Hold Fast (9780545510196)

by Balliett, Blue

  They carried their bags over to a table and put them down. “Let’s get in line,” Sum said. A woman sitting several feet away said, “Never walk away from anything around here unless you got eyes in the back of your head.”

  Sum went to pick up their stuff, and the woman murmured, “Aw, go on, I’ll watch it for you. Name’s Velma.”

  “Thanks so much.” Sum tried to smile.

  As the Pearls waited, someone in front of them scolded her young son. “You stand nice now, or I’ll smack you! Hard, hear? I’ve about had it!”

  The boy froze, looking up at his mother every few seconds.

  Jubie stood very quietly behind him.

  Breakfast was served on a heavy paper plate, with a plastic fork and spoon. It was pancakes, an orange, a slice of ham, and a small box of raisins. The kids ate.

  Sum picked at her food. Velma looked over at her. “You’ll get used to it,” she said. “Better eat, no lunch for hours. No snacks. Where you from?”

  “Woodlawn,” Sum said.

  “Oh, I been in that facility there,” the woman said, rolling her eyes. “I was in there for ages. Getting clean. Bad times, lost my kids, but I’m doing much better. Now I’m gettin’ some classes, gonna get me a job that pays. Get my babies back.”

  “That’s great,” Sum mumbled, but her face said something else. Early hoped Sum wouldn’t say any more. They didn’t fit here, but for purposes of survival it might be better not to show it. Every kid who went into a new grade with an unfamiliar teacher and class at the start of the school year knew this. Sum had been taken care of by Dash for so long now that she might have forgotten.

  Early poked her mom. “Be friendly,” she whispered.

  Sum gave her a squeeze, then turned and said, “I’m Summer, and these here are my kids, Early and Jubilation.”

  “Them’s nice names.” Velma nodded.

  “Wo-men!” a guard at one side of the room called out, and a long line of single women, mostly older, formed a line behind the families, vouchers in hand. Velma stood and walked slowly toward the group, then paused to call back over her shoulder, “Hold my seat and I’ll be back.”

  Sum gave her a wave. “Will do.”

  The group moved forward with hardly a word spoken, many of the faces looking deeply lonely. Early couldn’t help thinking of how much chatting happened in other lines, like those at a grocery store or bus stop. The guard now called out, “And the men!” A ripple of shuffling feet and low voices gathered in a line that snaked almost out of sight.

  When Velma returned with her plate, Sum gave her a smile, then asked, “What’s the best way to get help around here? Like money for a cell phone?”

  The woman raised her fork in a circle and waved. “Keep askin’,” she said. “You can see how many are in tough times, but just keep askin’. And stay sweet — a little sugar takes you further than gas, if you got my meanin’!” She laughed with her mouth closed, a kind rumble from deep inside. “You don’t have to be drivin’ the car to get where you want to go. TANF can be real helpful with bus and train tickets, maybe a phone once you get a job or signed up for classes, things like that.”

  “Be a squeaky wheel but talk nice.” Sum nodded. “Smart.”

  “You got it, honey!” Velma leaned close and gave her a warm smile. She was missing both front teeth. “Need any advice, just ask. I’m usually in here most mealtimes.”

  When Velma stood to leave, Early noticed that the woman had a bad limp and men’s army boots on. She also had a too-small pink scarf around her neck, the kind usually worn by a little girl.

  Cling

  The director at Helping Hand, Mrs. Happadee, had bouncy gray hair and colorful butterfly earrings but no other jewelry. Deep lines crisscrossed her forehead.

  “Okay if your kids come into the office with us?” she asked.

  “Absolutely,” Sum said. “Excuse our messy hair, we don’t have a brush with us. Left in kind of a hurry last night.”

  Mrs. Happadee waved one plump hand. “Please. Not a problem, and I’ll give you a hygiene kit in a moment and you all can get cleaned up.”

  Sum told her the story, beginning with Dash’s disappearance. The director took notes.

  “So in terms of what you need immediately, it’s access to a phone so you can set up appointments, and some transportation passes so you can get around. The shelter phone may be your best bet for a while. I’m afraid there’s a long list for cell phone contracts.”

  “Okay,” Sum said. “So, we do have a home — that is, until the end of the month if we don’t pay the landlord, but that doesn’t even matter now, because it’s been destroyed —” Sum stopped. There was a moment of silence. “Maybe we don’t have a home anymore,” she said, her voice barely audible. “The landlord will probably take the rest of this month’s rent money to cover the wreckage.”

  “One step at a time,” Mrs. Happadee said. “Once you’re employed or signed up for job training, we can get you on a list that will eventually move you from the shelter into subsidized housing. I can connect you with childcare options, but meanwhile you three will be fed and out of the weather.

  “Now. Your daughter. While you’re figuring out what choices you have, we can bus her back to Woodlawn to her school, or she can attend around the corner. There’s a very nice school that a lot of our kids here choose to go to. All school expenses like field trips and meals will be covered as long as you’re in one of the city shelters.”

  Sum looked at Early. “I don’t want you to have to leave your friends, but I’m not sure we want to be worrying about a long bus ride. What do you think?”

  Early thought the closer she stayed to Sum and Jubie, the better.

  “I’ll go to the school here. For now,” Early said.

  Mrs. Happadee nodded approvingly, and Sum told her, “Thanks for getting Early set up.”

  “Do I have to go right away?” Early asked.

  Mrs. Happadee said, “Better to stay busy, dear. You don’t want to get behind! I’ll make some calls and see if we can get you in this week. Meanwhile, shelter meals are on a strict schedule. Families with children are first in line, followed by those from the women’s and then men’s shelter across the street. There’s a weekly sign-up for cleaning the bathrooms on your floor. Lights out and no talking or noise of any kind in the dormitory area after nine. Fighting, argumentative behavior, or substance abuse will land you out the door in a split second.”

  “No worries about that,” Sum said faintly. Early imagined that her mother was picturing each of these things happening, just as Early was. Mrs. Happadee was trying to be helpful, but what she was saying was also scary.

  “Here’s what to expect, in case you’re with us for a bit. If you and your kids are well behaved, we’ll put you on the list for a private room to sleep in — that is, if you need to stay the full twelve weeks we offer, or even a little longer. Meanwhile, there are a lot of families to make friends with here, and I’m always around. Any guard can page me. If one of you gets sick, we’ll connect you with medical care. Chicago HOPES, a wonderful after-school tutoring organization, keeps a room here with books and games in it, a place to get homework help and some one-on-one attention. All your kids have to do is show up. No planning involved. Also, you’ll be meeting with counselors on a biweekly basis. They’ll help you make a plan that’ll get you back on the road to independent living.”

  Half an hour later, they were taken to a bed-and-dresser cluster in a low, open room the size of a basketball court on the second floor. The floor was chipped, worn linoleum, gray with streaks of red. Cloud-shaped stains, brown instead of white, drifted across the ceiling overhead, the shapes broken here and there by a bar of neon light. Supplies included sheets for the two sets of bunk beds, three brown blankets sealed in plastic, two white towels, two rolls of toilet paper, and three plastic kits with a toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, a small brush, a comb, and a bottle of liquid clothes detergent inside. The windows in the room were small a
nd covered with broken blinds that hung at jagged angles. A female guard sat on a chair in the corner.

  “So this is your cluster,” Mrs. Happadee said. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

  “Oh, my,” Sum said. “Thank you. Wish we had our things from home so that you wouldn’t have to lend us all this. Where do we store our stuff?”

  “Here,” Mrs. Happadee said. “In the dresser. Carry any jewelry or money on your person. Breakfast starts for families at six thirty, lunch at eleven thirty, dinner at four thirty. Each meal lasts for one hour, second servings on holidays only. You can hang your towels over the ends of the beds to dry. There’s a washer and dryer on the first floor. Know where your kids are at all times, and never leave the shelter without them. Boys older than ten aren’t allowed inside this open sleeping area. Boys twelve and up aren’t allowed to stay in the family area of the shelter at all. You can use the shelter phone to make fifteen minutes of calls anytime between nine A.M. and four P.M., but sometimes there are lines. Local calls only. It’s just up the stairs on the third floor, and patience and politeness go a long way. Everyone’s call is important.”

  Exhausted after their night in the police station, Jubie lay down on one of the bare mattresses and immediately fell asleep. Seeing that her mother was near tears, Early patted her on the back, although she felt like crying, too. This big, spooky, open room with a lot of strangers! A new school!

  “I feel sad, too, Sum,” she said. Her mother sat right up.

  “Of course you do,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Let’s get ourselves settled in here. We’ll wake Jubie in an hour or so, and meanwhile we can freshen up. You go first.”

  Walking across the room to the bathroom, Early saw that some families had tied sheets around the sides of their bunk beds for privacy; others had hung comforters or a shower curtain. The sleeping clusters looked like a bunch of kids’ forts, something you’d do for fun if you had a bunk bed at home. The buzz of radios came from inside a few of the clusters; an occasional leg or arm was visible, hanging off a bed or holding a magazine. Early saw an ankle with a rose tattoo and the message Live for Love on it. A baby lay on a bunk, swatting at toys hung from the wire mesh above. A tiny girl with her hair ponytailed up in a pink, frilly ribbon sat in a walker, rolling herself as far as a clothesline tied to the bunk would allow. She stopped to watch Early go by, popping one finger in her mouth when Early smiled at her. A boy Jubie’s age peeked out of a bed near the bathroom and pointed a wire coat hanger at her. “Pow! Pow! Gotcha!” he said.

  She pointed her plastic hygiene kit back at him. “Bang!” she said. Delighted, he fell off the bed and rolled beneath it. Early then heard him being dragged out from under by an impatient voice and told to “sit nice and behave.” She then heard a slap followed by whimpering. She felt bad, having gotten him in trouble.

  She’d have to warn Jubie; it didn’t seem like play was allowed by some parents.

  Inside the bathroom, a woman muttered to herself as she washed her hands over and over. “Not fair,” she was saying. “He didn’t listen. Just turned and left. Left me all alone. I had to, just had to do it, no choice. Not fair.”

  Early hadn’t realized she was staring until the woman looked up and said directly to her, “Never believe ’em. Those wolves start with the nestin’ and then when you got ever’thin’ nice, they just go wanderin’. Always do in the end.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Early said, and hurried into the shower. She kept trying to shut the curtain firmly, but it drifted open. She saw the woman looking at her, just one eye reflected in the mirror over the row of sinks.

  “Always do,” she said again. As Early left the bathroom, the woman was still washing her hands over a full sink, the water puddling around her sneakers.

  Clutch, from the Middle English clucchen

  Verb: to hold tightly; to grasp, sometimes suddenly.

  Noun: a nest of eggs; a brood of chicks.

  Clutch

  The paper cover was now torn, but its cheerful, familiar red was comforting, like a hug from an old friend. Amazingly, the green cloth binding beneath had made it through the attack in one piece, the spine now lumpy in places, but still strong.

  Early stayed downstairs in their cluster while Sum went upstairs to call; there was no point in waking an exhausted Jubie and making him wait in line. She sat on the edge of her bunk, holding the book.

  She’d heard Dash read The First Book of Rhythms many times, and loved the smooth, rolling sound of the poet’s language. Sometimes she’d heard her father say softly, “What’s the rhythm, Langston?” while thinking over a problem or making a decision. She could picture him now, mop in hand, muttering that same question while washing the floor after dinner. He didn’t have a parent or grandparent to give him advice, but Langston seemed to do just as well.

  Now Langston felt even more like a part of her family. Dash had told Early that this famous poet was a rainbow mix, too, like Sum and probably Dash himself: Langston had African American, white, Jewish, and Native American roots. And, like Dash, Langston had grown up without much love or a steady home. She patted the cover.

  Langston, she remembered Dash saying with delight, had written The First Book of Rhythms after spending three months in Chicago working on poetry with kids at Lab, as everyone called it, a big and old school in the nearby neighborhood of Hyde Park. It was just blocks from their apartment. Maybe Langston had taken a walk into Woodlawn one day. Maybe he’d strolled right by their front door, long before Dash was born, and even past the house they later loved, the one with the cat in the window. Maybe he’d thought about dreams and rhythms while he walked.

  Early closed her eyes and whispered, “What’s the rhythm, Langston?”

  Opening to a random page, she read:

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Listen to your heart…. When you run or when you are frightened, excited, or crying, your heart beats faster. Movement of the body, or the flow of thoughts and emotions through the mind, can change the rhythm of the heart for a while. Bad thoughts upset the heart. Happy thoughts do not disturb it unless they are sudden surprises. Usually, however, the heart pumps the same number of beats a minute, steadily, once a person becomes an adult, until he leaves our world. The rhythm of the heart is the first and most important rhythm of human life.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  The first and most important rhythm. Early loved the way Langston made it clear in this book that most of what people think is beautiful begins with rhythms that come from nature, rhythms that are free and plentiful. Rhythms appear in the ways flowers grow, water flows, the earth moves around the sun, the moon moves through their dreams, and thoughts travel within their minds.

  She watched a vein beating in Jubie’s neck. She pressed her own wrist with a thumb and caught her heart saying, yes, yes, yes; try, try, try. Sum was upstairs, trying to fix broken rhythms. And where was Dash? Where was his heart beating at that very moment, and what was it saying?

  Turning her head away, she closed and then reopened the book. She now read:

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  One rhythm may start another. The rhythm of the wind in the sky will change the movements of a kite floating in the air. The rhythm of water in the sea will make a boat rock faster or slower as the water moves. Rhythm begins in movement.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  If she thought of the shelter as a place filled with rhythms, it made it somehow cozier. Rhythm begins in movement. She needed another notebook to write in, a place to keep short ideas.

  Suddenly, from across the room, there was a scream. “My baby’s not breathing! He’s not breathing!” A young woman’s frantic voice ricocheted off the hard surfaces in the room.

  Early popped up and looked around. People were running for help; the guard’s chair was empty. A woman raced from the bathroom, half naked. “Who said that? Who’s got my baby?” The room melted into a blur of shrieks, shouted questions, and feet slap-slapping across the linoleum.

  Still no Sum, and Jubie ha
d startled awake and was beginning to cry. Early sat back down and held him, her own thudding heart beating fast against her brother’s, feeling lucky that they could cling to each other, lucky that she had him to hold and didn’t have to see the young mother who rushed by, clutching a tiny bundle of blankets, her wails trailing behind as she flew down the stairs, rushing to save a rhythm not missed until it’s gone.

  Clutch

  The ambulance was downstairs for a long time, its lights whirling crazy pinwheels across the dormitory blinds. The young mother didn’t return, which everyone took to be a hopeful sign.

  Lunch that day was subdued. Voices were kinder. Children stayed close to their mothers, who cuddled them more. Life in the shelter, Early was learning, was a strange combination of hurry-hurry, as in getting in and out of the group bathroom fast, and wait-wait, as in waiting for food, for the phone, for meetings with people who talked with Sum about jobs, training, and where to live.

  Sum was gone for what felt like hours, waiting first to call the landlord, then the bank, then the police department. As she had no personal return number for calls and fewer than fifteen minutes to stay on hold, she got nowhere that day. Her biggest worry was that Dashel would return and find their home both empty and destroyed. She wanted to leave their current address with the landlord, but he wasn’t answering his phone and his voice mail was full.

  That first night was the worst. Sum tucked Jubie and Early into the two lower bunks, hung clothing and coats around the outsides, and curled up in the bunk above Jubie. At nine o’clock, when the lights went out, the room was still noisy: Babies cried, little kids talked in loud voices, the metal beds creaked, the toilets continued to flush. Someone had a bad cough. The Pearl cluster was near the bathroom, so it had more light and traffic than those that were farther away. Early tried putting the pillow over her ears, but the bed beneath was too stinky and hard. Jubie was afraid, so Sum climbed in with him.