Crimson Footprints

by Shewanda Pugh

  She promised to speak with her sister when she returned to town and hung up before the old woman could protest.

  “Everything okay?” Tak said, looking up at her expectantly.

  Deena nodded. “Everything’s fine. Lizzie’s suspended again, same as usual.” She offered him a bright and false smile. “Now what were we doing? Pictures, right?”

  “Right,” Tak said.

  Deena pulled the zipper up on the white parka she wore and gave him a grin. “Well, what’s the hold up, buddy?”

  Tak responded with a grin.

  When they ventured a good distance from the arch, they waved down a passerby for pictures. It was a sweet-faced old lady that stopped, took Tak’s digital camera, and waited for their pose.

  They stood arm in arm with a pond and a good deal of the arch in the angled shot. In the instant when the old lady went to snap their picture, Tak stole a kiss, a single kiss, on Deena’s freckled cheek. Deena blushed and the old lady gushed, insisting that they were as sweet as Tupelo honey. When she returned the digital camera, with the image of Tak’s stolen kiss still emblazoned on it, Deena stood there, her cheeks still flushed. She stared at that frozen screen in silence, the image of Tak’s kiss burning into her mind. Behind her, he peered over her shoulder with his four-inch advantage and smiled down at the camera.

  “Perfect,” he said. “Absolutely perfect.”

  LIZZIE WAS GLAD her sister was gone. Unlike her grandmother, who acted like she needed Deena to come and flip the oxygen on each morning, Lizzie could do without the old maid. She spent her days at a desk and her nights in a book, barely existing, if at all. She lived on the beach yet never went there, was pretty and never took advantage of it, and at twenty-five was a jaw-dropping virgin. Had she not known Deena, she wouldn’t have believed such a person existed.

  Lizzie lost her virginity three days before her twelfth birthday and never once did she look back. A whole world opened to her that day, a world where clothes and jewelry, money and drugs could be earned with a few quick thrusts and a moan here or there. It was easy really, once you got past those first painful moments, easy and sometimes even fun. She had a pretty face and an impressive body, an inheritance from a mother she never knew, and a curse, according to a family she always hated.

  Everyone thought that the first time she’d had sex was in school or a crack house, or somewhere equally unforgiving. But it wasn’t. The first time Lizzie had sex was at home, with a guy they all knew.

  Lizzie and Keisha were arguing that afternoon, arguing over Lizzie’s tight red dress and jiggling tits and whether it was all for Snowman’s attention. Wanted or not, Snowman took one look at Lizzie, bit his lower lip, and Keisha detonated.

  But the girl was mistaken. Lizzie was no Deena. She was no martyr and she took no shit. She screamed when someone screamed at her, hit back when someone hit her, and played tit for tat every goddamned chance she got. So when Keisha called her a slut, and Aunt Caroline laughed until her makeup ran, Lizzie decided to show them just how right they were.

  She waited an hour. Long enough for Keisha to begin arguing with her mother about restrictions on food stamps, long enough for Grandma Emma to fall asleep in the middle of Matlock, and long enough for Lizzie to grab Snowman’s wrist and guide him to her room.

  She was eleven at the time, but a mature eleven and already known for toe-curling talents with her tongue. Just that past year her mouth had served her well, and had meant the difference between passing and failing, Payless and Prada.

  He was rough from the start, gripping her head, holding it steady. Suffocating and brutal, she’d wanted him to stop, had moaned and tried to pull away—but found his grip firm and determined. She remembered his words when he finally turned her loose, words that had chilled her, scared her.

  “Come on,” he said, “time to feel that pussy.”

  She told him no, that she was a virgin, but he laughed.

  “Not giving head like that, you ain’t.”

  The look in his eyes was hard and unforgiving and the look of his cock was the same. So she asked him to be gentle, but he wasn’t. She asked him to go slower, but he wouldn’t. And when her bedroom door opened and there Keisha stood, Lizzie’s older cousin didn’t scream and she didn’t call the police. She simply closed the door, leaving the house and leaving Snowman to finish.

  Lizzie thought it was their secret—she and Snow and Keisha’s. But three days later, Snow’s car was emblazoned in a hail of bullets, leaving him shot in the thigh, shoulder and chest. Anthony, it seemed, had found out.

  Snow came to her, hours after being released from the hospital, begging, crying, convinced there was a bounty on his head. Talk to him, Snow said, convince him that nothing happened.

  So Lizzie went to Anthony and persuaded him, surprised by the conviction with which he spoke. He could deal drugs, he said and he could rob or kill, but what he couldn’t stomach was a grown man having his way with a little girl. That kind of man, Anthony reasoned, needed to die.

  After that, boys were afraid of Lizzie. They would fuck her, but in a brief and nervous sort of way, as if half expecting to be murdered mid-stroke. It didn’t matter how many times she explained to them her brother’s only beef had been Snowman’s age, they still were afraid. But when Anthony died, so did their fear.

  TAK HELD OUT his ice cream cone and watched as Deena took a lick. Three kids nearly collided with him as they tore for a monstrous red rollercoaster.

  “Wow, Tak. That’s good. What is it again?”

  “Double chunk chocolate chip. Told you to get it.”

  He took a bite of the frosty treat and Deena frowned. She turned to her suddenly plain vanilla cone as they walked. “Trade you.”

  Tak raised a brow. “Hmm, let’s see. You’ve got plain Jane vanilla while I have mouthwatering double chunk chocolate chip. I mean, would you look at the chunks in this thing? We’ve got nuggets of fudge here, bits of chocolate chips, and this enticing swirl of white chocolate.” He shrugged. “Mm. Sorry. Just don’t see the benefit.”

  Deena turned back to her cone, bottom lip out. “But I want yours.”

  Tak rolled his eyes in exaggerated fashion, fully aware that he intended to give her his cone. Still, he loved the pouting.

  “Deena, I’ve got to tell you, you’re not much of a negotiator.” He handed his two scoops of chocolate over and took her single one of vanilla. “Now hurry up. We’ve got a date with the Screamin’ Eagle.”

  DEENA FROZE, ICE cream in hand. The Screamin’ Eagle was a wooden roller coaster a hundred and ten feet high and one she seriously doubted she had the gall to ride. Till then, she’d been charmed by the costumed characters of her childhood, waving and posing for pictures with glee, delighted by the sticky and sweet treats they’d devoured with abandon, and giddy with the sophomoric way they tore through the park. But when the Screamin’ Eagle’s cherry train barreled past with its cartload of screaming passengers, all that changed. Deena’s jaw went slack, her cone plummeted, and she gripped Tak’s arm in fear.

  “I can’t, Tak. I can’t get on that.”

  Tak glanced down at the manicured fingernails that blanched his flesh before returning to her face.

  “You can do it, Deena. You wanted to do this, remember?”

  As if to contradict him, the train tore through the sky again before plunging towards the earth.

  Deena’s eyes widened. “People pay money for this? To be terrorized like this?”

  Tak laughed. “Definitely. Now what do you say? One try?”

  Deena lowered her eyes. Before their visit to Six Flags that day, she’d never been to an amusement park. Her mother Gloria, amazingly enough, used to be something of a worrywart and would never allow her child to attend the fair when it came to town. The fairgrounds were unkempt, the rides unsafe and the food unhealthy. And later, when her mother was in prison and her father dead, it was pretty clear that asking Grandpa Eddie was not an option.

  But of course, Tak knew
all that.

  “I’ll be with you, Dee. I promise. And you can hold on to me as tight as you like.”

  Cone tossed, he tilted her chin so that she met his gaze. He had to redirect it when a fresh cartload of passengers careened by. “Tell you what. Afterwards, I’ll have a surprise for you.”

  Deena’s eyes widened. Surprises were that other Tak novelty. “Really? What?”

  Tak shook his head. “Screamin’ Eagle first. Surprise second.”

  Deena looked at the ride. Her heart thudded, her palms were sweaty, and her mouth dry. But as she stood there with Tak’s undivided attention, she knew that her reaction was only partly because of the ride. And in the end, she agreed to the Screamin’ Eagle.

  Two to a row, twelve rows of carts, each connected by ball and socket joints. Nearly four thousand feet of track towering into the air. Laminated steel set against wood gave each passenger the roughest, wildest ride possible as they tore through the air at speeds in excess of sixty miles an hour. The ride would last for two minutes and thirty seconds and the highest drop would be from ninety-two feet. Deena knew all of this because she insisted on being briefed by the ride’s attendants before boarding.

  Deena adjusted her harness from what she ascertained to be the safest locale within a relatively unsafe place—the middle seat. She looked at Tak, her eyes darkened with terror, and was grateful when he extended a hand to her.

  “It’s going to be great. You’ll see.” Tak adjusted his long legs, tight against the safety bar of the cart, and smiled.

  Deena turned her attention back to the track. She would use reason and science to battle fear. The ride was heinously tall and climbing it would employ positive gravitational forces, which were the easiest for the human body to endure. The name of the game was fear, and the expectation of climbing to towering heights combined with the average body’s ability to endure about five times the pull of gravity meant that a designer would seek to push the limits in that regard. There was also whiplash to think about. The human body needed time to sense changes in speed and—

  “Deena, stop it,” Tak said.

  She blinked, startled. “What?”

  “I know what you’re doing and I want you to stop it.”

  “What? I’m just—getting ready.”

  With a sigh, Tak leaned in until his mouth brushed her ear. The feel of wet lips coursed heat to her core.

  “Trust me. Not logic or science, but me.”

  He brought a hand to her cheek and traced the line of her jaw. Her breathing was fast and shallow. Her lips parted and Tak leaned in. Deena’s eyes slipped closed and her chin tilted.

  They were jolted and the ride began, jarring them to the far ends of the cart. They glanced at each other, swallowed, and then looked away.

  With a pull of the chain, they were dragged up a steep incline. Above the trees, above the park, they continued to climb at a steady rate. The creaking of the tracks, the rattle of the chains and the steepness of the incline combined to topple Deena into near hysterics. In desperation, she gripped Tak’s arm and buried her face into the crook of his shoulder.

  They fell out the sky. Eyes watering, Deena shrieking, her feet digging for footing in vain. Next to her, Tak hooted in glee. They rose and they fell, the third of the drops by far the harshest. And just when she was certain her nerves could take no more, they were hurled into a 180-degree turn and heaved toward the exit.

  HE WOULDN’T DO that to her again. She’d been terrified, far more than he thought one person could ever be. She’d shrieked and clawed at him like a cat in a hot bath, and halfway through, he regretted making her ride.

  As they weaved down the walkway, Tak rushed to keep up with her. It seemed as though she were still hell bent on escape.

  “Dee, wait!” Tak dashed after her, and towards what he figured was the park’s exit. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have pressured you. Forgive me.”

  He’d asked her to trust him, and when she did, he hurled her into horror.

  Deena turned on him. “Forgive you? What are you talking about? I’m getting back in line again. That-was-incredible!”

  Deena grabbed his arm and dashed towards the waiting queue, dragging a baffled Tak behind her.

  As it turned out, she was a thrill junkie. Slicing through the heavens on Mr. Freeze, toppling twenty-three stories on Superman, The Tower of Power and catapulting through head over heel loops on Batman, The Ride. She wanted it all. White knuckle, corkscrewing, free falling gushes of adrenaline—she wanted it all, while clinging to Tak.

  Later, Tak squinted under the Midwestern sun, his favorite UCLA cap pulled low on Deena’s brow.

  “Ready for your surprise?” he asked as he draped an arm about her shoulder mid-step.

  She glanced at him. “What is it?”

  He stopped before a slew of games. “A stuffed animal. Pick one and I’ll win it for you.”

  Deena looked at him doubtfully. “Tak, these games are difficult. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were rigged.”

  “Just come on.” He led her to the long-range basketball booth. “Last I checked I had a pretty decent jump shot.”

  Despite her objections, Tak nodded towards the crater-faced attendant and dug out his wallet. He slipped the kid a five and turned back to Deena.

  “No worries, you’ll see. Besides, every girl should have a guy to win her something.”

  AN HOUR LATER and forty-five dollars lighter, Tak and Deena left with an oversized panda she could’ve bought for twenty. Still, she was surprised at the tenderness she felt when he handed her that prize. It was a sweet feeling, having that panda to cradle as they exited the park, his UCLA cap pulled low on her brow. And as they walked, Deena felt something extraordinarily exotic—something she’d all but forgotten. She felt…normal.

  They did all the things they were supposed to in St. Louis—posed for pictures at the Arch, gulped beer at Anheuser Busch, and nearly hurled at Six Flags. They toured the wineries on the outskirts of the city, caught an indie film at Trivoli, and took a horse drawn carriage through Tower Grove Park. And when it was time to split the state of Illinois in two with an I-55 trek north, neither Tak nor Deena had any regrets.

  As Tak drove Deena made plans for their next stop. The Chicago skyline was an architecture lover’s dream. When the Great Chicago Fire destroyed so much of the city, its visionaries began experimenting with steel frame construction and large plate glass, and in doing so, created the first modern skyscraper. Their work would give birth to the most awe-inspiring structures the American landscape had ever seen.

  While in Chicago Deena would be able to appreciate the wonders of the greatest American architects: Louis Sullivan, Frank Lloyd Wright and Mies van der Rohe—their work all dotted the landscape.

  And she was looking forward to the art too. The Art Institute of Chicago housed an impressive collection of Impressionist and post-Impressionist work by people even Deena had heard of, people like Vincent Van Gogh and Claude Monet. And while she’d never been one to linger in the halls of a museum per se, she found Tak’s excitement about their art contagious.

  Tak’s phone rang as Deena flipped through the Chicago guidebook and, deftly, he slipped it from his pocket.

  Every city was a battle, Deena thought, a constant crunching of time, always pressed with the question of a must-see versus a must-wait. Sure, they could linger in Chicago if she found the city too enchanting. But six days in Chicago meant no days somewhere else, and Deena was becoming far too greedy to let that happen.

  They would have to compromise. His art and her architecture were tops on the list, as were a few restaurants and a night on Lake Michigan. But after that, both time and activities got complicated. He wanted a Bulls game and she wanted a chocolate tour. There would be time for one or the other, but definitely not both.

  Deena frowned at the glossy photo of gooey milk chocolate dripping from a spoon and felt her mouth go wet. There was a time in the not-too-distant past when discipline ha
d been the lifeblood of her existence. But as their trip lingered, and Tak continued to pander to her every whim, discipline gave way to indulgence, and restraint to satisfaction. But Tak wasn’t the only one who could be indulgent.

  “Tak, I was thinking—”

  Deena froze with the realization that he was still holding the phone.

  “Listen, I told you I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I’m with a friend.”

  Tak drummed the steering wheel in impatience. “Of course that’s important to me. You’re important to me. All I’m saying is—”

  Tak paused, glanced at Deena who continued to stare, and returned to the call with a sigh. “Listen, I can’t talk right now. It’s just not a good time. Later.”

  He hung up the phone and turned to Deena’s wide-eyed stare. The scowl he wore morphed into a grin. “Admiring the view?” he said.

  Deena blushed, her curiosity forgotten.

  A HOTEL ROOM high enough for views of the skyline at the junction where the river met Lake Michigan. A top-level suite with hardwood floors, two broad platform beds and an ebony-paneled Jacuzzi. Soft ecru wallpapering covered three sides of the room, and on the forth, a floor-to-ceiling glass door leading to the balcony. These features, combined with a fully stocked wet bar and forty-seven-inch flat screen, promised that they could enjoy Chicago quite well, all without leaving the room.

  It was late when they arrived, so the two ordered in. A loaded stuffed pizza with three kinds of sausage, made right with a garden salad for Deena’s wary conscience. They mixed Long Island Iced Teas and chatted while they drank, and afterwards collapsed into bed for the night.

  When Deena woke, it was with a start. Breathless and confused, she blinked at the darkness in an effort to orient herself. She was sweating. Entangled in the bed sheets, her womanhood throbbed with the flickers of a memory. A swipe of the tongue. An arch of the back. A moan. And another.