Upside Down in the Middle of Nowhere

by Julie T. Lamana

  When I threw a look at Sealy to let her know her mouth was the size of the entire Gulf of Mexico, Khayla wandered away from us. I tried to point with my head and shifty eyes, but Sealy was too dimwitted to figure out what I was trying to tell her. She just kept staring at me like she was born yesterday.

  “Sealy,” I said with my teeth all clenched together. But just then, Khayla got swallowed up by the crowd of people shuffling from every corner of the stupid shelter to get up in the growing food lines. A stab of panic shot through me like it was tied to a rocket.

  “Khayla!” I screamed. But the second my fear hit the air, I seen my baby sister rise up over the tops of everybody’s heads, smiling all big with her hands wrapped around the top of good ol’ Mr. High Pockets’ silvery head. He had her up on his shoulders and by the looks of it, he was enjoying the ride as much as Khayla.

  Mr. High Pockets’ smile went from stretched across his freckly face to a smile that wasn’t so sure when he got a good look at me. He brought Khayla down off his shoulders and held her in one arm up against his side, situating her lime-green headband back into place on her frizzy head.

  There was an honest-to-goodness ache in my face trying to keep the stupid smile on there. But I had to, on account of Miss up-in-your-business Priscilla Nash watching everything.

  “My, oh my,” the woman said with both her hands folded up across her chest like it was her sister who almost got lost. “Thank goodness your daddy was right there!” She turned to look at me. “This man is your daddy, right?” I couldn’t look at her for more than a second, so I found a spot on the top of Khayla’s head to stare at instead.

  “Yep,” is all I said. I took Khayla from the man and set her down beside me, careful to keep a hand on her shoulder.

  Miss Priscilla Nash walked over to Mr. High Pockets. My brain was screaming: Why can’t this woman just leave us alone?

  “Hello,” she said, “My name’s Priscilla Nash.” She held out her hand and Mr. High Pockets shook it. “I’ve been chattin’ with your delightful children.”

  Lord have mercy. If Memaw didn’t say the words in my ear right then, I don’t know who did. Miss Priscilla Nash looked at each one of us, sprinkling her sweetness on us with her eyes. It was making me half sick.

  “I haffa use it, Ah-mani.” Khayla hopped from one foot to the next.

  “Okay, well, I hate to be rude,” I said, “but she really needs to go to the bathroom.”

  Miss Priscilla Nash looked slanty-eyed from me to Mr. High Pockets, who stood there with a lopsided grin on his face. The lady was most likely wondering why our white “daddy” wasn’t saying a single word.

  “Get your book sack, Sealy,” I said, avoiding the eyes of Miss Priscilla Nash.

  “My book sack’s on my back, silly.”

  I stopped all the fiddling I was doing and shot another look at Sealy. It was obvious by the sound of her voice that she didn’t have a clue that we were in big trouble if we didn’t hurry up and get away from that nosy woman in the red vest.

  Eyes poured down on me. I took a deep breath and tried to count to ten the way I’d seen Mama do a thousand times. Fake smiling and trying my best to sound not annoyed, I said, “Okay, well, let’s take Khayla to the bathroom then.” I rolled my eyes and my head went to sliding from one shoulder to the next. My head just did it, despite my good intentions.

  Miss Priscilla Nash and Mr. High Pockets were looking at me like I was crazy. I didn’t care. Right then, I felt crazy.

  I grabbed Khayla by the hand that she wasn’t using to hold herself and I walked right over and slipped my other hand into Mr. High Pockets’ leathery hand. I clomped off, heading to the stupid mile-long line for the bathroom. I never looked back at the lady I’d left standing there. Sealy scuttled up behind me and hollered, “It was very nice meeting you, Miss Priscilla Nash!”

  “Likewise!” the woman hollered back.

  “Whatever,” I said under my breath, walking as fast and meaningful as I could in the ugly boots.

  “What?” Sealy asked when she came up alongside of me.

  “We’ll see how nice it was to meet her when she hauls your babyfied butt to juvenile court or some foster home.” How could I explain to Sealy that I knew Miss Priscilla Nash was a nice lady? I’d seen it in her eyes. But nice people trying to do the right thing can be the most dangerous kinds of people. Memaw said so all the time. “Messy do-gooders like that can’t be trusted, Sealy.”

  Sealy stopped walking. I took a bunch more steps, then turned back to see her just standing there. “Come on, girl, Khayla needs to use it.” She did too. She was doing the potty dance, hopping from one foot to the other.

  “Why are you so mean, Armani? She’s a nice lady. She could help us.”

  A family carrying a stack of Styrofoam food containers walked right between me and Sealy, making it so I lost sight of her. I didn’t like the feeling that swept through me for that one second. The hungry family finally moved out of the way, and there she was, looking more pitiful than ever.

  “I ain’t mean, Sealy Jean Curtis. I’m tryin’ to look out for you, but you’re too young an’ dumb to understand that.” I turned and headed for the bathroom. Mr. High Pockets’ head looked heavy on his shoulders. He was shaking it with a huge frown scrunched up on his face.

  “I wish you weren’t my sister.” Sealy’s words boomed through the air for the whole world to hear and slammed into my chest. I didn’t hear nothing else except those hateful six words. No other people. No lights buzzing. No footsteps. No babies wailing. No noise at all. Just Sealy’s words, I wish you weren’t my sister.

  CHAPTER 38

  Me and Sealy went the whole day without speaking to each other unless we had to. I felt more alone than ever. It was fixin’ to be lights out again. The end of another long, frustrating day spent wasting away lying on them cots and walking in circles counting tiles, trying to figure out up in my head how I was gonna go about finding Mama and Daddy.

  Khayla still had the runs. Right after we ate disgusting tuna and crackers for lunch, she couldn’t make it to the toilet in time. But don’t you know, Miss Priscilla Nash showed up, like some kind of fairy godmother, with a new set of clean clothes for her.

  I helped little Khayla get into her pretty, new dandelion-yellow shorts set. The stretched-out lime-green headband didn’t match, but it was from Mama’s dress, so it stayed right where it was. Everything fit perfect. Mama would’ve been happy that Miss Nash had got the size right, especially on her first try.

  As soon as Miss Meddlin’ seen with her own two eyes how cute Khayla looked in her new clothes, she asked if we all wanted some. Sealy jumped up and down so crazy, it was embarrassing. If we would’ve been on speaking terms, I would’ve told my sister she’d made a begging fool out of herself. Memaw would’ve explained to Sealy that our daddy provides us with everything we need on account of his hard work, and the Curtis family sure didn’t need no handouts from nobody. But me and Sealy wasn’t on speaking terms just yet.

  I’d been seeing folks grabbing and taking whatever was being handed out, whether they needed it or not. I even seen one lady snatching up waters and shoving them into her shirt. I don’t know why—there was red-vested people handing out waters all day long like we were fish and couldn’t survive without it. Daddy would be making sure that we took only what we needed, leaving the rest for people less fortunate.

  When she came back with the bundles of new clothes for me and Sealy, I was grateful Miss Priscilla Nash didn’t ask why when I set my stupid pile up under my cot. I thanked the lady and admired how nice my sisters looked in their fresh new outfits. It was amazing how just by changing what they were wearing made such a difference.

  “Y’all are so welcome. Ain’t that somethin’ how I got the sizes right and everything?” It was obvious that Miss Priscilla Nash was just as pleased as punch with her own do-gooding.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sealy gushed. “I love my clothes. Thank you so much.” She ran over and
wrapped her arms around the woman’s waist. I had to admit, my sister did look cute in her khaki shorts and lavender tank top. Miss Nash had even brought a little sandwich baggie filled with new barrettes and hair ties.

  “Oh, sweetheart, it’s my pleasure.” She squeezed Sealy good and tight. She looked over at me and I remembered to smile. “Oh!” Miss Nash said with such a start that she all but pushed Sealy to the side. “I almost forgot the most important thing!” She looked at the floor from side to side till she found the white plastic bag. “I would lose my head if it wasn’t attached.”

  Sealy giggled. I watched, somehow dreading whatever it was that the woman had up inside that bag.

  Miss Priscilla Nash hurried up and swiped the bag to the backside of her, like she was hiding it. She cleared her throat and looked at me, big smile and all. I felt sick. “Armani, honey, I picked these out special for you. I sure hope you like ’em.” Out came the surprise from behind her back.

  “What is it, Armani?”

  I opened the bag and knew before I looked inside what it was.

  “Well, what is it?” Sealy could barely keep hold of herself.

  I closed the bag and held it out for Miss Meddlin’ to take back.

  The color of Tabasco red crawled up her ripe-banana-brown neck and spread into her cheeks, turning her whole face purple. “I . . . I don’t understand,” she stuttered. I could see the strain it was for her to keep the ridiculous smile in place. She never took the bag. I wanted to get right up in her face and scream, You don’t even know me! And you sure don’t know nothin’ about my boots!

  “What’s wrong? What’s in the bag, Armani?” Sealy said all nervous, looking from me to the busybody woman.

  “You wanna know what’s in the bag, Sealy?” I snapped, never taking my eyes off Miss Nash. I flung the bag at my sister. She caught it and right away looked inside.

  She held up the new white sneakers with sky-blue stripes and the bag floated to the floor. “Armani, it’s just shoes,” she said like she was giving me some new piece of information.

  “I don’t need shoes. In case y’all haven’t noticed, I’ve got shoes.” I held one foot up, to make sure they could see, and shook my foot in the air. The boot slid back and forth and almost fell off. I put my foot back down, knowing I’d made my point. I tore my eyes from the confused-looking woman and shifted my mad at simple-minded Sealy, who didn’t wanna be my sister no more. “Put the shoes back in the bag an’ give it back to Miss Nash so she can give them to someone who needs them.”

  Sealy just stood there staring.

  “Armani,” Miss Nash said slow and direct, “I’m here to help you.” A cry got stifled in her throat. “But I can’t help you if you won’t trust me.”

  “But why do you wanna help us? We didn’t ask for no help. You don’t even know us!” My eyes stung and I wished that she’d stop looking at me with them eyes of hers.

  She took a step toward me and I took a half step back. She stopped and gave me a tiny soft smile with her head leaning to one shoulder.

  I couldn’t look at her no more. “Fine. Whatever.” I snatched the shoes out of Sealy’s hands. I shoved them back in the bag and tied the bag shut. I put the bag up under my cot next to the pile of clothes I had no intention of wearing. Without taking my eyes off the floor, I said, “Okay, well, thank you.”

  Miss Priscilla Nash kissed her own hand and touched my cheek with it. “Things are gonna get better, child,” she whispered.

  The lights faded away, spreading the gray everywhere. It was aggravating the way the huge lights hugging the ceiling buzzed even louder at night than they did during the day when they were on full blast. But every night at nine o’clock, somebody hit a switch somewhere and turned our new sit-and-wait world the color of nightmares. Up in my head, when I talked with myself, I’d started using the word hell. I didn’t think Jesus would hold it against me on account of I wasn’t letting the word leave my mouth. Besides, I figured He already knew the truth about where we were anyhow.

  I was lying there on the rock-cot missing my life when I was nine when Sealy’s voice came floating over my way. She was telling droopy-eyed Khayla a story, but the part that made my ears perk up and pay attention was when she said, “It must have looked like this to Pinocchio when he found himself up inside the whale’s belly.”

  I pushed up on one elbow so I could look over to where Sealy was stroking Khayla’s forehead, staring up at the gray-soaked ceiling. A whale’s belly. That was exactly what it looked and felt like—and smelled like too—all musky and poopy and stinking like someone burned the red beans.

  I wondered what them sneakers felt like on the inside. I pushed all the air out from my lungs, then breathed in big and deep. I rolled over, said good-night in my head to Daddy, and Mama, and Georgie, and TayTay, and Memaw up in heaven, and forced myself to go to sleep . . . again.

  CHAPTER 39

  Thursday, September 1, 2005 – 6:28 A.M.

  “You must have prior approval to board the transport unit departing for Houston at eleven A.M. If you do not have your authorization code, please report to one of the transfer counselors immediately. Repeating: The first bus bound for Houston, Texas, will depart promptly at eleven A.M. You must have prior approval . . .”

  The voice boomed through the stuffy morning shelter air. I flipped onto my belly and tried to fold the stupid paper pillow over my head to cover my ears. I opened one eye. Sealy was standing over me, holding her journal, looking down with a look of worry spread across her face. I flopped over and sat straight up. “What? What’s wrong?”

  “You were crying and kicking in your sleep again.”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “Yes, you were. You can ask them.” I didn’t have to look to know she was pointing at the three MawMaws. They were always staring, and whispering, and shaking their heads like it was their job to watch over us.

  Khayla’s head popped up off the cot like it was on springs. I moaned. I wasn’t ready to get up. Even though my stomach was growling, begging for food, I wasn’t ready to start another long day of lugging fussy Khayla back and forth to the stinking bathroom, knowin’ good and well that something was wrong with her, and knowin’ at the same time there wasn’t nothing I could do about it without exposing the truth about my family. I reached over and pushed Khayla’s head back down on her cot and tried to shush her back to sleep.

  “I think Khayla needs to use the bathroom,” Sealy said in a tired voice and sat down next to Khayla. The girl didn’t have no good reason for being anything but rested.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and said, “Well, then, go on an’ take her.” It would’ve been nice to see her do something to help me out with our sister.

  “Never mind,” Sealy said. “I don’t think she has to go anymore.” She never took her face out from between the swirly green and white cover of her dumb journal. I stared at her wishing I was still a little kid so I could sit and scribble in a book all day.

  “Khayla, do you need to use it?” I’d only been up a few minutes and I was already aggravated.

  “No.”

  “Good,” I mumbled to the air, “then I’m gonna go.” I scooted and huffed and puffed, and slapped at the crinkly, useless pillow—fussin’ the whole time, trying to get up off my idiotic cot.

  “You can’t leave us here,” Sealy said in her Sealy way. “I’m too young, remember?”

  I wasted one of the best crusty looks I’ve ever made when I threw it over at Sealy. She didn’t see it ’cause the girl never looked up once, as far as I could tell. Whatever.

  Khayla came walking up behind me.

  I turned around, pointing my finger. “No, Khayla.”

  From behind her journal, Sealy said all sweet-like, “Come see, Khayla. Come see Sissy.” Khayla turned around and headed back to Sealy. I was fixin’ to tell her to put the journal away and pay attention to her baby sister, but right then she set the book down and planted them sad puppy eyes of hers on me. “Are you really
going to leave us by ourselves, Armani?”

  I turned away and started walking. “I’m so sick of doin’ everything. Can’t I just go to the bathroom one time by myself?” I was so wore down. “Y’all will be fine. You got them to watch ya.”

  I let out a tired sigh and waved at the three happy MawMaws.

  I hated being on that side of the shelter. There were too many red vests and too many sets of eyes and ears. I wiped beads of sweat off my forehead. I was thankful for the short line. I got in and out of the bathroom quick so I could hurry up and get back to our corner, where I felt safe.

  “Attention: The first bus bound for Houston, Texas, will depart promptly at eleven . . .” I don’t know why they kept making the same announcement over and over. It didn’t do nothing but add to the noise.

  I was trying to make my way through the people and fuss when a big ol’ woman pushed past me. Based on the size of her rear end, it was a good thing she didn’t find no part of me with her feet, or I would’ve been crushed to death for sure.

  “Hey!” I hollered. But by the time the words left my mouth, all I could see was the woman waddling away as fast as her short legs could go with a crying kid on her shoulder. A kid with a daffodil-yellow shorts set.

  My heart knock-knock-knocked up inside my chest.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Someone touched my shoulder.

  I never took my eyes off the huge backside shifting from side to side as the crazy woman zigzagged through the room of cots and people. My head went to thumping. I tried to take off running, but tripped over my own boot-covered foot and fell to the floor.

  “Whoa, girl. Slow down,” the person said, grabbing hold of my arm.

  “I—I can’t. I think that woman has my baby sister.” Panic filled my whole body when I said the words out loud.