Sweet, Hereafter

by Angela Johnson

  IF YOU TELL A SECRET, IT’S OUT IN THE world forever. You can’t ever take it back or explain to the person whose secret it was why you gave it up.

  If you don’t tell a secret, my mom says it’s like living in a little bit of hell—forever.

  But I don’t believe in hell.

  At least not the one the pastor in my old church talked about.

  I do have secrets.

  But maybe it’s not a secret at all. Maybe I could always see it in his eyes. Feel it when he was with me one minute and gone the next minute even when I still held him beside me.

  So it’s best not to tell.

  For now.

  • • •

  I asked Jos once what he was doing in a boring little place like Heaven. He smiled.

  He said, “I love my strange mother, I guess.”

  I understood that. Maybe if my own mother was a little stranger and not so upright I wouldn’t have wanted to leave her either. But she was a little stiff, well, a whole lotta stiff, and I didn’t think I could feel for her what Jos felt for his mom. It was sad, but that was that.

  It was so sad me and Jos decided to drive into the city and go to a psychic advisor on the west side near a deserted mill. We’d gotten her number from the Free Times beside an ad that said someone needed a part-time gardener and bird sitter.

  Her house sat at the end of a pink flamingo and wooly sheep kind of street. All the houses looked like Hansel and Gretel might visit them for something good to eat. We parked behind an SUV with a moon and star painted on the back door. We walked up the steps and were met by a black and white cat that rolled on its back for attention.

  I sneezed and smiled. Jos scratched the cat on the tummy and didn’t even get clawed.

  Then a woman in a white, blue, and peach jogging outfit came to the door. Jos laughed. Her name was Magda, her hair was blue and purple, and she said she was ninety-six years old. She gave us tea from Botswana in her overcrowded living room. She smelled like roses.

  And a few minutes later she was holding Jos’s hand so tight he said later he thought she was going to pull it off his arm. She told Jos soon he’d understand more of the world than he wanted to.

  She told me that I was destined to come and go.

  It was dark and raining when we left her house. The old mill just a ghost shadow in the distance. We realized we’d been there for over three hours talking to Magda—but I swear those are the only two things either of us can remember her saying. We try to remember but can’t.

  We left the city and drove the hour or so back to Heaven, only talking to each other when a commercial came on the radio. Jos with a sore hand and me with the knowledge that I’d probably never stay still in the world.

  11

  MARLEY HANGS OUT ALICE’S PASSENGER window and only puts her head in long enough to ask, “You smokin’ anymore, girl?”

  I feel the pack in the back of my jeans. If I was any kind of girl, I’d have some kind of purse with about fifty thousand things in it, and I could lie.

  “Trying.”

  “I blame your mom.”

  I say—“You think she intentionally wanted me to catch her nasty habit?”

  “I’ve seen it before. Bonding. Maybe she wanted you two to have something in common.”

  I look at her like she’s crazy.

  “Scratch that.”

  She lays her head on the open window as we fly down the road toward the lake to get us a good spot before people with suntan lotion and beach toys and their jelly-faced kids take up the whole sand trap.

  It’s spring break and stupid hot for late March.

  But it’s Ohio. Tomorrow it could be snowing, so you got to grab what you can in the time it’s given to you. In a few minutes Alice has slowed down, and we’re in line with about a few hundred other cars.

  Marley looks at me, and I know we didn’t leave early enough. We turn the radio up and inch along for about twenty more minutes until I see somebody selling barbecue on the side of the road. We pull over.

  We sit on top of Alice and eat sausage po’boys as the traffic keeps crawling.

  We see some people from Heaven and wave and point and laugh at them for being where we were a little while ago. After throwing down two po’boys each we hang out with the barbecue man and talk about summer. He’s short and round with a soft voice. He waves toward a travel trailer parked nearby when he needs something. Then one of his grandkids comes out and gives him more sauce, vinegar, and water or whatever.

  Me and Marley talk with Chuck until the traffic speeds up. But we know the beach is packed.

  Chuck waves us away with po’boys to go and a couple of bags of chips.

  We head back home but have to stop the truck on the side of Route 306 to get out and dance to a song we’d been whining that we hadn’t heard on the radio the whole day.

  After that we’re okay with everything.

  I drive for the woods.

  “Let’s hang out on the porch and count the groundhogs,” Marley says.

  I laugh and nod my head. Hell, it beats jelly-faced, sticky, sunblocked kids walking all over you.

  I’m pulling up into the long driveway when I see a car about thirty feet in front of me. I have to brake fast, ’cause I’m used to flying up the drive. Nobody but me ever uses it.

  Two men in uniforms are knocking on the front door.

  Marley says, “What’s up—you join up and not tell me?”

  A cool breeze breaks through the heat and freezes me to Alice’s seat. I see that Curtis isn’t home yet. After the two men talk to me, I’m glad he’s not home. Curtis is AWOL, and it would have been a long-assed time before I saw him again. He would have been arrested at the door. A few minutes later I swear I see Curtis leaning against a tree out back. But I blink, and he’s gone.

  Swimming the Pacific

  12

  ONCE MY GIRL MARLEY COUNTED THE steps from her house to Ma’s Superette. I guess we didn’t have that much to do back then. Why else would she need to actually count the footsteps to a place we practically lived? She says she doesn’t remember how many steps there were, but she wrote it down somewhere.

  Now when I drive past Ma’s, I only stop at Marley’s and remember the steps I used to take when the center of town was our whole lives.

  Now I watch from my truck as screaming little kids swoop down the slide on the playground in the middle of town.

  Now I roll past my parents’ house, always slow down just as I come to the driveway—but never stop.

  • • •

  I put my cigarette out in the ashtray and swear it’s the last one I’ll ever smoke. Until the next time, I guess. Then I pull my truck Alice over and jump out just as a school bus flies by. My stomach catches for a second, but I keep walking across the street.

  I creep into the shop. Nelly’s rapping on the radio, and there’s too much orange air freshener smelling up the place.

  “What’s up, girl?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Glad you’ve decided to come to work. You know those people from the state do actually show up here sometimes to check on you.”

  Jos has got his feet up on the cash register in his go-to-work, play, everyday jeans and a T-shirt that says STUPOR. I smile and go into the back of the store and start opening boxes. Late again, and he still hasn’t fired me, ’cause he knows what that would mean. For me, school. For him, not getting cheap labor.

  For true Jos is all right. He’s letting me do the vocational thing here, and that’s okay by me, ’cause I only have two classes a day, and that’s about all I can stand.

  Jos really doesn’t need to worry, because ain’t nobody from school’s gonna push it. That would mean me in class full time, and nobody wants that. I know the school doesn’t—and I’m in agreement.

  I keep unpacking boxes as Jos sets a cup of coffee beside my foot and goes back to the front of the store to answer the phone.

  After a while I’ve unpacked a box of candles, two boxe
s of fairy wings—a sure sign of Halloween coming—and some throws that are the softest things I ever felt. Before I know it, I’m wrapped up in a gray one, sitting in the back room, missing the warmth of Curtis’s skin, and wanting a cigarette.

  And the funny thing is, I just saw him thirty minutes ago.

  But things have been sliding somewhere dark since the army reserves showed up looking for him.

  He never said a word, and I didn’t tell him. The groundhogs got his attention for the rest of the night.

  And I know something. I know the feeling, ’cause it’s not too long since I had it myself. I think Curtis is already gone. Back to Iraq or wherever. He’s slipping away—quietly, as usual.

  13

  “I USED TO WATCH THE NEWS, BUT IT WAS always changing, and I could never follow the story.”

  Quote from a lady on a bus I once rode to Cincinnati.

  14

  IF I THOUGHT IT WOULD DO ANY GOOD, I’d lay on my horn until the person who boxed me in looks out a store window and decides to come move their ride. But I know I won’t be getting out anytime soon, so I climb on top of my truck, light up, and lie on the hood looking up at the clouds.

  In a minute warm hands are running up my bare legs, tickling them.

  The hands take my cigarette, put it out against a telephone pole by the car, then throw it in the storm sewer since there’s no trash can nearby.

  “Damn—can’t I even have a bad habit?”

  “You got more than anybody I know.”

  Marley’s little brother, Butchy, climbs up next to me.

  “What up?” he asks.

  I miss my cigarette but don’t light up another. I want Butchy to stay and hang for a while. At least lie on the old hoopty with me so I don’t look like a stone-cold lone loser.

  I smile at him.

  “Yo—again, what are we doing stretched out on your ride?”

  “Stupid parker,” I finally say.

  Butchy sits up to look at the brand-new car wedged up against Alice, then lies back beside me.

  “Remember Mike Boyd’s cousin Darnell?”

  “Yeah, he was funny as hell that summer he stayed with Mike and we all hung out. He’s crazy fun.”

  “You know he got shipped out.”

  I feel a twinge in my stomach.

  Butchy looks up. “He got hurt. He was on patrol, and his carrier ran over an IED. They say he’ll be home soon.”

  I don’t know how long we lie there watching clouds blow by and listening to people calling out to each other. It seems like a whole day, ’cause we don’t talk, and it’s the best afternoon I’ve had in a long time.

  The bank is closing when a man in a suit, dragging files on luggage wheels, looks over at us and gets in the car that’s held me hostage for hours. Because I didn’t have anywhere else to be, I wave to him, then blow a kiss.

  Butchy laughs so hard he almost rolls off the truck.

  When Alice is free, Butchy jumps down, ready to go. He looks down the street, then at me.

  “It’s pretty bad about Darnell, huh?”

  I nod my head and look up the street too.

  Then Butchy leaves, and the clouds cover the sun again, and there’s nobody on the street anymore. I can even hear the signal light clicking the change from yellow to red.

  And it’s true I got nothing to do and no place to go in a hurry.

  I look across the street to Ma’s Superette and put my keys in my pocket. Haven’t been in Ma’s in a long time…. But just as I get to the door, I get a real warm feeling. When I look in and see the barrel of flip-flops and bin of beach toys, I turn back.

  I look down at my hiking boots and start walking and counting steps from Ma’s Superette to my parents’ house, and I think about a boy I only knew one summer.

  15

  CURTIS FOUND A LETTER OUT BY THE dump one day when we went for a walk. Curtis saw the letter fluttering in the wind, leaned down, and picked it up.

  I don’t think I ever heard him laugh so hard. He kept the letter in his wallet. Now it’s in my back pocket. I wanna remember that day and the way we both laughed.

  Grace,

  I have been thinking of you for so very long. It’s sad to me that things have not worked out for us. I had dreams that we would be together forever. I never thought it all would end so quickly or hurt so deeply. I blame myself.

  I should not have let others be more important than you. Truly I don’t think I ever realized how wonderful you were. Yes, I was hurt when you burned my garage down with my two cars in it. Yes, I was surprised when I went to the bank and you had cleaned out the savings account.

  And yes, I know people in the neighborhood must have been talking about how you threw all my clothes out the front door, drove to Harry Fuel and Eats for a can of gas, and lit everything on fire. And most definitely, my family will never invite you to another get-together (me either, I guess) after you told everybody (in detail) the little things I say about them to make fun.

  But Grace, I forgive you everything—if you’ll just come back to me and Buddy (who no longer tries to bite me like you trained him to).

  Love,

  John

  By the time Jos finishes reading the letter, me and Brodie are almost crying in pain from laughing. I try to take another sip of lemonade and stretch out on the lounge chair.

  We’re sitting in Jos’s backyard surrounded by ugly yard crap. His mom collects it. So we sit pretending we’re on a beach in Hawaii, chillin’ with wooly sheep and little Dutch girls. And one of those shadow men who lean against trees—just creepy.

  We have the backyard to ourselves ’cause Jos says his mom hasn’t actually used it since his dad left in 1982. She just likes to fill it with junk.

  But we’re still laughing.

  “You wrote that yourself, girl,” says Jos, still giggling and wiping tears.

  “I didn’t; I swear I didn’t.”

  Brodie covers his head with a beach towel, then gets up.

  “I’m going for a swim,” he says. Then he steps in the wading pool.

  “Love don’t last forever,” I say.

  “For real,” Jos grunts, and Brodie keeps pretending he’s swimming in the Pacific.

  16

  CURTIS IS STILL ASLEEP WHEN I LEAVE FOR school—on a Sunday. I lay my head on his smooth back and listen to him breathing for a minute. Then I’m out the door speeding down country roads, ’cause I’m going to be late.

  It’s too hot to be inside today—but here we all are. It’s too hot to think about a future doing this or doing that. Too hot …

  I watch Brodie as he leans against the gym wall and starts to read pamphlets he’s picked up from the tables. The halls are packed. And I don’t want to be here. But I’ve got to get my slip signed by at least three of the people sitting behind tables trying to convince a whole group of sleepy kids that they want to have careers.

  Marley walks over with a cup of coffee in her hand.

  “How ya been?”

  And that “How ya been?” is really about ten questions but she lets it slide when I answer.

  “Okay.”

  Okay.

  She puts her arm around me, and we lean on each other while we decide what fake careers we want to be interested in.

  I’m thinking I want to be a fake veterinarian. Or even a fake IT person. Marley thinks she wants to be a fake college dropout and make her parents real proud. I look for Brodie, but he’s gone. I wonder what fake career he’s getting to snag enough signatures.

  I give it up after my fake career as a vet is busted up before I even get started.

  Allergies. But at least the woman signed my slip.

  We walk around eating popcorn—free. Drinking pop—not free—until I see Brodie off in a corner sitting next to two men in uniforms. Their hair is crew cut and their shoes shine under the fluorescent lights. Even though it’s warm, their jackets stay on, and they look crisp and cool. Too cool.

  But it’s not just Brodie. The
re’s about ten boys that I know all sitting around and listening like they never listen to anything else.

  I wonder how they got in.

  Then I imagine I see the darkest eyes ever. Was he one of these boys not so long ago? Probably.

  There are tear streaks.

  First it’s hot and a summer day.

  And then I see the darkest eyes …

  The darkest eyes.

  I sit in front of the army recruiting office after leaving the career fair, and the sun is so hot I think I’m gonna pass out. I should just take my ass back to the woods and Curtis—but here I am. There’s a glare coming off the windshield, and I have to tilt my head a certain way to get a good look at the recruiting office.

  I lean across the seat and pop the glove compartment. I burn myself on the hinge, then pull out a pair of Curtis’s aviator sunglasses. They slide down my nose. I turn on the radio and wait.

  There are only so many locks in the world, but most of them are no match for somebody who knows an Angry Goth Boy who knows someone who has keys to get in any building downtown.

  Thanks, Angry Goth Boy.

  I drag the plastic garbage bag full of army brochures, pens, and blank notepaper through the alley behind the bank. Everybody uses the alleys between the stores downtown as shortcuts coming from school. I know every turn. I know the easiest ways and the nearest escapes (from skipping class with Carl).

  The best Dumpster this time is at Singing Sam’s Pizza.

  I make sure nobody sees or hears me while I drag the bag past the back door and want pizza—but I have to finish this. Right now. I throw it in the Dumpster, change my mind about pizza, and walk back to Alice.

  The sun isn’t as hot when I turn on some old Tupac, push the sunglasses back up, and head back to the woods and Curtis.

  17

  THAT FIRST NIGHT I LIVED IN THE CABIN with Curtis, I slept all alone. After I turned Alice toward the gap in the trees, I slept in the big bed with the scary wooden gargoyles carved on the ends of the headboard, my box of jeans beside me on the floor. Curtis gave me hot chamomile tea, then took a blanket from a wooden chest at the foot of the bed and went to sleep on the couch.