“You know how she normally is. Well, today was worse, cuz she got a bunion on her toe and now she’s convinced her whole foot’s gonna have to be amputated! I told her all she needs to do is rest it some and wear comfortable shoes, but she didn’t wanna hear that. Just kept goin’ on and on about how she won’t be able to get up the steps or take care of herself after her foot’s gone. Damn near had to run outta there. Poor Vicky May. She probably still standin’ there. Sayin’ ‘uh-huh’ and noddin’.” Mama chuckles and sits on the couch.
“They eat?” she asks me.
“Tuna!” Coralene complains. We oughta invest in a couple a muzzles.
“So what? Nothin’ wrong with tuna,” Mama tells her. “Did you have enough?”
“Yes,” Coralene answers through her clenched jaw.
“Did it taste okay?”
“I guess,” she says.
“Then quit whinin’ about it,” Mama finishes. “And what the heck are y’all watchin’? Almost time for Jackie Gleason.” Mama and Doralene get into it about turnin’ the station, and I check my watch. Quarter past seven. It’s only fifteen minutes, but Clay’s never late.
Mama wins the argument and turns to channel nine, even though The Jackie Gleason Show don’t come on till seven thirty, when Doralene’s cartoon woulda surely been over anyway. She whimpers in the corner, and Mama warns her to stop cryin’ or she’ll give her somethin’ to cry about.
Twenty past seven.
I start to feel an itch I can’t scratch. Lolita starts in ten minutes. The Orpheum ain’t far, but this ain’t like him. I feel Mama glancin’ over at me and tryna decide if she should say anything.
“What you say y’all gonna see? The Music Man?”
“Yeah,” I lie.
“Is it at eight?”
“Mama? I’m gonna go,” I announce.
“Well, ain’t he pickin’ ya up?”
I sigh. “His dad ain’t lettin’ him use the car right now, so he’s walkin’ over. He’s runnin’ late, so Imma just see if I can catch him on the way. So we don’t miss the beginning,” I say.
She gives me a long, serious look.
“You sure it wouldn’t be better just to wait?”
I think about it for a second. I think about all the reasons he mighta gotten held up. And reasons why I should wait. What if he had to do somethin’ I don’t know about before meeting me and will be comin’ from the opposite direction, and we miss each other? What if there’s an emergency and he tries to call the house and I’m gone? There is a logic to waiting.
“No. I can’t wait no more,” I tell her, and step out onto the front porch and down the steps. The street is quiet except for the crickets. I look in both directions and don’t see a soul. The Orpheum is between Clay’s house and mine, so it’s possible that I’ll find him on his way to me.
Other things are possible too. But I can’t let my mind go there.
“I am a child of God. I am not ugly. I will do no harm,” I say aloud, just in case. I wish somebody else was on the street right now. Anybody. Where is everybody? Usually kids are still out playin’ at this hour.
I stop in the middle a the sidewalk. I know somethin’ ain’t right. Ain’t been right all day. I just don’t know what that somethin’ is. I walk a bit farther, and I stop again and look around me. I reach for my purple-silver band of energy: awareness. I reach and reach and know I’ve found it when a fly lands on my arm, and I see its bulging eyes and know it’s thinking about where it’ll go next, its wings beating, the blue veins on its wings pumping blood.
Time slows. Everything is perfectly clear. I know what this band allows me to do, but I need to figure out how I can use it to…
Slow-motion crunching sound behind me, musky sour air invades my lungs, hot breath bounces off my neck and—
* * *
Darkness now. I’m in a new place of nothing.
Nothing is here. A deep nothingness. I hear nothing. I see nothing. I feel nothing. The only thing here is nothing.
I try to remember. There was a crash in my head like lightning. I heard it and saw it and felt it. Then I heard ringing. And now nothing.
My thoughts.
My thoughts are somethings. My thoughts tell me that I am alive. I’m not part of the nothing. I am Evalene Claudette Deschamps. I am sixteen years old, and I am alive. I’m here, wherever here may be. I am something.
My thoughts tell me that this nothingness is not real. My thoughts tell me my life is not real. My thoughts tell me to seek help. My thoughts tell me to trust no one. My thoughts confuse me.
Then I hear a sound. The dial tone of a phone before you make a call. It gets louder and softer and louder again. That sound is something. I hold on to it.
Then I see a face, a body. Her again.
Young Atti carries our kitchen wall phone awkwardly, like she doesn’t know what to do with it.
“Why is this phone so big? Why’s there a wire attached to it, and why is the wire so curly?” She laughs, fiddling with the beige spiral cord. “And what d’ya do with this thing?” She tries to balance the handset on her head like a hat, which fails and only makes her laugh more. I don’t have time to worry about the simplemindedness of my granddaughter-to-be.
I open my mouth to speak. I wanna ask her what’s happening, but I can’t make a sound. I push hard, but it doesn’t work.
She stops laughing. She hangs up the phone, and the dial tone vanishes.
“The phone is a joke,” she says. “I brought it cuz you keep callin’ me. I thought it would be funny.” Despite her desire to joke, her face is grave now. Not even a smile.
“I came to be with you,” she says. “Like I promised.”
I open my mouth again to speak. More nothing.
“I’d protect you if I could.” Her voice cracks and reaches a new octave.
I blink hard. Good. I can feel my eyes, my lashes, the muscles in my face. All of these are somethings. Although my voice isn’t working, my mouth opening and closing is something. I look into this future granddaughter of mine and know that she’s every bit as two-headed as I am. Jubilation is in her. I feel it, and it’s more powerful than mine.
We lock eyes.
How did I get here? What is going on? I ask.
This is the night that you’ll try to forget. I’m so sorry. She says this to me, and she starts to cry, her eyes still locked on mine. But for reasons I can’t explain, my fear takes a rest when she tells me this. I feel like I’ve been awaitin’ doom for quite a while now. It’s almost a relief to know it’s finally here.
How close is it? I just want it done, I say.
She takes my face in her hands and touches her forehead to mine.
I will stay with you as long as I can, she says.
Can you tell me what to expect? Just so I can prepare myself?
“There’s only one thing I can say to you right now. It’s not enough, but I hope it gives you some comfort,” she says in her regular voice.
Atti releases my face and walks backward, never taking her eyes off mine. Her steps make no sound cuz we’re still in the nothingness. When she’s a short distance away, she turns her back to me. The darkness around us transforms into the night sky.
And we’re among the stars. Real stars.
I see Orion, the Seven Sisters and rare sights like Corona Borealis, Scorpius, and Hercules. They’re all too close together to be accurate, but I don’t mind. I see star clusters and nebulae. I see a supernova!
I look at Atti, her back still facing me.
How are you doing this? It isn’t me, I say.
She doesn’t answer. Instead she spirals around in a queer way and says, “While I’m far away from you…” She’s waiting for me to say something. The tears steadily stream down her face.
“I know it’s hard for you,” she cries out.
I try to sing My baby, but it comes out in a squeak.
“ ‘Because it’s hard for me, my baby,
And the darkest hour i
s just before dawn,’ ” she sings for me.
She continues singing the song, and eventually other voices join hers, but I can’t see who they belong to. I can feel myself smiling, and I want Atti to smile too. You gotta be happy if you gonna sing the Shirelles! I try to sing once more, and I cough. I figure out the problem: somethin’s stuck in my throat. That must be why I can’t speak. I cough and cough, tryna force it out of me. Atti’s now doing a dance routine, but she still looks so sad. Poor thing. I cough some more and hold a finger out to her, cuz I can feel that I’ve almost dislodged it, and soon we can sing and dance together.
“No,” she cries. “Just ignore it.” And she goes right back to singing.
I can’t. It’s still in there, but loose now. Loose and wiggly.
“NO! Don’t leave! Stay here with me,” she wails.
I’m not leaving! I just want to get this thing out of my mouth, I tell her.
She runs toward me, reaching her arms out to grab me. As though I were about to fall.
27 Daughters
I BLINK SEVERAL TIMES. SLOWLY. Future Atti’s gone. A dim light must be shining somewhere, cuz now I can see things. I’m outta the darkness and away from my beloved stars.
My eyes begin to adjust, and I’m pressed down flat, my head turned to the side, facing a wall of wood paneling. Something’s under me. A mattress, I think. Its cover is scratchy and irritates my skin. I try to cough again, and it gets stuck again, which is when I become aware of my mouth and what’s in it.
Musty-tasting skin, sharp edges cutting into my soft palate. I scream and try to move, but someone is holding me down, crushing me.
“Hurry up, man,” I hear a voice say, miles above me.
My head throbs, but I have to get clear right now. I bite down on the fingers in my mouth as hard as I can and hear a yelp. Two voices are here. Down, down into the shimmer of purple and silver. At the bottom of my gut. It’s pulsing with activity. I feel everything now. Everything. Purple-silver clarity meet red-orange rage.
I open my mouth and release a savage howl and blast Virgil away from me, sending him slamming into the opposite wall of this dingy room. The other one scurries to his side like a scared mouse and tries to drag Virgil to the door, but Virgil doesn’t move. I don’t even have to hold him there. He just stares at me. His pants are undone and halfway between his knees and ankles. I don’t need to look down to know what he’s done, what he was doing, to me. Somebody was lookin’ out for me, though. Maybe it was my granddaughter. Cuz he didn’t finish what he started.
I keep my sharpened focus on him while I pull up my underwear and torn capris. The other one starts for the door, but I knock him right back where he was and hold him there easily.
I learn something new. In the purple-silver band, all things become clear. All enigmas have explanations. Riddles suddenly have obvious solutions. A long time ago, Virgil took my innocence. I can’t take it back from him, because I no longer need it. And I don’t want it. No. His conviction of supremacy over me is what I must take from him. I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to understand that.
I need Virgil to feel absolute fear. I want to be his nightmare. I want him to curse the day he met me. I don’t give a shit about destiny. I will get what I want.
“You crazy bitch,” he says to me, baffled. After everything that’s happened, he’s surprised by my reaction. He’s a li’l scared, cuz he’s smart. But not scared enough. What can I do to truly terrify this man?
“I tried to be sweet to you, but you just wouldn’t listen. You brought this on yourself,” he says.
If I were Virgil, I’d never want to be alone, in the quiet of the night, with my thoughts. I’d be scared to face who I really was. I know what to do.
“I’m gonna show you your soul,” I inform him. Like my grandmother taught me, I sever a shard of energy with my razor-sharp clarity band, and I fling it at his redheaded crony. The crony transforms into a freakishly tall and thin man. He cries out at first, but his own terror silences him. His face blanches into a white unnatural to human beings. Paper white. Whatever expression he was wearing moments ago has been wiped clean and replaced by emptiness. His eyes become black mirrors. No scleras, no pupils, no corneas. Nothing. All the hair vanishes from his head. All lines, blemishes, moles—the things that make a person look like a person—they’re all gone.
Virgil stares at the creature that has replaced his friend, speechless and ashen. I’m startled too. At my power and at this sight. I would’ve thought Virgil’s soul would be a hideous monster from a horror story. This is far more chilling.
“That’s your soul,” I begin, “if your soul wore clothes. Take them off.” The crony disrobes. With each piece of clothing he removes, more of the truth can be seen: nothing. A shapeless void of dark nothing remains where the clothes once were. He finally pulls off the white face, revealing it to be a mask. A tall blob of infinite darkness stands before us.
“What kinda voodoo hypnotism is this?” Virgil asks, his voice trembling. I think I can actually hear his teeth chattering.
I just stare at him. I consider showing Virgil more, but that isn’t necessary. This is enough.
“You are so much more trouble than you’re worth,” he sneers, carefully pulling his pants up and fastening them with jittery hands.
Everything remains sharp. My mind could carve intricate etchings in glass.
He’s backed himself flat against the wall, as far away from me as he can get, tryna stand steady and strong, but he’s not foolin’ anybody. “Enough of this sick shit,” he spits, his voice jagged and raw. No dulcet tones tonight. He takes a moment, like he’s puttin’ himself back in control, but he just sounds desperate. “Change Teddy back.”
Instead of changing Teddy back, I slide him closer to Virgil, who screams. Terrified of his own soul.
“Goddamnit! Change him back,” he screeches.
“Tell me where we are,” I demand.
“Teddy’s place.” He’s visibly shaking, and he looks so small. But I will not gloat. I was raised better than that.
“How far are we from my house?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Ten minutes.”
I swallow hard and think. I don’t know if I should try to find home or Clay or call Mama for help.
“Change him back,” Virgil repeats. This time he’s begging. I don’t want to give Virgil anything he wants, but I can’t think of a good reason to keep a walking void around that could accidentally swallow anything it touches, so I change him back, a reverse of how I changed him in the first place, only faster this time. It only takes a few seconds, and Teddy’s back. Shell-shocked.
I check my watch. Five past eight. Feels much later, but that’s good. I haven’t lost too much time.
I stand to go and try to think of how to handle these two. I bind their hands behind their backs with restraints that can’t be seen, and I’m not gentle about it. Teddy moans.
“I’m leaving,” I say. “When I close this door, count back from one hundred. I’ll do it too. When I get to one, I will release you both. If I ever see you again, I will not be so kind.” I turn to go.
“Evalene?” he calls, and all the hair on the back of my neck and the bottom of my scalp stand at attention. His slimy confidence is back, and I can’t imagine why or how. He should be scared out of his wits.
“There’s a question you should be asking me, and you haven’t asked it yet,” he taunts.
How dare he speak to me!
“Haven’t you wondered where lover boy is?”
My body goes cold. Since fallin’ into the nothing darkness, I’d only been worryin’ about my safety. Not Clay’s.
“I might know,” he says.
“What have you done?”
“Me? I haven’t done anything. I’ve been here with you. My friends on the other hand… I told ’em he’s just some dumb kid, but they’re not like me. They don’t much appreciate him having a big house and a nice car. They also don’t like him p
layin’ little tricks on his father’s customers just cuz they happen to be white. They think he’s gotten too big for his britches.”
I remove a shard from my purple-silver band, and instead of stabbin’ Virgil with it, I use it to slow everything down. To stay calm and focused and absorb every detail.
“Where is he, Virgil?”
Virgil shrugs. “Now I said I might know. But who knows anything for certain?”
To hell with stayin’ calm and cool. With a breath, I hurl Virgil up into the air, and his hard head bangs into the ceiling. I hold him. He ain’t goin’ nowhere.
“Jesus Christ,” Teddy hollers.
“Tell me, or I’ll show you what your intestines look like,” I say in a voice three octaves lower than I knew I could go.
The bastard tries to laugh, but he’s almost there. He’s almost attained absolute fear.
“Try the General’s Woods,” he finally says. I release him, and he falls to the floor with a thud. I bolt out into the street.
The General’s Woods. Not too too far, but I can’t possibly run there. I see a car comin’ and I try to flag it down, but it just zips past me. Seconds later, more headlights. This time, using all the strength I can muster, I force this one to pull over to me, and I hop in the front seat.
“What are you doin’? Get outta ma car!” an old lady yells at me.
“Sorry, ma’am, but this is an emergency. Don’t resist.” We speed away from the curb, her fussin’, not understandin’ why the car she’s driving no longer seems to be under her control.
Aches of all kinds, not just my head, are startin’ to talk to me from the far reaches of my body. I can’t listen to what they say. I can’t think. I can’t think about what just happened to me and how I am lucky to be alive. Can’t think.
Daughters of Jubilation Page 22
