Blue Sky

by D. Bryant Simmons

  I paced around the coffee table, taking care to step over his legs and maintain my righteous indignation.

  “She always thought she was all that!”

  “Who?”

  “Mya!”

  Kem took a quick puff then raised the blunt, so I wouldn’t have to bend over to hit it. “Here, mami. This will help.”

  “I don’t need any help.”

  Kem thought I was having a reaction to the cocaine. It was my first time, but I was sure my sudden irritability and lack of appetite had nothing to do with that. He took another hit for himself, then placed it gently in the ashtray near his feet. A graceful twirl of his hand and his guitar whipped into place across his knee, ready to sing out whatever chords Kem’s heart desired.

  “If she can’t depend on me…who the fuck does she think she is?”

  His fingers drummed out a melody that reminded me of a girl skipping through a meadow on a summer afternoon.

  “She ain’t my mama. I’ll tell you that much.”

  His melody turned on a dime, instead taking on the life of a stormy night in June. Then found its intended direction somewhere in between the two extremes.

  “That’s pretty.”

  He began to hum to it, and I realized I’d never heard him sing before. I sunk into the futon next to him and was about to say as much when the first verse flowed from his lips in a language I didn’t understand. If I weren’t in love with Kem Delgado, I would’ve been.

  “I didn’t know you could sing. Did you write that?”

  He smiled and began again from the top. Mesmerized by his mouth, I hummed along with him, harmonizing while I did my best to memorize the lyrics.

  An hour later, we were working on the bridge. “We sound great together, don’t you think?”

  He’d wrapped another blunt, and we were halfway through it. His guitar leaned against the back of the futon, and I stretched out with my head on his lap. My bare feet wiggled free, flexing against the cold metal of the futon’s arm. I wore a denim miniskirt and an old tee shirt that was a few sizes too small. Kem placed the blunt between my lips then let his hand rest on my stomach. I was reasonably sure he’d heard me.

  “We make a good team,” he finally admitted.

  “What else have you been holding out on me Mr. Delgado?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yeah, you do.” I reached up to return the blunt to his mouth, exhaling smoke at the same time. “I bet you have all sorts of talents.”

  His cheeks sunk into his face as he inhaled one puff then another, attempting to dim his senses. That was all the proof I needed. I suddenly felt light-headed, struggling to find my balance in an upright position, but I was gonna persevere. I stood, only to kneel between his legs.

  He was on his third puff before he made a move to shield his zipper. “What are you doing?”

  It was pretty damn obvious what I was doing. His body went rigid and so did his crotch. The heater hissed in the corner, spewing steam into the room. I pulled the zipper down slowly, and he didn’t try to stop me this time. He sat frozen in place. His hair fell across his eyes, and he moistened his lips. I wondered how long it had been since a woman had pleased him in that way. And I wondered if he would return the favor.

  Mama asked me why I wanted a baby so bad. It was completely ironic coming from her—the mother of six girls. I twirled my thumbs, listening to David Letterman give his top ten list about something or another, and considered my mama’s words. I’d been undressed and tucked into bed for two hours, but I wanted to be awake when Jean-Louis came home. I tried to be awake to see him off in the morning and to give him relations in the evening if he wanted it. It was the least I could do, considering how hard he worked.

  Don’t nobody work that hard, Mama had said, giving me the stink eye. She couldn’t give my husband any kind of credit.

  I wore a knee-length black slip, my version of lingerie. The silky fabric put me in a wifely state of mind. The audience erupted in laughter as Dave got up to number five on his list.

  If I had a baby, I’d probably be pooped out by now. Or maybe I’d have someone to sit up with me and watch late night television. Either way, my life would be completely different.

  “You are still awake.”

  “How was your day?”

  He gave a tired nod and tugged at his tie until the knot began to fall apart. I crossed the room to help him with the buttons of his shirt and caught a glimpse his disappointment. Over the last three years, he’d gotten thinner, and I’d picked up a few pounds. They all sat in my midsection as if to remind him that I should be with child by now.

  “How did your appointment go?”

  “Fine. They’re running some tests. Hormones and things. If everything checks out, they’ll want to retest you before doing anything too invasive with me.”

  He sighed and disappeared into the connecting bathroom. The water came on in a rush, and I imagined him glaring at the mirror as he brushed his teeth. This whole issue was hard on him. He’d married me thinking I was completely healthy.

  “I’m sure everything’ll come out fine.” I smiled, intertwining my fingers over my stomach. “It’s probably just something small.”

  “Mmhmm.” He returned minus his shirt and pants, strolled past me, and climbed into his side of the bed.

  “Mama said I’m probably fine. I just need to relax.”

  “And is that her medical opinion? What else did she tell you?”

  His face took on a stern quality. Reminded me of an angry bee. The first few times I’d seen it, I wanted to laugh. I was over that impulse now.

  “Did she say anything about me?”

  I shook my head and hurried to the doorway to hit the light switch before joining him in bed.

  “She did not say it was my fault? That there’s something wrong with me?”

  Mama clearly thought there was something wrong with him, but the flaw didn’t have anything to do with his ability to procreate.

  “I don’t think it’s you. It’s probably me.” His hand felt warm inside mine. My fingers were notorious for being cold. “Honey, you hear me?”

  “I don’t know why you insisted on taking her with you. She only has negative things to say about us.”

  “I wouldn’t have if somebody else had offered to come.”

  From time to time, I made unwise choices with my words. Or at least that’s how he put it. Meaning I said something I shouldn’t have said. This was one of those times.

  “Who are you speaking of?”

  “Let’s just go to sleep.” I released his hand and sunk down further underneath the fluffy duvet.

  “You would like to go to sleep?”

  “It’s late,” I replied, snuggling into my pillow.

  Jean-Louis didn’t waste a moment whipping back the covers. He claimed his pillow and the blanket from the foot of our bed and stormed out the room.

  I shouldn’t have made him feel guilty for not attending my doctor’s appointment. I hadn’t even asked him to go because I knew what the answer was going to be. He didn’t have a choice. He had to work. Besides, men didn’t want to sit around talking about fertility. Then, on top of that, I made that little comment about the time. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, imagining how I’d make it up to him in the morning.

  For the most part, I’d always been good at minding my own business. One time I saw kids in my class cheating on a spelling test. They knew I saw and, from that day on, watched me like I was a volcano about to erupt, but I never said anything about their misconduct. And I didn’t get all worked up when Daddy and Mama fought. Didn’t cry like Nikki or get mad like Jackie, and I wasn’t oblivious like Nat. I saw it, whatever it was, clearly. Wasn’t saddled with all the emotion my sisters got so wrapped up in. I saw people and situations exactly for what they were—an ability which doubled as a blessing and a curse.

  Darien carried everything that meant anything to him in a tattered brown book bag t
hat had been thrown in the gutter and kicked off many curbs by mean-spirited folks. Inside this book bag was a toothbrush, a washcloth, a few odds and ends, and a notebook he’d had since his time in the service. He probably wasn’t the only soldier to take up writing poetry, but I suspected he was the only one to keep at after he was discharged.

  “What you think?” His voice stretched out into the darkness, quietly nudging me awake.

  “It’s nice.”

  “It’s about dying, Mya.”

  Poetry wasn’t my thing. I’d read almost every book I’d ever heard of but could never get into poetry.

  We slept fully clothed on an old mattress piled high with blankets. Even in St. Mary’s basement, you had to be ready to move in a split second if the situation demanded. Mia slept soundly between us—arms spread, legs spread, her body forming a little X with her limbs.

  A yawn slipped out even though I was doing my best to be attentive. Darien liked to converse in the wee hours of the morning. It was either that or sex. I preferred the conversation. No chance of getting pregnant that way.

  “Mya?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “How come your eyes closed?”

  “I’m just resting them. I hear you.”

  “Before I die, I want a son.”

  I nodded, easing into the silent lull of snores and dreams.

  “Mommy!”

  I sprung up, both hands stretched out in front of me, and fixed my face to do battle with whatever had threatened my sleep.

  A warm little bundle crawled into my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck, whimpering. Whenever she was scared, Mia wrapped her legs and arms around me with a vicious vice grip. She’d grown stronger since the last time.

  The sounds of a scuffle began to close in from the outer reaches of my consciousness. Fluorescent lights flooded the space, inspiring frustrated moans from various cots around the room, but the lights were necessary to see the fight. Couldn’t break up a fight if you couldn’t see it.

  “He tried to get me,” Mia whispered in my ear.

  The light had temporarily blinded me, but now I could make out the figures clearly. The big one was a simple-looking white boy who might’ve been a transplant from Iowa or Wisconsin or at least he looked like it. A farm boy who was more used to farm animals than people. He thrashed and wrestled a smaller, darker figure to the floor. Darien.

  “He was gonna get me, Mommy.”

  The priest and nuns were shouting for them to stop from the other end of the room. By the time they made it to us, it would’ve been too late. Not that the peaceful, well-meaning folks of St. Mary’s could’ve put a stop to it anyway.

  “Sit here.”

  Mia didn’t wanna let go, but I didn’t give her much of a choice. A flick of my wrist and the switchblade that slept with me popped out, the overhead fluorescents glinting off the shiny surface.

  “Get off him or you gonna lose something real dear to ya.”

  The pointy end poked at the inseam of his overalls, and the big oaf magically regained his senses. Darien crawled from underneath him, panting and wiping his forehead with his sleeve.

  Father so-and-so was appalled. Weapons were strictly forbidden. Thieves and predators not so much. Maybe the religious man thought he had a shot at saving them. Couldn’t redeem a knife. It only had one purpose.

  The sun had barely begun her morning ascent when the kind do-gooders of St. Mary’s put us out on the street. Mia was clinging to both me and Darien, even as he hurled cuss words and threats at the big wooden doors as they closed shut.

  The big oaf meandered west while we headed in the opposite direction.

  “Mommy, I sleepy.”

  “Maybe she’ll go back to school.”

  “Maybe you’ll go back to school,” came Jackie’s retort.

  I hadn’t meant anything by it. It was common sense. Mya was smart enough to accept the logic. She just needed to act on it. How else was she going to take care of herself and my niece? She certainly couldn’t depend on that shiftless man she’d attached herself to.

  “A high school diploma is kinda important when you want a job,” I said.

  We sat at the dining table shelling peas with Mama and Natalie. Mama had gotten it into her head we needed to have a big Sunday dinner as a family. That meant black-eyed peas, string beans with potatoes and salt pork, mustard and turnip greens, cornbread, potato salad, fried chicken, fried fish, and possibly ham. It was four o’clock on Saturday afternoon, and I wasn’t so sure we were going to get it all done in time.

  “What do you know about getting a job? Thought that little Napoleon of yours forbid you from that sort of thing.”

  Jackie was equally as talented as Mama when it came to twisting positive things into negative ones. She sat across from me in shorts that showed more leg than cloth and a shirt that hung so far off her shoulder we could all see her black underwear. When Heziah walked by, I actually blushed on her behalf.

  “Maybe she is working.” Natalie was eternally the family optimist. “Or maybe she’ll come back home. Or both!”

  “Not gonna happen,” Jackie mumbled without the slightest hesitation.

  Mama hadn’t said a word since the topic of conversation had turned to Mya but didn’t mean she didn’t feel anything. It was obvious to anybody who bothered to pay attention.

  “She could have my room. I don’t mind.” Natalie was persistent, but her energy was wasted on us. We weren’t the ones who needed convincing.

  “She’s too proud,” I said.

  “Some people ain’t proud enough,” Jackie spoke with the accuracy of a sharpshooter, and she aimed her words directly at my heart.

  “You girls make sure your sister shows up tomorrow. And I don’t wanna hear no fighting. We gonna have us a nice supper. Be real loving to each other. Like a family.”

  “Can I bring a date?”

  “Oh, Lord.”

  I couldn’t help it, and a giggle slipped out. Mama looked so tired at the thought of Jackie dating.

  “What? Nikki’s gonna bring that little gremlin, and I can’t bring Kem?”

  “Hey! He’s not—”

  “I thought you and him was just friends.”

  “We were. We are. Can I bring him? Puh-lease, Mommy? He’s so-oh beautiful. Wait until you see, Mama. You’re gonna love him.”

  Mama gave her consent, but she clearly wasn’t thrilled about it. I wondered if she intended to keep Jackie single for the rest of her life. By no means did I support my sister’s wild and crazy love life, but even I acknowledged she needed to date if she was ever going to get married. That was the only way to ensure Jackie didn’t end up one of those women with questionable morals. Maybe this Kem was going to be the one to get her to settle down.

  “What kind of name is Kem for a man?”

  Sly giggles came from Natalie’s direction, but she put a prompt end to it once Jackie turned her way.

  “He’s named after his mother.”

  “So, he does realize it’s a female name?”

  “Mama, tell Nikki to be nice.”

  She could call my husband every name in the book, but I asked one measly little question, and all of a sudden, I was the bad guy.

  “Where you going?” Mama paused after the snap of a string bean.

  I’d run outta beans, so I was headed to the kitchen to get start on the corn on the cob. She seemed to realize shortly after I stood up. Once I was out of earshot, I heard a thud then the rattle of silverware like something hard had landed on the table. Natalie’s giggles got louder, and then Mama’s voice crawled in underneath it all.

  “Stop being so hard on her.”

  “Not my fault she married a toad.”

  “I mean it. She’s your sister. That should be enough for you to have some sympathy for her. It ain’t easy being so unhappy.”

  The second time on the Ferris wheel of love was completely different than my first. I was more mature, and Kem Delgado was nothing like Darrel King
.

  I traced the rim of my shot glass with my index finger and smiled at the thought. Kem was perfect, head-to-toe perfect. I’d seen the proof. There was no way he didn’t feel it too. His searing dark eyes looked at me as if they could see into my soul. As if they wanted to be inside of my soul. Men didn’t look at women like that unless they wanted to be with them.

  “Another one?” Mo stood poised with a half-empty bottle of Jose Cuervo.

  I nodded and began searching the club for Kem’s silhouette while he poured.

  “You should let me take you out.”

  The fourth shot eased on down my throat at a leisurely speed. The shots plus the few beers I’d had before the first set and the joints we’d smoked in the car were weighing me down. Even my thoughts were slurred.

  “Take you to a nice restaurant. Or we could go on back to my place. Have some dessert.” His clammy hand slid over the mahogany bar and plunked down on top of mine. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  I’d made up my mind before he’d said a word, but the rejection had gotten lost on the road to my mouth. I managed a nod and tried to focus on pointing my feet in the right direction.

  “You okay, mami?”

  “Oh! There you are.” I couldn’t help grinning. Every time I saw him, heard his voice, or his presence graced my thoughts I smiled like a ticklish child.

  Mo moved on to tend to actual paying customers, and Kem helped me to the storage room, which had been cleared out to function as a dressing room. Four folding chairs and two tables on either side of a mirror occupied the space. The lighting was so bad, I wouldn’t dare attempt to put makeup on in there. I’d probably come out looking like a rosy-cheeked clown.

  “What’s so funny?” Kem asked as he lowered me into one of the folding chairs and turned the other so he was sitting in front of me. “You’ve got an admirer.”

  “I do?”

  “Mo.”

  “Oh. I guess so.” My fingertips slowly danced up the length of his thigh. “I’ve got other things on my mind.”