by Renée Watson
Maria doesn’t move. She is as still as a statue. So I keep talking.
“My parents always fought. My dad beat my mom all the time. And after a fight, he always stormed out of the house, to give my mom time to clear her head and so he could go cool down,” I explain. “Most times, he came back in a few days with flowers or jewelry for her and even something for me and Danny. But this time was different. This time was so different.”
The words get stuck again and Maria rubs my hand.
“Danny and I were in our hiding place. The closet in the hallway.”
I tell Maria how we always hid in the closet when our parents fought. It was a small closet. Just big enough for the two of us and the vacuum cleaner. Nothing hanging. Just a few shelves with paper towels, toilet paper, and cleaning supplies. We stood in the closet, holding hands, listening to the sounds of two pairs of feet walking back and forth. In and out of the kitchen.
“I’m leaving you,” my momma had said. “The kids are coming with me.” Her black high heels walked away. My father’s feet went after her—brand-new white Nikes. I could hear my mother’s heels running from my father’s angry voice. “I’m tired, Daniel. Tired of living this way. Tired of worrying if you’ll get caught. Tired of being ashamed of you—of us.” Her feet stomped back to the kitchen. “The kids’ clothes—drug money. Our groceries—drug money. This ain’t no way to raise a family!”
My father was cursing and yelling louder than I’d ever heard him. “I don’t hear you complainin’ when I’m givin’ you money to get your hair or your nails done. You ain’t hollerin’ none of this when you buyin’ clothes.”
“I don’t need dirty money. I don’t want it anymore,” Momma said.
A loud, long beep sounded in the kitchen. The oven’s timer went off. My momma’s red velvet cake. Momma had prepared a feast. The ham had just been taken out of the oven. The greens were still simmering on the stovetop. She was saving the mashed potatoes for last because they take the least time to cook. I had helped my momma cut and peel the potatoes. They were soaking in water. The garlic cloves were wrapped in foil, just out of the oven. Momma put garlic in her mashed potatoes. She said she learned it from watching my grandma. The house smelled like Thanksgiving even though it was August, and I couldn’t wait to eat. But now Momma’s dinner was ruined.
The timer continued to beep. Momma’s feet ran to the kitchen. The beeping stopped and I heard the oven open and close.
“Is that all you care about? Your stupid cooking?”
“It’s not stupid. You are!”
Slap.
My momma was crying now. No more feet walking back and forth. Just the sound of hands hitting face. And then there were no more slapping sounds. Now my daddy was cursing and choking my momma. He kept asking her why she provoked him. Why she made him be so mean. I could hear her gasping for air and then a thud as my daddy pushed her to the floor.
After that, I heard my daddy’s feet running away, out of the kitchen through the side door that led to the driveway. My daddy slammed the door so hard, the house shook.
Maria squeezes my hand tighter.
“When I opened the closet door, I ran to my momma and kneeled down beside her. I expected to help her up and nurse her bruises like I always did. But this time she didn’t get up. She was barely breathing and blood was streaming out the side of her head. Her head had hit the edge of the marble kitchen island.
“Danny ran to get the phone and call for an ambulance. I held my mother’s hand and told her we had called for help. But then her eyes froze and her hand slipped out of mine and she was gone.
“Danny and I sat in the kitchen, next to my momma’s body. I didn’t know what to do. I looked up and saw the prayer over the stove and just kept reading it over and over until the ambulance came.”
I can’t say anymore. I sit back in the chair. My hand slides out of Maria’s.
“I’m so sorry, Serenity.” She hugs me. Tight. When she lets go, I feel lighter. And the knot that’s been inside me has untangled a little. For a moment, neither of us know what to do or say.
“I’m sorry for lying to you,” I tell Maria.
“I understand.” Maria crosses her legs. “Is your dad in jail?”
“I don’t know where he is,” I tell her. “I used to think he didn’t know about my momma. I thought he was going to show up to the house with flowers and we’d be gone and he’d come looking for us to tell us how sorry he was. But he hasn’t come at all. Never called to check on us. Not even his mom has heard from him,” I tell Maria.
“Where do you think he is?” Maria asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer. “Hiding from the police, I guess.”
“You must hate him.”
“Part of me does,” I tell her. “Part of me wants him to go to jail forever. Sometimes I wish he was the one who died,” I admit. “But sometimes—sometimes I get sad and I want him to come back and apologize. I want him to want me and Danny to come stay with him.”
“Would you go?”
“No!” I tell Maria. “I would kick and scream and fight to stay with my grandparents,” I say. “But at least I’d know he wanted me. At least I’d know he cared,” I say. “I know that makes no sense.”
“Yes, it does.” Maria’s eyes are filled with water, but the tears don’t fall. Sometimes I wonder what secrets she carries.
“Can I ask you a question?” Maria says.
I nod.
“Do you think he meant to do it?”
I don’t answer her for a while. “I don’t know,” I say.
Maria says, “Guess it doesn’t matter if he meant to or not, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess not,” I say.
It’s quiet. The others must be asleep in their rooms. I look out of the window. The sky is black. The white moon shines bright like a lightbulb.
Maria asks, “You have any pictures of your mom?”
I stand up and go to my bag. I pull out the picture I have of my momma. Most of the photographs of her were taken in a studio and she is posing and smiling into the camera because that is what she was supposed to do. Her face is painted in makeup and every strand of her hair is in place. But in this picture, she isn’t wearing makeup. She is sitting on the steps of our front porch in a pale yellow sundress. Her wavy hair is blowing in the wind and she isn’t looking at the camera. The smile on her face is because she’s watching me ride my bike without training wheels for the first time. Danny is behind me, learning too.
My momma is smiling wide. All of her looks happy. And that is why I like this shot so much. It shows me how much my momma loved me. The smile on her face, the joy in her eyes is all because of me. And Danny. And it is real. I know because Grandma took this picture when my momma wasn’t expecting it.
Maria reaches out for the picture. She stares at it and looks back up at me. “You’re right. She was beautiful. You look just like her.”
I smile. Maria thinks I’m pretty. Grandma always says it, but for some reason I believe it more now.
Maria can’t stop staring at the picture. “Your mother was fly!” We start laughing. Maria finishes my hair and takes me to the mirror in the bathroom. “See how pretty your hair is when you straighten it and wear it down?” Maria turns me around to face her. “Okay, now let’s do some makeup.” She gets a small bag out of her suitcase. “How come you never wear makeup?”
“My grandma would have three heart attacks and a stroke if she saw me in makeup.”
Maria laughs at me. “You always do what your grandmother tells you to do?”
“Not always, but—well, I try.”
“Goodness, girl, if you don’t make it to heaven no one will.”
“You can teach me, though. I mean putting on makeup is something I’ll need to know how to do once she decides I can wear it.”
“Right,” Maria says. She shows me the ways to make the same lip gloss look like different colors by using different lip liners. Then she shows me how to put on eyelin
er, eye shadow, and mascara. This is something my mother would have showed me how to do. I am sad and my eyes water just a little, but Maria thinks it’s because she poked me with the eyeliner. “Sorry, I’ve never actually put it on someone. Here.” She hands me the pencil. “I don’t want to stab you again.”
The first time I do it myself, I look like a raccoon. The second time, I get it right and I want to keep it on all night because it looks so pretty. Maria makes me wash it off. She says it’s bad to sleep in makeup and we can do it again tomorrow.
“You want the top or bottom?” Maria asks me.
“Bottom.”
“Good. I love sleeping on the top.”
“Why?”
“I like being up high.” Maria climbs up the ladder. I turn off the light and get into bed. “Serenity?”
“Uh-huh?”
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
I want to say something that sounds important, but I don’t really know yet what I want to be. “I don’t know, an artist maybe.”
“Really? I want to be a singer.” Maria sits up in the bed. “I have my plan all figured out—I will get discovered singing in church and be asked if I want to do my own CD. Of course, I’ll say yes and then after I record the CD and it hits the charts at number one, I will go on tour. After I get tired of the spotlight, I’ll marry Ricky and we’ll settle someplace where the paparazzi can’t find us so our children don’t grow up crazy because of all the hype.” Maria is talking fast and barely takes a breath between words. Then she pauses and says, “Serenity, you should get a boyfriend so we can go out on double dates. Who do you have your eye on? Anyone here at camp?”
“Why do people keep asking me that?”
“Well, you never talk about boys. Who is the last person you kissed?”
“The last person I kissed was my grandma when I kissed her good night,” I say, laughing. “If you mean a boy, well, I’ve never kissed a boy.”
“What? Girl, you can’t be serious!”
“I swear.”
“Okay, we’ve got to get you a boyfriend. And we’ve got to make sure he has kissable lips.”
“Kissable lips?”
“You know, not too big so they don’t swallow you up and slobber all over your mouth. Not too thin, so you at least feel them against yours. Not chapped or cracked so they don’t scrape you, and not busted or bloody for obvious reasons.”
“So I guess that means Ricky has kissable lips?”
“Girl, Ricky’s lips are the best lips ever.”
“What is kissing like?”
Maria thinks to herself for a moment. “Well, it tastes kind of salty. It feels … well, I don’t know. It’s better than your favorite thing,” she explains. She flings her head down from the top bunk and all I can see are her teeth. “Kissing is better than the best meal you’ve ever tasted.” She smiles the biggest smile she’s ever smiled. And I think this is Maria telling me she loves Ricky. She laughs at herself and then I laugh at her too. “Why haven’t you kissed anyone?” Maria asks me. I say I don’t know when really I think it’s because I am not her.
• • • • • • •
Maria and I must have fallen asleep talking. I don’t remember the last thing we said but I know we never said good night. It is morning now. After breakfast we have morning devotion. We are divided, boys in one room and girls in another. Pastor Mitchell’s wife, Mrs. Mitchell, is our leader.
“Good morning, beautiful women of virtue,” Mrs. Mitchell calls out. She looks like she has been up for hours. She has on a full face of makeup, her hair is perfectly curled, and she is the only one who does not give in to a yawn every now and then. “How are the daughters of Zion doing today?” Mrs. Mitchell always addresses us with what she calls affirmations. She says every day labels are put on us that are false and we need to hear what God says about us.
Mrs. Mitchell motions for Erica and Miss Valerie to come up to the front of the room. “We are very blessed to have Erica and Valerie with us for the weekend,” Mrs. Mitchell says. “Young ladies, these are two women you need to be looking up to. I know there are tons of celebrities you all admire, but let me tell you, I’ve known these women since they were your age and believe me, they are great examples of what it means to be a woman of virtue.”
Mrs. Mitchell always brags about Erica and Miss Valerie. We’ve heard this speech a thousand times. “Both of these young women did so well in high school they were awarded full-tuition scholarships to college,” Mrs. Mitchell tells us. And she tells us how when Erica and Miss Valerie were our age they sang in the choir and passed the Rites of Passage and how if they can make it, we can.
Then Mrs. Mitchell announces, “We’re going to have small group sessions today. Erica is going to lead one group and Valerie is going to lead the other.”
Thank God Maria and I are put in Erica’s group. We follow Erica to a small room. She rearranges the folding chairs and we sit in a circle. “Before we begin, do any of you have questions or want to talk about something that’s on your mind?”
I think Erica intended for us to ask questions about God, but all the girls in the group want to know about her wedding. Karen asks, “How did Ivan propose?” Another girl asks, “How do you know when you’re in love?”
Maria says, “She knows because Ivan bought her that huge platinum and diamond ring. Who wouldn’t love a man that got her something like that?”
“Okay, okay,” Erica says. “First off, let’s all raise our hand to speak.” She sits down in a chair and becomes a part of our circle. “I’ll say a few things about Ivan, but then we have to get to our lesson for the day.” Erica crosses her legs. “I think what’s important to know is that before I loved Ivan I learned how to love myself. And yes, I like my ring a lot. But that is not what makes me love Ivan. Just because someone buys you nice stuff doesn’t mean they love you. You’ll know a person loves you by the way he treats you. A person who loves you will respect you. He won’t pressure you or try to get you to change who you are.”
Erica smiles at us. “Now, we can talk more about love and dating at lunch. We’re supposed to be talking about prayer,” she says.
Maria smiles. “Well, let’s pray for our boyfriends.”
We all laugh.
Erica says, “I’m praying that none of you settle for less. Your worth is priceless. Never sell yourself short.” Erica opens her Bible. She tells us that people make prayer seem like a difficult thing to do, but it is simply talking to God. “And you can talk to Him about whatever you want,” she tells us. Then Erica reads from her Bible a story about young people who prayed and saw God work miracles in their life. Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. She tells us about times she prayed for people in her family or for struggles she was having and how God answered her prayers. “Sometimes, it might seem like your prayers aren’t being heard. But don’t give up. Things don’t always change right when we want them to,” Erica says.
There is an easel with chart paper sitting at the front of the room. Erica writes on it with a black marker:
On a piece of paper, write down a prayer to God
for a family member or friend.
She passes out small sheets of paper with envelopes and says, “I want you to take your time with this and really think about it. It can be as simple as you want it to be, or it can be something that you think is impossible. God is a big God who hears and answers all kinds of prayers,” she tells us. “I want you to write your prayer request in private and I don’t want you to share it with anyone. This is between you and God.”
We end with a song. Because there are no instruments and Maria is standing next to me, I can hear her voice clearly. Her voice floats through the room, harmonizing with the rest of us, making us sound better. “Don’t forget to bring your assignment to afternoon Bible study,” Erica says as we leave.
We have one hour of free time and then lunch before afternoon Bible study. “Let’s go find Ricky and Danny,” Maria says.
We walk to the game room and there they are, taking turns at the air hockey table. Danny and Ricky are competing. Jay is standing on the side of the table, waiting for his turn. Maria stands next to Ricky and starts chanting like a cheerleader. “My man is going to win, Danny, I hope you know that!”
“Whatever, Maria,” Danny says. “Your boy ain’t got nothin’ on me. I’m gonna beat him real good.” He hits the puck hard and it goes in. Ricky cusses and then covers his mouth, realizing he just cursed at a church camp.
Jay starts laughing. “And everyone is worried ’bout how I’m gonna act,” he says. Jay is right. All the adults watch him like he can’t be trusted. “What are you doing for the rest of the break?” Jay asks me.
“I don’t know. Watch my brother beat you and Ricky,” I say, smiling.
“You got jokes, huh? I bet Danny won’t beat me.”
“Whatever.”
“Watch. You gonna owe me,” Jay says.
“Owe you what?”
Jay shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”
“And if Danny wins?”
“I’ll owe you something.”
Maria hears us and gives me a look and then she smiles big like she did last night when she was talking about Ricky. “I’m going to go do my assignment,” she says. She winks at me. “See you later.” She walks away, giggling, and I hope Jay doesn’t notice.
Ricky hits his puck against the slippery table. The red circle almost flies into Danny’s slot, but Danny quickly stops it and hits it hard, sending it back to Ricky’s side and it goes in. “Dang it!” Ricky shouts.
“My turn,” Jay says. He looks at me. “Sure you wanna watch?”
“Ha-ha.” I stand there, waiting for Danny to beat Jay, but this time he loses.
Danny steps back from the table. “Your turn,” he says to Ricky. “I’ll catch up with you guys at lunch. Ivan wanted to talk to me about something.” He walks away.
Ricky takes Danny’s place. “All right, I’m ’bout to make a comeback.” He starts another game with Jay. Jay scores first.
