Monday's Not Coming

by Tiffany D. Jackson

  On the top on the left was a bathroom. On the right, a closed door, maybe a closet.

  “In here,” April said from down the hall as I glanced back down at the wreckage and the door I wanted to sprint through.

  She turned on a noisy overhead fan light in a bedroom. I stepped inside, gaping before my arms went limp.

  First thing I noticed was that there were no bunk beds. Just three twin beds forming a U around a room, so low they might as well have been mattresses on the floor, sheets bunched up and dangling off. Curtains hung sideways, blinds blackened by dust. Candy wrappers, bags of chips, and empty soda bottles lay scattered across the floor. The light gray walls felt like an incoming fog, with a rainbow of crayon scribble drawn at knee height. And even though we were on a whole other floor, I could still hear the freezer humming from downstairs, as if it sat right next to us.

  No Monday.

  “Come on, April,” I said, my voice small. “Quit playing. Where is she?”

  April leaned against the door frame, hands hidden behind her.

  “Don’t you see her?” she chuckled. “She’s all over the place.”

  I swallowed, the smell a painful distraction. No way Monday lived here, I thought. She couldn’t stand the sight of a dish in the sink at my house. She swept and vacuumed without ever being asked, made my bed whenever she slept over.

  “That’s her bed,” April said, nodding to the one closest to the door. I couldn’t help sitting on it. Just to see life from her point of view. Her sheets were rough, dusty, like they hadn’t been used in forever.

  April watched with an intense stare. “You want something of hers? To remember her by?”

  The words cracked through my brave front.

  “Remember her? You mean . . . she’s not coming back?”

  April said nothing, just stared.

  My lower lip trembled as tears spilled. I leaned forward, the chest pains too much to bear. I had so much I needed to tell her. I needed one more day, one more moment.

  My hand slipped, hitting something hard under her pillow. Her journal, like the one she gave me. Pink with swirls and glitter. I touched the gold padlock.

  “Where’s the key?” I sniffed.

  April rubbed her arms with a sigh. “Still with her.”

  I clutched the journal to my chest, stuffing it into my book bag as I stood.

  “Where is she? Just tell me,” I begged. “Did CFSA take her away? Is she with her aunt? Just tell me!”

  April swallowed, her eyes wild and frantic, tears pooling. I stepped closer. At any moment, she’d fall, and I was ready to catch her.

  But then the front door creaked and slammed shut. Mrs. Charles’s voice roared over the freezer. “April! Where your ass at?”

  Our gasps stole all air in the house.

  “Shit, she’s home!”

  One Year Before the Before

  On the car ride back to drop Monday home, we’d always found some go-go song to sing from the top of our lungs. “Pieces of Me,” by Rare Essence stayed on repeat most Sunday afternoons. Daddy would drum along, laughing at the notes we attempted to hit of the Ashlee Simpson remix.

  “Pop quiz, ladies!” Daddy said, turning down the music. “What famous go-go band started over there in Ed Borough?”

  I shrugged at Monday, who only grinned. “I don’t know. Who?”

  “The Junk Yard Band,” Monday laughed. “Girl, everyone knows that!”

  “For real?”

  “Yup,” Daddy said. “Used to go see them play when I was a kid. Got they start with nothing but the trash cans and spoons. They wanted me to join them.”

  “Really? Why didn’t you? We would’ve been rich!”

  Daddy laughed. “Well, my mother wanted me to go to college, and I’d be a plum fool to turn down a football scholarship. But after I hurt my knee, I came on back home, saw them in concert, and picked up right where I left off. Music got funny a way of reminding you of what you thought you lost.”

  Daddy slowed down as we approached the entrance of Ed Borough, our music replaced by loud chanting. A growing crowd of protestors gathered with huge neon green signs that screamed “SAVE ED BOROUGH! It’s community. It’s home!”

  “We need repairs, not be demolished!” a man on a bullhorn shouted.

  “Daddy, what’s happening?” I asked, rolling down the car window.

  “Don’t know, Sweet Pea,” he mumbled, bringing the truck to a full stop next to man passing out flyers. “Aye, young, what’s up?”

  The man shook his head. “City passed the legislation.”

  “Damn, for real?”

  “Look! There’s April!” Monday whispered, pointing out the window.

  April stood on the corner with Tuesday in her stroller and August, tugging at his clothes like they were burning his skin. Monday and I jumped out the back seat to join them.

  “April, what’s going on?” Monday asked as we ran up.

  April huffed, waving off the crowd. “White people trying to buy up Ed Borough.”

  “What?” Monday gasped. “What does that mean? Can they . . . really do that?”

  April shrugged, tucking Tuesday’s Doc McStuffins blanket around her.

  “Government can do whatever they want. No one owns nothing around here.”

  Monday pales, the happy girl in the back of the car long gone. The crowd cheered as speakers passed around the mic warning of eviction notices, bulldozers, flattening Ed Borough down to a parking lot. My stomach tightened at the sight of the camera crews.

  “So . . . we got to leave?” Monday asked, a crack in her voice. “They gonna kick us out of our house?”

  April blinked as if someone clapped in front of her face. She held Monday’s shoulder, bending eye to eye. The most affection I’d ever witness her give her sister.

  “Day Day, chill. Don’t worry about it! Ain’t gonna happen.”

  My stomach clenched tighter, icy jealously creeping up my veins. I should be the one comforting Monday, not April.

  Monday rubbed August’s head as he squirmed under her. “But where we gonna go?”

  “You can stay with me,” I jumped to offer, attempting to hold her hand. “I can ask Ma and Daddy.”

  April eyes narrowed. “You don’t need to ask them nothing. We straight!”

  Monday’s eyes flicked away as she let loose of my hand.

  “Claudia, maybe you should . . . go home now,” she mumbled.

  The wall she put up had a purple haze. I thought we shared everything, no secrets, ever. April grabbed Monday’s chin to face her. “Hey! I said don’t worry about it, didn’t I? I’ll take care of it. Don’t I always take care of it?”

  “Yeah,” Monday said, holding back tears.

  April took a deep breath, glancing over at the crowd. She spotted a group of boys chilling near the path heading to the courts. She bit her lip as if wincing at a paper cut.

  “Take Tuesday back to the house,” she ordered. “It’s cold out here.”

  Monday followed her gaze and frowned.

  “April . . . don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” I asked, confused.

  April and Monday shared something unsaid. But that couldn’t possibly be, when Monday and I were the only ones that had a bond like that. Right?

  “You know I spent a grip on y’all’s uniforms this year,” April said. “Now, take Tu Tu back in the house. I’ll be home soon.”

  She sped off before Monday could stop her. Monday, mashed with disappointment, could only watch.

  “Where’s she going?” I blurted out.

  Monday sighed, shoving the stroller ahead.

  The Before

  “April!” Mrs. Charles hollered. “Where this girl at?”

  April closed the bedroom door. The TV clicked on. Cartoon Network on blast, yet somehow you could still hear the strange buzzing of the freezer.

  “You gotta hide!” she whispered. “Under the bed, now!

  She lifted the sheet up off the floor to a blac
k hole under Monday’s bed. My mind scrambled.

  “You crazy, I can’t!”

  “You have to!”

  “April! I know you hear me calling you!” Mrs. Charles barked, her voice creeping closer. The stairs creaked.

  “Hurry,” April whispered, near tears, waving me on.

  “But how am I gonna get out of here?”

  “I don’t know, but my mom will kill us both if she finds you in here.”

  The way she said that made it seem possible.

  “Oh my God. Monday . . .”

  Her eyes grew big and pleading before she grabbed my arms, pulling me close. “Look, last time I saw her alive was with your mom.”

  “My mom?” I gasped. “What? When?”

  “Last summer. Now, come on, hurry up, go!”

  “APRIL!” Mrs. Charles screamed, her voice hot on our necks.

  No time to think or ask more questions, I ducked under the bed, crawling close to the wall, the floor covered in crumbs and black pellets of mouse shit. The mattress reeked.

  April smoothed the sheet down before the door swung open. It cracked against the bed, creating a gust of wind that swept more dust underneath it. A pair of black Reebok sneakers stood on the threshold and I clasped both hands over my mouth to stop myself from screaming.

  “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

  “I . . . I was sleep. I just woke up,” April stuttered, backing away.

  “You were sleep? In your sneakers?”

  April paused, crossing one foot over the other. “I—I just put them on.”

  “Hmm. Well, come on and help me with this child down here.”

  Mrs. Charles clunked back down the stairs. April stood frozen. She took a deep breath before walking out and closed the creaking door behind her.

  I cowered closer to the wall, my head bumping into something hard. A book. I grabbed and angled it toward the light to see the cover.

  Flowers in the Attic.

  I clutched it to my chest and tightened myself to the wall.

  Downstairs, Mrs. Charles flipped through channels while Tuesday let out little laughs. I counted down the minutes based on the shows she watched. Four episodes of The Simpsons . . . two hours, I lay hidden under the bed of my missing best friend, too afraid to move. The bedroom door too noisy, my feet too heavy, what if she heard me?

  “Tuesday, where you going?” April screamed.

  “Going to get my cup.”

  “Here! I got one right here for you,” April offered, her voice cracking. “You don’t have to go all the way upstairs. Come stay with me!”

  “No, I want mine!” she hollered, as little footsteps thumped up the stairs. She skipped in the room, pink lights twinkling on the bottoms of her gray sneakers, dulled by dry mud. I huddled closer to the wall, my heart drumming wildly. Tuesday hopped over to her bed, rummaging around before turning back, stopping short by Monday’s bed. Her feet were so close I’d only have to stick my finger out an inch to touch them. She leaped and the bed sank, her butt landing on my back. I held in a yelp, squeezing my eyes shut. She bounced three times, jumping off and skipping out of the room. Only then did I let out a gasp.

  Three more episodes of The Simpsons and my body ached to move out of the cramped space. Ma was probably looking for me. I didn’t leave breadcrumbs for her to follow. What if Mrs. Charles found me first? What would she do to me? Trembling, I let the tears fall, gripping Monday’s book, trying to comfort myself with her memory.

  Monday, how do I get out of here?

  “I snuck out the house last night.”

  “Are you for real? How you do that?”

  “I climbed out my bathroom window and jumped down.”

  “What? How you not dead?”

  “’Cause I jumped onto the trash cans right below.”

  The bathroom. It’s right by the stairs. And Tuesday left the bedroom door open.

  “You can do this,” I whispered, and slid from under the bed.

  The sound of Mrs. Charles cackling at the start of another episode made the hairs on the back of my neck spike. Time to act fast. I stuffed the book in my bag, peeking out the door and tiptoeing into the hallway. The TV and freezer were loud enough to mask my steps as I crept through the shadows, peering downstairs, taking in the strange family portrait: Tuesday on the floor, coloring with stubs of crayons, April frozen on the sofa, opposite of Mrs. Charles, drinking a fruit punch. I crept into the narrow bathroom, gently closing the door halfway.

  Just like Monday said, the window sat right above the toilet, the bathroom in the same state as the rest of the house: counter crowded with empty bottles of bodywash and used toothpaste tubes, the sink filled with hair. On the floor near the tub, I noticed an empty box of hair dye. The same one Monday had used over a year ago. My stomach sank. I closed the toilet seat, stepping on the edge of the tub to climb on top. Outside, night had fallen. Streetlights glowed down the path, toward Martin Luther King Boulevard. I unlocked the window and tried to lift. Stuck.

  “Don’t panic,” I told myself, squeezing my eyes tight, pushing my shoulder into it, but it wouldn’t budge. Monday was always so much stronger than me in every way.

  “Mom, where you going?” April yelled.

  I froze.

  “Mind your business! And why are you screaming? What’s wrong with you? Can’t I take a piss in peace?”

  The stairs creaked under her weight.

  Hide! I could hear Monday scream.

  I climbed off the toilet quick and jumped into the shower, pulling the curtain closed. The lights popped on, bouncing off mustard-yellow walls. I dropped and squeezed myself into a ball in the tub.

  Mrs. Charles stomped into the bathroom, grumbling, not noticing me through the small curtain opening. She landed hard on the toilet, and the lid hiccuped. I tightened the hold around my legs, remaining still as a rock. She would have only needed to extend her left arm to grab me by the hair.

  A few silent seconds—farts, smelly, loud and wet, echoed out the toilet bowl. My stomach heaved; I covered my mouth to keep from puking.

  “April!” Mrs. Charles hollered. “April! Come here.”

  April ran into the bathroom. “Yeah,” she mumbled with a cough, lifting a T-shirt over her nose.

  “Why didn’t you replace the toilet roll?”

  “I wasn’t the last to use it.”

  “You were home all day and you didn’t use the toilet? You a piece-of-shit liar! Go get me some!”

  Through the small opening of the shower curtain, April spotted me. Her shirt and mouth dropped.

  “What you standing there for?” Mrs. Charles screamed. “GO!”

  April hesitated and then sprinted downstairs. She rushed back with a wad of take-out napkins.

  “Here,” she said, eyes toggling from me to Mrs. Charles. My foot slid an inch on the porcelain, and I gripped the side of the tub, my nails breaking against the honeycomb tiles.

  “Well?” Mrs. Charles chuckled. “Are you gonna stand there and watch me? Get the hell out of here!”

  April took one last glance at me and slammed the door.

  My stomach flipped over twice, my head spinning, the room fading. Seconds from passing out, I heard the toilet flush, gurgling out fresh water. With a satisfied sigh, Mrs. Charles washed her hands at the sink. Just as I leaned forward to peer out, I slipped, and my sneaker squeaked against the porcelain. Frantically, I gathered myself back into a ball, holding my breath, muscles strangling around my neck. Maybe she hadn’t noticed.

  Mrs. Charles paused, water running over her frozen hands. The faucet shut off. She stood like a light post, listening to the silence.

  For ten seconds, the world stood still.

  She mumbled and shuffled back to the toilet. My heart stopped, picturing her hands inches from my neck. This is it, I thought, and I held in a whimper. But instead, she grunted and shoved at the window. It fought against her, whining, until it opened wide. Crisp air whipped in, sweet with relief.

 
Mrs. Charles dusted off her hands and stomped downstairs. I released my legs, slid onto my back, and stared up at the ceiling, gasping for air

  Get up. She’ll be back!

  I scrambled up on my knees, and peered out from behind the curtain at the open door. Mrs. Charles’s laugh carried upstairs.

  The toilet lid bent to my weight as I climbed on top and stuck my head out the window into the night sky, swallowing as much fresh air as my lungs could hold. Just as Monday said, two trash cans sat below. But the drop . . . how in the hell did she do this?

  Balancing myself with the shower rod, I stuck my left leg out, straddling the ledge. The fall looked worse up close—a straight nosedive to heaven.

  “I can’t do this, Monday,” I breathed. “I can’t. I . . .”

  That’s when the dying light of her sneaker caught my eye. I gasped, nearly losing my grip and falling out sideways. Tuesday stood frozen by the closet door, her little hand held up to knock.

  We stared at each other, my hands trembling until my whole body shook. Tuesday’s mouth hung open, as if at any moment she could scream my name.

  Either I fall to my death or that woman kills me.

  “Tuesday? Tuesday! Where are you?” April called in a panic.

  “Tuesday!” Mrs. Charles hollered.

  Tuesday jumped, her bladder letting loose, piss running down her strawberry leggings. I didn’t wait to witness the aftermath. I hopped feetfirst, dropping right into the empty trash can below, shrieking as it tipped over into the hardened snow.

  April

  If Daddy was a color, he would be a forest green—thick, lush, calm, whispering refreshing wisdom only few could hear.

  If Michael was a color, he would be bark brown—cocoa, mocha, chocolate, the color of earth. Quiet, supportive, but strong. A softness that love grows from.

  Together, they are the tree I lean on when I’m weary. The tree I swing from.

  The tree of life when surrounded by death.

  The Before

  Sometime after midnight, I stepped into the fire.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Ma screamed, marching out of the kitchen. “Your father’s out there looking for you now! What, you think you’re grown now, that you could go off on your own and don’t tell nobody? You got everybody calling everybody looking for your behind!”