pull over.

  “A bait shop?” Alex’s nose wrinkled.

  I hadn’t noticed that part, but I wasn’t going to tell her. I pointed to the cooler outside. “We can at least get us something cool to drink, and they might have snacks inside. I don’t know how much farther it is to a real restaurant, but this will tide us over.”

  Her eyes rolled. “Whatever.”

  I locked my jaws down hard. If there is a phrase more certain to drive a person around the bend than that callous whatever that delivers a stinging slap of screw you I couldn’t care less you are dumber than dirt and beneath my notice, I do not know what it is.

  But she was twisting her t-shirt hem in that fist again, so I sucked in as much compassion and patience as I could muster and didn’t slap back. “Go on in and pick out what you want. I’ll be right there once I take care of Isis.”

  I resisted the urge to panic. Alex had nowhere to go yet, and that was my fault. I had interrupted her life, and now I was in charge, like it or not. She was hungry; so was I. One thing at a time. I pulled the car closer to the building under the straggly shade of a mesquite tree. I let Isis out to do her business, then scooped her up and started for the store. With every step, she yowled louder. Oh, yeah. Bait shop. Fish.
Cats who love to eat them. “Alex—” I called.

  Her head popped out the door. “What?”

  “It’s too hot. I can’t roll the windows high enough to keep her inside without frying her. Let me give you the money, and you get me something, okay?” I walked closer, digging in my purse, with Isis straining and screeching to get down. “Ow!” I practically threw the bill at Alex as I struggled to keep the kitten from leaping down.

  But even over the caterwauling, I heard it.

  A giggle.

  My head shot up, and there she was, the young girl beneath the Goth. “Very funny,” I retorted, and her head jerked up, a frown already forming.

  So I smiled. “Quick, before she turns my stomach into hamburger.” And I chuckled, hoping she’d see that I was only joshing with her.

  She picked up the bill. Returned her face to careful neutral. “What do you want?”

  I cannot tell you to this day why I got wise all of a sudden, but for whatever reason, I remembered what it felt like to be dragged around and have no control over the littlest thing about your life. Here was one thing I could give her. “Something cold to drink and something salty to snack on. Surprise me.”

  A sideways glance, a frown. Finally a nod, then she went back inside.

  I returned to the car and opened the doors to let in a breeze. I set Isis in the dirt and let her sniff around, though I had to grab her every time the wind shifted and she got a whiff of the bait shop.

  At last Alex returned, an icy-cold orange drink and a bag of peanuts for each of us. The only thing I liked less than orange drink was grape, but I would have cut out my tongue before I told her. “Thank you.” I popped the top and practically inhaled the liquid.

  “I got us some water, too.” She proffered a bag in one hand and change in the other.

  “Wow, great idea.” I started to take the money, but something of that better impulse lingered, and I shook my head. “Why don’t you keep it.” When pride stiffened her spine, I added, “For the next stop.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What will that be?”

  I blew out a breath of air. “I honestly couldn’t tell you, but if you’d keep an eye on her, I’ll find the map.”