Daughters of Jubilation

by Kara Lee Corthron

  She studies the cover and the song list for several seconds. “I like Neil Sedaka, I think. But his songs all sound the same to me,” Anne Marie reasons before handing it back to me. I’m gettin’ tired a bein’ in this store. She needs to make a decision or give up.

  “How ’bout this one?” I ask, handing her another one I just grabbed at random.

  She glances at it and then stares at me in disbelief.

  “Stonewall Jackson? You’re suggestin’ I buy an album recorded by a man who calls himself Stonewall Jackson?”

  “Oh, I—I thought it was somethin’ else,” I lie, and toss it back in the general direction of where I found it.

  “What you gonna recommend next? Greatest hits a the Confederacy?”

  “Well shoot, I might as well. So far nothin’ has impressed you. Are you sure you actually like music?” I ask.

  Anne Marie makes a face at me and continues to scrutinize every record in sight.

  “Evvie, what do you think a Dee Dee Sharp? Too teeny bopper?” she asks me.

  “I think she’s fine.”

  “Seriously!”

  “I seriously think she is seriously fine,” I tell her. I’m sorry, but it should not take forty minutes to pick out and buy one record. One! But this is what shopping with Anne Marie is like. I wouldna come at all, but she guilted me into it. Sayin’ she’s hardly seen me since her cookout, and she values my opinion. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, so I don’t tell her that I feel like we see each other all the time. And the party was only… well. Huh. Now that I think about it, that was like three weeks ago. Or four? Damn. Feels like it was a couple days ago.

  That might be cuz I been spendin’ every single free minute I have (with the exception of the last forty) with Clay, and he makes the time go fast. So fast that I want it to slow down. I want the minutes with him to last as long as possible, but I guess that ain’t scientifically possible. Unless—

  “EVVIE!”

  “Oh. What?”

  “What’s wrong with you? I been callin’ your name.”

  “Sorry. Jeez!”

  She’s standing several feet away and gestures urgently for me to come over to her. It takes all my strength not to roll my eyes as I join her by a stack of 45s.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask.

  Her eyes dart around behind me like she’s lookin’ for somethin’ she don’t wanna find. I start to turn around, but she grabs my arms, preventing me.

  “What the hell?”

  “I was tryna get your attention, cuz somebody was standin’ behind you.”

  I feel a slight chill despite the July heat. I have a feeling I know what she’s about to say.

  “He was just starin’ at you, and then he came up close behind you, and I yelled out for ya and he just turned around and left. It was the spookiest thing!”

  I swallow. “What did he look like?”

  “Weird. He was white. Real pale. And he had black hair and—”

  A small involuntary cry leaps from my throat. “Oh my god.” I pull her to the back corner of the store and hide us behind a tallish shelf. I peer out to see if I can catch a glimpse of him, but I don’t see him anywhere.

  “He’s gone, Evvie. What’s goin’ on?”

  “Remember the day you came to the Heywoods’ and I had the knife?”

  “Wait! That was him?”

  “Shhh!” I don’t know why, but I’m scared for anyone to overhear us. Though there’s hardly anybody in here, and Billy’s over behind the register bobbin’ to whatever’s playin’ in them giant headphones he’s got on. Lookin’ like a spaceman.

  “Yes,” I whisper. “He—he just—he keeps on—” I can’t seem to spit it out, and I’m all shaky. I can’t explain what he’s doin’, cuz I don’t even understand it.

  “Okay,” she whispers, as though I’d said something coherent. “Do you feel safe walkin’ down to the drugstore?”

  I nod automatically, but I do not feel safe right now.

  “Why don’t we go get a soda, and you can tell me about this freak if you want to. Only if you want to, okay?”

  “Okay.” I usually do feel better when I talk things out with Anne. She can get on my nerves sometimes, but she’s a good listener and she really cares. Not like a lot of people, just waitin’ for their turn to talk.

  She links arms with me, and we start to walk out of the store. Until she stops short.

  “What is it?”

  She picks up a record album and stares at it like she’s hypnotized. It’s Eartha Kitt’s Bad But Beautiful. Looks like a collection of her hits. Not somethin’ I would choose, but you never know what Anne Marie’s gonna like.

  “You should get it,” I tell her.

  Anne Marie traces the photo of Eartha with her index finger and just keeps starin’ like she’s in a trance. I nudge her and she jumps, lookin’ at me like she forgot I was standin’ there.

  “Yeah. Lemme get this real quick,” she says, making a beeline for the register. I follow her. Billy finally removes his headphones to take her money. Then he looks over at me.

  “What’s wrong? Didn’t you find nothin’ you liked?”

  I shake my head. “Nah, I’m broke. Just here for support.”

  “You sure? Cuz maybe we could work out a deal or somethin’?” he says.

  I sigh and cross my arms over my chest to keep his roaming eyes from gettin’ a good look.

  “No. Thanks.”

  I try to rush Anne outta the store once she’s paid up. It’s hard. She keeps on lookin’ in the bag to check on Eartha. Like she’s scared her new friend might hop out and run away. Never knew she was such a fan.

  * * *

  I sip my cherry soda. We can’t sit at the drugstore counter on account of our abundant melanin, so we sit in a booth in the back and take our sweet time. Anne nurses her lime rickey and watches me, concerned. I told her all about the incident at the lookout. All about how this weirdo has been appearing in places where I am. How he knows who I am.

  “And you have no memory of ever meeting him before this summer?”

  “None. Clay don’t know who he is either.”

  “Wow. That’s so scary.”

  “I know.” I sip the last of my soda, wishing I had more. Not because I want more, but just to have something else to focus on.

  She picks up her cigarette from the ashtray, inhales, and when she exhales, she tries to blow the smoke away from me. I still get some and try to cough as lightly as I can. She looks at me sheepishly.

  “Sorry, Evvie. You’re smart for never pickin’ up the habit,” she says. She sticks her arm out and flicks the cigarette, away from me. “And now they say it can cause cancer? It’s terrible. I wanna quit. I wish I had your willpower,” she says, inhaling again.

  I don’t tell her that it has nothin’ to do with my willpower and everything to do with my vanity. I’ve seen the yellow stains between Mama’s fingers and the permanent tint of gray on her teeth. Also, after a while, smokers start to stink. Not for me, thanks.

  “Well, for starters, I wouldn’t go up to the lookout anymore, if I were you. Especially after dark,” she says. I don’t say anything, and I know she just wants to help, but this bit of advice is ludicrous. Why in the world would anybody go up to the lookout during daylight hours?

  “And maybe you and Clay should stick to more populated areas. Or go out on some group dates? There’s safety in numbers.”

  I crack up for a second, but she just stares at me, confused.

  “Why’s that funny?”

  I wipe the smirk off my face cuz she looks so sincere.

  “That could get awkward,” I say.

  “Why?”

  I take a deep breath. “Anne? You honestly don’t know why Clay and me like to be alone?” I keep lookin’ at her, until it finally sinks in.

  “Oh,” she says. It’s one little sound—“oh”—but it’s filled with such melancholy. Her body drops back against the seat, and she just stares at me. Is sh
e disappointed in me? Judgin’ me? Probably. I just don’t need to hear some sanctimonious no-sex-before-marriage lecture right now. We’ll just have to agree to disagree.

  I shake my head and fiddle with my straw.

  “There’s nothin’ to be done about it,” I say, ignoring the look she’s still giving me. “The only thing I thought maybe I could do was…”

  “What, Evvie?”

  I wanna tell her. I wanna tell her about the strange magic that I know can protect me as soon as I figure out how to control it.

  “Nothin’,” I mutter.

  “No, tell me. What were you about to say?”

  I shift in my seat and think of what she might like to hear. “I was about to say, I thought I could… pray. Ask God for protection or whatever. But I don’t think that’s gonna be enough.”

  Anne reaches across the table and squeezes my hand.

  “I’ll pray too.”

  I’ve never had any intentions of sharing my secret gifts with most of my friends. They’d just think I was crazy or puttin’ ’em on. But I have thought about telling Anne Marie. And I would, if it weren’t for one problem: Anne Marie is a real churchgoer. An old church lady in trainin’. Now, I go to church myself, but only because I have to. She goes because she wants to. I’ve often wanted to tell her about me, but I always chicken out. What if she decides I’m possessed by the devil or somethin’? I’d hate for her to start seein’ me differently or, worse yet, to be scared a me. So I keep it to myself. As for her, I don’t mind her being devout, but if she starts fallin’ down, speakin’ in tongues and shit, I don’t know. That might be a bridge too far.

  “You should tell your mother, Evvie.”

  “So she can lock me in the basement for the rest of my life?”

  “You need to get an adult involved. I can tell my parents. Maybe my dad’ll have some ideas. He was in the army.”

  “Please don’t. All you gotta do is tell one person, and before ya know it, half the town’s in my business!”

  “Then what are you gonna do?”

  I don’t feel like discussin’ this anymore. I have to handle it my way. Mama has enough to worry about, and I truly hate the idea of becoming fodder for gossip. I don’t know what to do yet, but I’m not gonna figure it out right now, so it’s best to let it go and move on. She listened, which is what I needed. She can’t do anything beyond that.

  “Maybe I’ll talk to Mama about it,” I lie, to end the conversation.

  She sighs, instant relief. I think she still believes parents can take care of everything. Bless her heart.

  We head for the door, and Anne stops to flip through a Life magazine. The woman behind the counter glares at her, cuz I’m sure she wants Anne to cough up the twenty cents instead of readin’ the whole thing in the store. Psh! I hope she stands there and reads every word. While she’s distracted, I visit another aisle and pick up a box of tampons. I haven’t been usin’ ’em for long; I don’t think Mama knows yet, but I had to make the switch. I’m just tired a wearin’ pads that feel like big ol’ diapers. Like the one I got on right now.

  I place it on the counter and take out my wallet. In a heartbeat, Anne Marie’s by my side, eyeballin’ my purchase. She turns to me, and I do believe her eyes are about to pop right outta her head.

  “What?”

  The register girl gives me the same look she gave Anne a few minutes ago. Maybe that’s just her face. She stuffs the box in a brown paper bag, then wraps it in another one. Just to be safe, she drops it into an even larger paper bag. She slides it across to counter to me like it’s radioactive waste.

  I sigh and take it. We leave.

  “You goin’ home or what?” I ask her.

  She shrugs with this weird, haughty expression.

  I stop in the middle of the sidewalk. She’s surprised but stops too.

  “Why’d you stop?” she asks me with that same haughty air.

  “I’m not takin’ another step until you tell me what’s wrong with you.”

  “Me? Nothing at all.”

  “Oh for the love of—will you just say it already?”

  “Fine! I’ve never met somebody who uses tampons before! It’s a little odd.”

  “Not really! I just got sick a the damn belt! That’s all.”

  “I just thought this would be somethin’ that you mighta discussed with me before just doin’ it.”

  It takes all my strength not to start laughin’, but I manage. She’s truly upset about this.

  “Maybe if we were twelve. I can make my own decisions now, and I know you can too.”

  Her mouth draws into a line, and she starts walkin’ real fast.

  “Why are you mad at me?”

  She increases her speed, so I have to do the same. It is another hot day, and I am in no mood for this foolishness!

  “Anne Marie, stop it right now.”

  She halts, arms crossed. She turns toward me but won’t meet my eyes. All I have to do is put some heat in my voice, and she’ll listen. She’s like that. Programmed to comply instantly with anything resembling authority. I’m glad, cuz I was a second away from stopping her in an entirely different way.

  “Tell me why this is a problem for you,” I demand.

  She taps her foot on the ground. She’s shaking.

  “I feel like—I feel like you’re changin’ so fast, I can’t keep up.” Her voice quivers now.

  “I’m not changin’. Really I’m not. Just cuz we prefer different feminine hygiene products, doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends.”

  In spite of herself, this makes her laugh. Then we both break into laughs.

  “No.” She regains her grave face. “Don’t make fun a me.”

  “I’m not makin’ fun a you,” I assure her. “I just wanted you to laugh. I’m tryna understand where you’re comin’ from, and I’m havin’ a hard time.”

  Anne looks at me now, but instead of lookin’ angry, her face is apologetic.

  “You’ve never had a boyfriend before,” she mumbles.

  Her thoughts are all over creation today!

  “No. I guess not. I did go out with that kid from St. Mary’s last year. Eugene? Was that his name?”

  “Yeah, once or twice. That doesn’t count. You can’t even remember his name, which was—”

  “Wait wait wait! Lemme try again.” I concentrate, tryna remember this poor boy’s name. Even his face I’m strugglin’ to picture.

  “Emery!” I say.

  “Close. Chester.”

  “Oh yeah,” I giggle, a little embarrassed. “Well, I knew there was a e in there somewhere.”

  “Yep. You got the vowels down. Now ya just gotta work on rememberin’ the consonants.”

  We’re both laughin’ again.

  “Regardless, boyfriend or not, you’re my girl. That ain’t gonna change.”

  She smiles at me.

  “Before you know it, somebody’s hairy knuckles’ll be knockin’ down your door—”

  “No, they won’t, and please don’t do that,” she says. “I can handle a lot, but please don’t condescend to me.”

  I nod. Feelin’ chastised and rightfully so. I didn’t mean to do that, but it’s no excuse.

  “Well. I hope Mr. Clayton Alexander Jr. appreciates all the time he gets to spend with you,” she says.

  “Come on.” I throw my arm around her shoulder and lead her down the street.

  I think we’ve talked enough about boyfriends and tampons and creepy guys for one afternoon, so I try to think of a new subject. Up ahead, I spot the old post office, and I wonder if my history buff friend knows its story.

  “Anne? Do you know how long the old post office has been there?”

  She squints for a second, thinking.

  “I don’t know too much about the foundation, but the building’s been standing since 1796.” She tells me about its many incarnations, and I enjoy learning about each one.

  11 Haints

  DREAMS UNNERVE ME. ’SPECIALLY th
ese days. Most nights, I just wanna sleep. I don’t want dreams gettin’ in the way a that. Cuz I honestly can’t always tell the difference between my dreams and my realities. So how the hell am I ever sposeta get any rest?

  Early this morning, for example. I was out in a big field. You’d assume that this was just a typical dream. Except every one of my senses experienced that field in a real, concrete way. The wet dew on my bare feet (I wish my subconscious understood the value of shoes). The smell of hay and saturated earth, like from a pond or river, though I saw none of the above. Sounds of birds from overhead. Pigeons, sandpipers, and whip-poor-wills. The sight of nothing but unkempt grass for miles in every direction. I didn’t put anything in my mouth, so I didn’t taste nothin’ special, but all my other senses were wide awake and occupied in this three-dimensional landscape. Another dream-vision that felt all too real.

  I walked for a long while. I can’t say why, but I knew I had to walk. The farther I went, the more it seemed I was goin’ nowhere. Nothin’ but grass and an unfriendly gray sky. At least I didn’t spot any mutilated animals anywhere. Soon I heard more sounds. Like cars speedin’ by, but I couldn’t see ’em or any roads that they could be on. The bird songs faded away as the cars overpowered them. And then I heard stranger sounds. A booming loud noise, like somebody had a record player and turned up the volume way louder than it should go and made the bass dominate all the other parts of the music. I’d never heard anything like it before.

  The flatness of the land edged into an incline, so I found myself walkin’ uphill. More sounds. Cars honking, people shouting or laughing, more bass booming. A cacophony I couldn’t decipher.

  When I reached the top of the hill, I stood there. Not stunned so much as puzzled. I looked down on a bustling city. Buses, cars, big stores with neon signs, power lines, and people walkin’ on sidewalks, talkin’ to themselves. Too many sights and sounds in this place. Giant commercial advertisements filled whole sides of tall buildings. One of which I still can’t hardly believe. If I was stunned at any point during this trip, it was when I saw that advertisement. The words said “Lancôme Paris,” and the girl on the poster? She was as dark as licorice! Her hair was cut short and nappy. She was gorgeous. I’d never thought of skin that dark or hair short and tight as gorgeous before. Her head was about the size of a Cadillac on the side a that tall, tall building, and people just passed her by. Like it was no big thing. Like they see gorgeous Negro girls the color of midnight on signs everyday!