by Helen Frost
where I’d like to take you with me, but it just wouldn’t work.
It’s hard enough to sleep and change clothes
in my car; I couldn’t keep a dog. The key
to making it from one day to the next right
now is: Keep it simple. Food.
A sleeping bag. A place to park at night. The food
has to be easy to eat. I keep it covered, in case
anyone looks in my car. If I do everything just right
I can make this work.
(I hope I get a job.) Okay, where did I put the key?
I’m out of here. Clothes,
food, sleeping bag. Pillow, shampoo, towel. Close
and lock the door. Key right back where I found it.
Case closed. Go somewhere warm and do my homework.
THE DEEP END KATIE
It snowed last night, eight inches deep.
Keesha knocked and said, No school today,
so I wrapped my blankets close around me
and I slept and slept. Every time
I tried to make myself wake up, something pulled
me back into the deepest sleep I’ve had for months.
It was noon when I woke up. I read last month’s
Teen People, drank some coffee, took a long, deep
breath, and looked out at the snow. A memory pulled
me back ten years: it was snowing like today,
but colder and no wind. When’s the last time
I felt that safe? Dad bundled me
up in my purple snowsuit and took me
sledding on the hill behind our house. It had been months
since he’d taken any time
off work, but that day the snow was too deep
for anyone to drive, deeper than today.
He sat behind me on our yellow sled and pulled
me close to his warm chest. We flew together down that hill, pulled
the sled back to the top. Over and over. To me,
that memory is like a clear glass marble I can hold today.
It was that same year, maybe that same month,
that, as Mom puts it, Dad went off the deep
end. I didn’t know what she meant the first time
I heard that. All I could picture was the time
I jumped in a swimming pool and the lifeguard had to pull
me out. Mom said, No, Katie, this is the deep
end! But all that made no sense to me—
Dad was a good swimmer. Why was he gone for months?
Why didn’t someone pull him out? Days like today
when I have time to remember, I understand. Today
I know what the deep end is, and there are times
I’m scared I could go off it too. Last month
when Mom’s husband came in my room and pulled
me toward him, tried to put his hands all over me,
I fought back hard. I made four deep
scratches on his shoulder. I guess I went off the deep end that time,
and as of today, no one’s pulled
me out. Sometimes I just want to sleep for months.
PART V
WE PASS EACH OTHER
WE PASS EACH OTHER STEPHIE
I first met Keesha in seventh grade
at a citywide field day where we
competed in long jump and hurdles.
I thought she could fly! I watched
her take the hurdles, one at a time,
like her life depended on clearing each one without touching.
Or was it that she refused to let anything touch
her? She won everything in eighth grade
too, and then in ninth I found out she went to Marshall. When the time
came to try out for the track team, we
both made it. She is so determined! I watch
her practice harder than everyone else and take first in hurdles
at every meet. Lately, I’ve been thinking about the hurdles
people face in their lives. It’s like us kids are just touching
the starting line, with everybody watching
where we stand in sports and in our grades.
They measure us against each other, but no one knows what we
go through to get where we start from. The time
I spent last month at Keesha’s house, and the time
talking to Mom since then, make me think about those hurdles—
those private things that no one knows about. We
judge people by certain standards that don’t touch
who they really are. I know I’ll get bad grades
this term, but what do they say about me? Is anyone watching
what I’m going through inside? Or are they only watching
how my body changes, talking about me all the time
as if they knew me: Terrible, a girl in tenth grade
having a baby she can’t support. I wonder what hurdles
they’ve faced. Most of the time, we pass each other without touching.
I look at people in the halls, kids we
think are losers, and I think: We
don’t know them. Everyone is watching
Jason now to see what he’ll decide about next year. I can’t touch
whatever is going on with him, no matter how much time
we spend talking. Is he the one I want to face life’s hurdles
with? I don’t even know. He gets good grades.
He’s good at sports. Good-looking. Most of the time, that’s all we
watch. But how does someone face an unexpected hurdle?
That touches on what counts. And there’s no grade for that.
MAKING SURE JASON
When Stephie’s number showed up on my pager last night
in the locker room, I was confused.
It was the first game of the tournament, I was sure
she’d be there early, and the game was starting
in less than half an hour. I’d suited up already,
but I got to a phone and called. Her brother answered.
Dad took her to the hospital. He couldn’t answer
any of my questions. That was the beginning of the longest night
of my life. Three reporters had already
interviewed me about the big game. I bet they were confused
when our team came out and I wasn’t in the starting
lineup. Coach was furious, but I was sure
I had to be with Stephie—I surprised myself, how sure
I was. I got there in record time—What’s wrong? She didn’t answer.
She was crying. Finally she told me, I’m starting
to bleed. I might lose the baby. I stayed all night,
holding her hand, not talking much. I’m still a little confused
by what I learned about myself: I already
think of myself as a father. The doctor had already
examined Stephie. He came back in. Are you sure
you want this child? She was confused
by that. She couldn’t say. I answered
to myself, Yes, I do. I want this child. All night
the bleeding kept stopping and then starting
again. At 4:20, just when we were starting
to think she was okay, the doctor came back in. I wasn’t ready
to hear what he said: The fetus is no longer living. The rest of the night
everyone was in and out, just making sure
Stephie was all right. She looked at me and said, I have my answer,
and then she fell asleep. I was confused
by that. What answer? Today she told me, I’ve been confused
about my feelings for you. I was starting
to wonder if you’re right for me. The answer
she meant was Yes, you are. She’s home already
and neither of us is sure
how we feel about what happened last night.
Starting last
November, things have gone too fast. Tonight
we’re both confused by this relief and love and sadness, sure
of some answers, already facing other questions.
BURNING KEESHA
I don’t know what to do.
Tobias came over here last night with a burn
on his arm, under his sleeve where it won’t show.
I thought it was something Dad
did, and I was about to say, Stay
here awhile till things cool off at home.
But, turns out, it didn’t happen at home,
at least not like I thought. He says all he was trying to do
was make a little money, and he meant to stay
away from drugs and gangs. But this burn
says to me, That won’t be so easy for Tobias. Dad’s
no help. I wish there was someone to show
my brother there’s better ways to earn a living. I could show
him my little paycheck, but I can’t make a home
for him. People like Jermaine and Dan step in where Dad
should be. Look, all you gotta do …
Sounds so easy. You don’t see them getting burned
when these big guys get greedy. I told Tobias he could stay
here for a couple days, but he said they’d find out where he stays,
and before too long they’d show
up here. Tobias says they told him, Next time, we burn
your pretty li’l face. They think he’s hiding drugs at home,
and he says it’s not true. I’ve heard about these guys. They’d do
what they say, and they’d make sure to come around when Dad’s
not there. Should I try to talk to Dad?
Tobias says he’s drinking worse than ever. Just stay
outta this, Keesha. You don’t hafta do
nothin’ for me. I’ll be okay. When he tries to show
that brave face, I see how scared he really is. This home
I have is nice enough, but it’s not really mine. I bandaged up the burn,
and Tobias left, looking small and lonely. Now I’m burning
up inside about his so-called friends, our so-called dad,
and how my brother doesn’t have the kind of home
he needs. Say I let him come and stay
here. Say those guys—or the cops—show
up. Then what would me and Katie do?
Not to mention Joe. I’d feel like I burned down the home
he’s giving us. Joe’s no dad, but he stays steady.
God, I miss Mama. She’d show us what to do.
RUNNIN’ OUTTA COUCHES DONTAY
I’m runnin’ outta couches. Been
to six places in four weeks. Now
I’m startin’ over at Jermaine and Dan’s.
Only trouble is, Dan think I owe
him somethin’ if I stay here,
so I been thinkin’ hard.
I’m hungry and it’s hard
to say no to the money he talkin’ ’bout. They been
feedin’ me whenever I come over here.
Only—I know what I decide now
I gotta live with. I could end up owin’
somethin’ I ain’t got, or one of Dan’s
friends could tell a lie about me. Dan
won’t stop ’em if they come down on me hard
like I seen ’em do Tobias, sayin’ he owe
’em $300 ’cause they don’t like what he delivered. Tobias ain’t been
’round here much since then. Now
Dan need someone new, and here
I am. Look, all you gotta do is take this bag from here
to Seventh Street and bring me back the money. Dan
make it sound easy, and it look that way now,
but somethin’ bound to go wrong. It’s harder
to get outta this than in. I been
thinkin’ ’bout Dad and Mama, wonderin’ what I owe
them. One time Dad told me, All you owe
anyone is, do the best you know how. If he was here,
what would he say? Him and Mama been
locked up two years now. If I start helpin’ Dan,
I could end up inside before they get out. Hard
to say what I should do. I need money now,
but somethin’ tells me, run. Right now,
I’m hungry, but I don’t owe
nobody nothin’. Tobias told me it gets harder
once you start that stuff. He gave me an address: Here’s
a place my sister Keesha stays. Let Dan
get some other underage to do what I been
doin’. He’s right. I don’t feel right no more here at Dan
and Jermaine’s. It’s hard to go somewhere I never been,
but I’m goin’. I owe Tobias a big favor now.
SOMETIMES I WONDER CARMEN
Sometimes it seems like it don’t matter
if you lie or tell the truth.
People pick out what they want to believe—
all you can do is hope they pick
the things that count. Tomorrow, I finally got my court
date. So much dependin’ on which judge
I get and what he’s feelin’ like when I come in. One judge
knows Grandmama, and that ain’t s’posed to matter,
but I can tell you, I’ll be glad if he has court
tomorrow. Grandmama’s been comin’ to see me. She says, Truth
is easy. You don’t got so much to remember. She picked
out a nice dress for me to wear: Believe
me, Carmen, it’s important how you look. I do believe
that, but there’s a lot about my looks that I can’t change. Judge
me by my character, like Dr. King said. Well, I can’t pick
my judge, and I can’t change the facts, or for that matter
what they think is facts. Truth
is, I’m part guilty, part innocent, and the court
decides how to put that together. Last time I had court
I said I wasn’t drinkin’—only with some kids that was. They believed
me, and I just got probation. Now this time, truth
is I did have one beer. I can hear that judge
already, all stern, sayin’, Young lady, this matter
before us is serious. I know I gotta start pickin’
better friends. Anytime someone say, We’ll pick
you up for a party, I just go along. It shouldn’t take the court
to make me use more sense. What’s the matter
with me, anyhow, that I don’t make my own mind up? I believe
most of the things the judge
says, but sometimes I wonder, what is the whole truth?
I know I’m the only one that can tell myself the truth
and make me listen. If I go home, will I just pick
up where I left off, or can I change? That’s for the judge
to decide, I guess. I’m hopin’ I can go home after court
tomorrow and stay out of trouble. Grandmama believes
me, that I want to try. She says, Girl, no matter
what you do, I keep on believin’ in you. She should be a judge
herself, the way she picks through lies and truth
and court talk, and comes up with that one thing that matters.
DO NOT LEAVE CHILDREN UNATTENDED HARRIS
After school and on weekends I go to the library
and do my homework or listen
to music. I brush my teeth, wash my hair,
and, a couple times a week, I shave. They have
a private sink in one of the handicap stalls.
Sometimes I go in the youth section and sign
up to play computer games. There’s a sign
in there: DO NOT LEAVE CHILDREN UNATTENDED IN THE LIBRARY.
I know there’s younger kids than me who use the sink in that stall
like
I do. I keep my eye on them. I try to listen
to adults that talk to them, especially in the rest room. Last week, I had
something creepy happen when I was combing my hair.
A guy made a comment about my gorgeous red hair,
which is nothing new. But right after that—the first sign
of something weird—he asked if he could have
a picture of me. I got out of there fast. When the library
was about to close, he left the same time I did. Hey, listen,
he said, you need a ride somewhere? I said, No, thanks, stalled
for time until he left. The next day, I came out of the stall
and he was in the rest room combing his hair.
He said something to me, but I didn’t stay to listen.
Now I watch every move he makes. If I ever see a sign
that he’s messing with one of the kids that hang out in the library,
I’ll—well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but I know I’d have
to help. I guess I’d act casual, like I had
some reason to be there—but I’d stall
around and eavesdrop till he left the kid alone. The library
should be a safe place, and if a kid needs a place to comb his hair,
just let him be. Hey! I finally got a job. I’m going in to sign
the paperwork this afternoon. I have to listen
to a tape about dishwashing safety. That’s funny! I’ve listened
to my mother harp on that stuff all my life. Like—you have
to scrub the cutting board. Use bleach or boiling water. There’s a sign
in the rest room—in fact, there’s one in every stall—
reminding us employees to wash our hands. We have to use hair
nets if we get anywhere near food. The librarians
won’t be seeing so much of me now. That’s a good sign. I’ll have
a bathroom I can use at work, and I’ll just use the library stall
to wash my hair. I’ll listen to music while it dries.
WE CAN BOTH SEE KATIE
1.
Once in a while, something good happens, and things fall
into place. I was getting to the point
where I thought I’d have to quit
school. I couldn’t afford a car,
and I didn’t have the time for that long bus ride.
Then this new guy, Harris, shows up at work.
I know him a little from school. Freshman year, we worked