“I’m not scared!” I yelled.
“Then prove it.”
“I don’t have to.”
“Scaredy-cat, scaredy-cat!”
“Fuck you,” I said, running away, racing from the park, from his snaggletooth taunts. His voice trailed after me in the wind.
“Oooh, Rae said a bad word! Rae said a bad word! I’m gonna tell yo’ Daddy, Rae of Sun!”
I ran with all my might until I was a dot to Terrance. I stretched my arms straight out, rushing against fresh-flying wind for block after block. I wanted to race across an imaginary finish line—where the reward was hugs of congratulations followed by dinner around the table with my mother and father and sister, our loving voices all talking at once, outstretched hands grabbing at freshly baked rolls, silverware clinking. When I got a cramp in my side, I stopped, plopping onto the ground to catch my breath before dragging myself home.
When Nolan arrived that particular evening and blew his horn out front, Kimmie walked down the stairs wearing a midnight blue halter dress in a clingy knit that came down to her ankles. I will never forget that dress, its silver threads covering the bodice, its silhouette of Kimmie’s soft curves. There she found Mama sitting on the landing, blocking her path and smoking.
“I want to meet him,” said Mama, her voice low, but strong.
“We have a big concert to go to tonight,” said Kimmie. “Stevie Wonder and Azteca are playing at Pine Knob! We can’t be late.”
Her hair was pinned up, bouncy Shirley Temple curls escaping on the sides; she was wearing Rhonda’s white clogs and looking like Barbie about to open the door to her mystery date.
“I know who’s playing at Pine Knob, and I know you can spare five minutes.” Mama took a short drag from her cigarette. “Stevie never starts on time. And he plays for hours.”
Kimmie shrugged. “I’ll see what he says. But you’ve got to let me by first.” With her hair up like that, I noticed how Kimmie’s shoulder blades jutted out, how wispy the baby hair was at the nape of her long neck.
“It’s not for him to decide.” Mama scooted out of Kimmie’s way. “I said I want to meet him, so tell him to come in.”
Kimmie turned back to Mama. “Vy, he’s a grown man. I can’t tell a grown man what to do.”
“But you’re not quite grown, and I can still tell you what to do.”
Kimmie huffed, headed toward the door, swung it open, then stepped outside, closing the door quietly but with force. I wondered if she’d bother to come back at all. But Mama waited patiently, taking another long slow drag, her legs crossed as one swung back and forth. Sure enough, Kimmie’s key eased back into the door, and they walked in together. Holding hands. The fisted pick was gone from Nolan’s Afro, which was now perfectly round and shiny and still see-through. Mama looked up at him, and I could tell she was startled. She hadn’t expected someone so dark-skinned, so far from her idea of pretty.
“This is Nolan,” said Kimmie.
“Hello, Mrs. uh….”
“Dodson,” said Mama.
“Mrs. Dodson. Nice to meet you.”
Mama nodded. “Nolan, huh? What’s your last name?”
“Bland.”
“Your last name is Bland?”
Nolan smiled. “Yes, and I’m anything but!”
“Is that so? I’ll bet you’re not still in high school.”
“Graduated a few years ago.” He and Kimmie were still holding hands.
“How many years ago?”
“In sixty-eight. I’m twenty-two, in case you’re wondering.”
“And where do you live?”
“On Van Dyke.”
“That’s the east side.”
Nolan half nodded. “Correct.”
“I suppose you’ve seen some things.”
“I don’t see what the point of all this is,” said Kimmie.
“Oh, there’s a point.” Mama put out her cigarette in the little cut-glass ashtray she held in the palm of her hand.
Kimmie shifted her weight.
“It’s okay,” said Nolan. “I’m not ashamed of where I live. Or anything else.”
“Oh?” said Mama.
Kimmie sighed heavily, trying to appear exasperated rather than nervous. “Are we dismissed yet?”
“In a minute.” Mama uncrossed her legs, gave Nolan the eye. “Take pride in this, Nolan Bland. If I ever hear about you sneaking into my basement again, I’m going to treat you like a burglar, blow your head off with my pink-handled forty-five, then call the police and tell them to come clean my carpet. Understand?”
Shock moved across Nolan’s face as he nodded. Then he smiled, impressed. “I sure do.”
Kimmie’s mouth dropped. “I don’t believe you said that! What is wrong with you?” She pulled Nolan toward the door. “I told you she was crazy!” Kimmie stamped past us both, Nolan at her heels.
“The pleasure was all mine, Mrs. D.,” he said over his shoulder. “I like a strong black woman!”
“Just don’t forget what I said!” Mama yelled as they rushed out. “Or else.” Nolan slammed the door on her warning.
Once they left, I sat with my mother and listened to the sounds coming through the open window: Kimmie and Nolan running down the porch steps, the doors of his Karmann Ghia opening and closing, the ignition turning, the motor revving, then backfiring. We listened to the sudden burst of War singing “Slipping into Darkness” on the tinny car radio, their harmonic voices growing fainter as the car putputted down the street, out of earshot. When the sounds of them were all but gone, still hanging like an afterthought in midair, Mama stood, turned without a word, and climbed the stairs. It was an elegant ascent, and I have it locked into my mind even now—the sight of Mama’s long legs taking the stairs one at a time, both deliberate and defiant, until she disappeared around the landing and then, whoosh, closed her bedroom door. I sat there for some time, awed by my mother’s audacity and never again more proud of her.
Days passed. Kimmie still didn’t speak to me. Bruised, I picked a fight with Terrance, finally putting an end to his teasing. “Scaredy-cat, scaredy-cat, where have you gone?” he sang. “Scared—”
I pushed him. Hard. He fell down, sat on the ground a full minute, dumbfounded. Apparently, his mother had taught him to never hit girls, and I could see him coming up with a substitute for the sticks and stones he couldn’t throw to break my bones.
“Everybody knows your daddy is a bum with no job!” he yelled as he took off.
I chased him for two blocks, determined to scratch huge welts across his face before I got a stitch in my side and gave up pursuit. I limped home exhausted and angry.
By dusk, I was sitting on the back porch playing with my Paddle Ball, the repetitious bonk, bonk, bonk sound a type of sedative for my own naughty nerves.
Out of nowhere, Kimmie appeared. “Want me to comb your hair?” she asked. “It’s a mess.”
Miss Queenie hadn’t been around all summer, let go in Mama’s early throes of domestic exuberance—which ranged from cooking battered-covered dinners to shopping for groceries to hosting a card party—and as a result I hadn’t had my hair combed in weeks. Instead, I just brushed it into a ponytail every day to mask the neglect. Gratitude flooded my scalp, and I nodded, hoping she’d find a little dandruff to scratch. Kimmie, big black comb in hand, sat me between her legs and pulled out the rubber band holding my hair together.
“I had a fight today,” I said.
“Who with?”
I told her all about Terrance as she raked the comb through my tangled hair. It hurt more than I wanted her to know, but I had to finally grab her hand in self-protection.
“How’d you get to be so tenderheaded with all this kinky hair?” she said.
“Let me go get the Hair-So-New,” I offered, jumping up from the torture of her comb, running to the powder room, returning with the bright pink bottle of de-tangler.
I got back between Kimmie’s legs, and she sprayed so much Hair-So-New onto my
hair that it was soon dripping wet. But the combing was painless, and I relaxed, leaning into her thighs. We sat like that for several minutes, the two of us saying nothing as she worked. What Kimmie did finally say hurt worse than any comb ever could.
“Daddy Joe sure has changed.”
“Changed how?”
“Well, when he and Vy first got married, he was different. For one thing, he was slim and trim. Can you believe it? And he didn’t just lie around in that den all the time. We used to do all sorts of cool things together. He took me to ride the bumper cars at Edgewater Park and to the Henry Ford Museum and the Michigan State Fair, and once we drove all the way to Mackinac Island. He even taught me how to shadow box! He was sooooo nice.” Kimmie shook her head. “Boy has he changed.”
“He still is nice,” I insisted.
“Humph!!! Hardly. He threatened my boyfriend with a baseball bat! No respect for another man. I mean I had to really talk to Nolan. He wanted to…well don’t even get me started on what he wanted to do. He says the older generation needs to be taught a lesson or two from the younger generation. That it’s our job to question authority. Authority led us into Vietnam, you know? Anyway, I told him to leave Daddy Joe alone. He’s just a sick old man.”
I despised Nolan. He was the first person in my life I felt true hatred for, and it made me shake. I wanted him to die. “Well, you weren’t supposed to be alone in the basement with him!” I shouted at Kimmie.
“And you’re not supposed to be a tattletale.”
“I’m not a tattletale!”
“Oh come on, Rae Rae. Everyone knows you tell your daddy everything.”
“That’s not true!!!”
“And I’ll bet you keep all his secrets, don’t you?”
“His secrets?”
“His secrets,” repeated Kimmie. She paused. “Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Don’t you think you’re a little old to still be sleeping with Daddy Joe?”
“I’m going to stop on my next birthday,” I said, hurt.
“I should hope so,” said Kimmie. “You’re about to be in the fourth grade!”
I fumed as Kimmie concentrated hard on creating a perfect part down the center of my head. When done, she gathered my hair on one side into a ponytail, began braiding it. Hiding beneath my wild mane, I fought with myself not to cry.
“Rae Rae?” she said. “Does he ever…touch you?”
“Who?”
“Him. Daddy Joe.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m just asking if….” She was pulling my hair tightly as she spoke. “Well, if he does anything that makes you uncomfortable?”
I tried to pull away, but her fingers were intertwined in my hair.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“…. Does he ever touch your private parts?”
“What are those?”
“You know. Your chest or your bottom.”
“Why would he do that?” I thought about having seen his penis and wondered if Kimmie somehow knew this. Then something else occurred to me. “Did your papa used to touch your private parts?” I asked.
Kimmie sighed. “Of course not. But I didn’t sleep with my papa every night either.” She sounded strange, almost jealous. She took a ribbon from her own hair, wrapped it around my freshly braided ponytail.
“Fathers don’t do that kind of thing anyway,” I said, sure of it.
“No, they usually don’t,” said Kimmie. “Unless they’re not really your father.”
I jerked around so I could look into Kimmie’s dancing eyes and ask why she was acting so ugly. But as I turned, I saw Daddy standing in the doorway, wearing a red silky undershirt. Even through the screen door, his face was scary—jet black eyes glaring hard, thin lips a straight line. Kimmie turned, let out a tiny gasp. The way he looked at her made my flesh crawl. He moved away from the door.
That night, Daddy insisted I sleep beside him in the pulled-out sofa bed. “You getting a little heavy for my back,” he said. The mattress was cold, and it took a lot of tossing and turning before I could fall asleep. I didn’t know then how much it hurt him to give up a simple pleasure he’d shared with his little girl, to have to discard it because her sister had sullied it. At some point in the darkest part of the night, I awakened to the sound of a motor turning over. I sat up. Daddy was gone. When I leaned out the open window, I saw him taking off in Oldie. This time, he hadn’t even bothered to push the car to the corner. He revved the motor right there, flagrant in his escape. I had an urge to run after him, tell him to wait for me. But I didn’t. Instead, I returned to the sofa defeated—my body no longer enough to keep Daddy from leaving in the night.
He returned, to my relief, later the next day. But he was different; something in him had shifted. As the days passed, I watched him closely. He didn’t bother to circle ads in the Michigan Chronicle’s classifieds, didn’t talk about “gettin’ outta Dodge,” didn’t do much at all but read Manchild in the Promised Land, which he’d read a zillion times already. Worst of all, he had me sleep beside him every night, his back to me. Where had he gone that night? To the baby blue frame house with the flower boxes in the window? Had he banged on her door until she answered and insisted she and Josie run away with him? Had the new man stood between them and demanded he go away? Had there been heated words exchanged, a choice made?
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Daddy, have you picked a place for us yet?” I asked one evening as he turned a page of his paperback.
“I’m not going no goddamned where,” he said. “I’m staying, and you’re staying.” He took a swig from his Pepsi-Cola, turning the bottle upside down so the pop flowed down his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing. He drained the bottle, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why should I be forced out? Hell, let them leave. They planning to anyway.”
I was not relieved by this news the way I would’ve been weeks before, when I was more naive. Now, I worried that Daddy didn’t love me the same way anymore, couldn’t love me the same way as long as we stayed in this house, where things had been said. I couldn’t bring myself to unpack my suitcase. I left it as it was, hidden underneath my bed.
When she saw me, she jumped. I’d caught her staring at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her bright eyes, wet from tears, were like liquid jewels.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing!”
“Why are you crying?”
“Get out!”
As Kimmie turned toward me, I saw purple blotches on the side of her face.
I gasped. “What happened to you?”
“Shhhh! Me and Nolan had a little thing, that’s all.”
“He hit you?”
“He just got upset because I was driving his car home and I had an accident in it. Not a big accident, a little one, but…” She sat on the toilet lid and held her hands out to me.
“But you said you weren’t going to drive anymore.”
“He made me. Said I had to get over my fear, and then, I don’t know, he started barking orders at me, and I got so nervous…it’s really okay.” Her voice cracked.
I nodded, but it was not okay. Daddy had told me long ago what weakness for men led to.
“I was really paying attention, you know?” Kimmie blew her nose on a piece of toilet paper. “But he yelled at me, and before I knew it, I side-swiped a parked car as I was turning a corner.” She snapped her finger. “Just like that.”
“He can’t do that to you! I’m telling Daddy!” I turned to run and wake him, but Kimmie grabbed my arm, yanked me toward her, held me tight at both elbows.
“Listen, Rae Rae, you cannot say anything to anybody about this, you hear me? Huh, do you?” She shook me a little. “Do you?!”
“O-Okay…,” I mumbled. Her desperation stunned me. “But what’s going to happen?”
“Nothing. We talked, and things are fine. Stuff like this happe
ns when you both love each other so much. It was just a misunderstanding, and it’ll never happen again. He promised.”
I looked at her blotchy face. “Kimmie,” I whispered. I had to know. “Why’d you ask me that question about Daddy?”
She paused. “Oh. Rae Rae, I’m sorry about that. Nolan put that in my head. He gets these wild ideas sometimes.”
“But why’d you say it?”
She closed her eyes, opened them. “Nolan wanted to cool things off for a while after Daddy Joe caught us, and…the whole thing got me upset, ’cause I really, really love Nolan and I don’t want to lose him.” She looked over at me, her eyes dancing, skin aflame. “You’ll understand more when you get to be a teenager.” She grabbed my hand. “Now you have something on me, and if I ever do anything you don’t like, if I ever say anything bad about your daddy again, you can tell on me,” she whispered. “Until then, it’ll be our secret.”
She stood, gently eased me out of the powder room. “Let’s both just go to bed.”
And so we did—she to her bed upstairs, I to mine below, holding Kimmie’s secret deep in my belly. To help me fall asleep, I thought about all the ways in which Nolan could die.
When Kimmie came out of her room the next day, her usually long wavy black hair was teased and stringy and limp, an obviously failed Afro that flopped around her forehead and cheeks—and covered the bruises on her face. She caught my eye and brought her finger up to her lips.
How dare that piece of east-side ghetto shit put his hands on you!” Mama yelled at Kimmie, trapping her inside her room a day later. As it turned out, Rhonda was the one who told Kimmie’s secret.
“It’s none of your business!” yelled Kimmie.
“Oh, it’s my business all right. You’re my business.” Mama stood beside a poster of Jimi Hendrix, wringing her hands. “This is just something else to tear up my nerves.”
“Who says you have to deal with it?” said Kimmie. “You haven’t even been in my life for five years!” Kimmie’s desire to protect Nolan had made her vulnerable and mean like a cornered bitch with newborn puppies.
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