Emako Blue

by Brenda Woods

  “Hey, Eddie,” my sister said from her room as I passed by.

  “You know you should keep the door locked,” I said.

  Suddenly, I heard a loud noise and jumped. “What was that?” I said.

  “I dropped the remote control,” Hortensia replied.

  “Oh.” Now, every time I heard a loud noise, I got nervous.

  As I changed into dry clothes, I wondered if I would make it. If they got Emako, then maybe they would get me too. They could keep my brother, Tomas, incarcerated forever as far as I was concerned. I didn’t want him bringing the angel of death to our door. I knew now that innocence didn’t mean anything.

  Hortensia knocked on my door.

  “It’s open,” I said.

  She came into my room. “Were there a lot of people there?” she asked.

  “The church was full,” I said.

  “Did you go to the cemetery?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “About what?”

  “About your friend.”

  I looked at my pretty baby sister and wondered what was going to happen to her when I was gone.

  I was going to make my mother and father promise not to ever let Tomas come back and call this home.

  I was going to make my mother swear before Jesus.

  I pulled out my wallet and looked at the paper with Monterey’s number and the smiley face. Love.

  Arizona isn’t that far away, I thought.

  Monterey

  The crowd began to scatter.

  I went over to where Verna was standing and she took my hand in hers. “She was my sweet girl. Since she was little, she was just a little sweet thing. Always bringing me something, sometimes just a little flower she’d picked from someone’s yard. She’d hand it to me after I’d dragged in from work and it made me smile. It ain’t right that she died that way.”

  “I’m sorry, Verna,” I said.

  “Y ’all comin’ to the house?” she asked. “We gotta mountain of food.”

  I hesitated. “I can’t.” I remembered the sound of the bullets. “I can’t,” I repeated.

  “I know,” was all she said.

  She let go of my hand and I went back to my mama and daddy. The rain was falling harder and my clothes were getting wet.

  By the time we got in the car, the wind had started to blow and it felt like God was mad. Lightning punched through the clouds.

  “You need to get out of those wet things soon as we get into the house,” Mama said. “You still have that blanket in the truck, Roman?”

  “Yes.”

  Mama got out of the car, and pulled the plaid flannel blanket out of the trunk, the one they always took with them to baseball games in case it got cold. She opened the backseat door and put it around my shoulders.

  “I can do it myself! I’m not a baby anymore!” I pushed away my mother’s hands. “Stop treating me like I’m a baby!”

  Mama was silent.

  Then Daddy turned around. “She’s right. She’s not a child anymore, DeeDee.”

  “Yeah,” I replied.

  “But, Monterey, one thing,” Daddy added.

  “What?”

  “Put your seat belt on.”

  I fastened my seat belt as Daddy drove through the cemetery toward the gates. I looked at row after row of graves and thought I didn’t want Emako to be gone. I wanted her to come back and finish growing up with me and I wanted to hear her say, “Hey, Monterey,” again and I wanted her to diss me and smile and I wanted her to be rich and famous and I wanted to tell her that she had the most beautiful awesome voice I’d ever heard. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

  My friend, Emako Blue, was supposed to be a star.