by Renée Watson
Danny ties the black plastic bag in a knot and pulls it out of the can. He takes it outside and when he comes back to the kitchen, he puts a new bag in the trash can.
I have never seen a man do house chores before. The only time I saw my daddy in the kitchen was when he was getting a beer out of the fridge. I always helped my momma wash the dishes and clean up after dinner. Sitting here in the kitchen makes me think of her.
Memories of my momma pop in my head at the most unexpected times. Like when I sing the lyrics to a song I didn’t even realize I knew. Momma is a song that I can’t forget. Her melody comes to mind and I realize that traces of her song are still here.
When I helped Momma clean the kitchen, she would tell me her plans for the future. “One day, Serenity, I’m gonna own my own restaurant and I’m gonna have a whole crew of people for the dishes.”
“Will you have people who’ll set the tables too?”
“Yep. I’m gonna have all of that. All I’m gonna do is be the chef and one day some food critic from the Oregonian will come and ask if he can speak with the chef, and I’ll come out and he’ll tell me how wonderful the meal is.”
“And he’ll write about you in the paper and everyone in Portland will come,” I added.
“That’s right,” Momma said. We had rehearsed the story a thousand times. But every time we said it, it seemed like the first. I hate that my mom made it to the paper for a different reason.
I help Grandpa load the dishwasher, and when we are finished I go into the living room with Grandma and Danny. I sit next to Grandma and for some reason, I want to lie on her, snuggle up against her like she’s a pillow, like when I was little. She runs her fingers through my hair and says, “You and Maria need to stop giggling and carrying on in church, okay?”
“Okay,” I say. Danny looks at me, and I know he is happy that I got fussed at too, even if it wasn’t that bad.
As we watch TV, the doorbell rings. Grandma gets up, breathing heavy, and walks toward the door. “You expecting company?” she says to Grandpa, who is dozing off in his armchair.
I think that maybe it’s my daddy. Maybe he’s come back from wherever he was and he knew where to find us. I don’t think about him as much as I used to. Danny has taken the calendar down in our room. Sometimes hope hurts too bad to hold on to it, so I think part of me has stopped believing that he’ll come back. And if he does, I’d rather be surprised than to keep waiting for something and be disappointed.
Grandma opens the door. “Well, well, look at this!” She wraps her arms around Erica, my cousin, and her mother, Aunt Sara. Aunt Sara is my grandma’s oldest. Erica is her only child. She is twenty-five years old. She has hair that hangs past her shoulders, stopping at the middle of her back. Her dark brown skin looks good in any color, especially bright ones. Like the deep fuchsia V-neck sweater she is wearing today with her dark jeans.
Erica steps inside, hugs Grandpa and Grandma first, then me, then Danny. “How are you?” she says to all of us.
“Good,” we answer.
Erica smiles. “Well, Grandma, Grandpa—Mom and I have an announcement to make.”
Aunt Sara laughs. “You have an announcement to make,” she says.
Grandma looks impatient. She is turning her head side to side like people do at tennis matches, looking at Aunt Sara, then at Erica. “What’s the news? What’s going on?”
“Well,” Erica says. “Ivan asked me to be his wife today, and I said yes!” Erica is glowing brighter than the platinum ring on her finger. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Absolutely lovely!” Grandma hugs Erica. “Congratulations. I am so happy for you. Oh, James—isn’t this wonderful?”
Grandpa is smiling. “Yes, it is. It really is. That Ivan, he’s a good man.”
Grandma shakes her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you all are so grown now. I remember teaching Ivan when he was in the sixth grade. Who would have thought I was teaching a future family member.” Grandma laughs. Then she says, “I suppose you’ll want me to cater?”
“Of course,” Erica says. “And I want Grandpa to do the ceremony.”
Grandpa chuckles. “You’ve got this all figured out, huh? Didn’t the boy just propose today?”
We are all laughing. “Grandpa, I’ve had my wedding planned since I was Serenity’s age,” she says. “Simple, but elegant white dress. No more than five bridesmaids. Lavender, silver, and white will be the colors.”
“Does Ivan have any say?” Grandpa asks.
“Not really,” Erica says.
Grandpa shakes his head. “You hear this, Danny? All us men get to do is show up.” Grandpa stands. “Come on, son, let’s get out of here so the ladies can plan.” Before he leaves the living room, he kisses Erica on her forehead. “Congratulations. Let me know if you need anything.” Grandpa and Danny go to the garage to work on his car.
Aunt Sara and Grandma go into the kitchen and start writing out a guest list. Erica pulls out a bridal magazine from her black leather tote bag. “Want to help me look for a dress?”
I scoot close to her so I can see the pictures. “I can’t believe you’re getting married!”
“I know. I’m so excited.” Erica flips through the glossy advertisement pages at the front of the magazine and stops once she gets to a dress. “You want to get married one day?”
I shrug my shoulders.
“You have a boyfriend?”
“No!” I yell. “Grandma is not having that.”
“Do you like anyone at school?”
“No.”
“At church?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know,” I tell Erica. I point to a dress that looks like something Erica would like. It’s strapless and is tight around the waist but then puffs out into a big skirt. “That’s cute,” I say.
“Yeah, I like it,” Erica says, “but don’t try to change the subject.” She folds the right corner of the page and turns to the next picture. “You don’t have a crush on anyone?”
“No, I swear.”
“There are no cute boys at school?”
“Well, not really. I mean—well, there’s one. But he’s—”
“He’s what?”
“He’s bad,” I tell Erica.
“Like what kind of bad?”
I lower my voice. “He smokes weed and I think he sells it too. He’s always skipping school, and today Danny got in trouble for leaving church to be with him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Jay,” I whisper. “But, Erica, he is so cute.”
“The bad ones always are,” Erica tells me. “But don’t let those good looks get you caught up.” She turns down another corner of the magazine.
“I won’t,” I tell Erica.
Erica takes out a different magazine. This one is of bridesmaid’s dresses. “And look out for Danny. Sounds like he shouldn’t be hanging around him either.”
“Danny thinks I’m bossy. He doesn’t listen to me.”
“Believe me, girl, Danny hears you. It may not seem like he’s listening, but he is. So keep talking to him. You two need each other. There’s nothing more important than family,” Erica says.
We look through a few more magazines and then Erica sets them aside. “I have something important to ask you,” she says.
I get a lump in my throat. Please don’t ask me how I’m doing, or have the nightmares stopped, or am I ready to talk about it.
Erica smiles. “I wanted to know if you would like to be my junior bridesmaid.”
“For real?” I say.
Erica nods. “I’d love for you to be in the wedding.”
“Of course!” I yell. I am smiling big. “I can’t wait to tell Maria,” I say.
“Who’s Maria?” Erica asks.
“My friend,” I say. “I met her at church and we go to the same school.”
“That’s great,” Erica says. “I’m glad you have a friend you can talk to.”
“It’s important to talk to people, Serenity. To let it out,” Erica says.
“I’m in counseling,” I tell her.
“I know,” she says. “But talking with family and friends is important too.”
I open one of the magazines and flip through the pages. “I don’t have anything to say,” I tell Erica.
“Well, I’m here for you when you do.”
I start feeling real bad for what I told Maria. The lie about my momma being in a car accident was so easy to tell. My momma lied a lot. To my grandma, to neighbors, to me.
Grandma would ask about her bruises. My momma would lie and say she fell.
Neighbors would ask about the noise. My momma would lie and say no one was fighting.
I’d ask her if she was okay. My momma would lie and say she was.
I tell Erica, “Maria asked about my momma and daddy.”
“What did you say?”
“I didn’t tell the truth,” I admit.
“Well, Serenity, the truth is always better than a lie. No matter how painful it is to tell,” Erica says.
For the rest of the night, Erica and I sit on the sofa talking about her and Ivan. She tells me about the honeymoon they’re going on, the house they’re going to move into, and the kids they’re going to have. She wants two.
I am excited about Erica’s wedding. It will be nice to have the whole family together for something good. The last time we all gathered, it was for my momma’s funeral.
THY WILL BE DONE, IN EARTH
• • • • • • • • • • •
Serenity Evans
Mrs. Ross, 1st Period
Poetry Workshop
Alliteration: Words that begin with the same sounds: Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.
What do you wish for?
Write a poem about it using alliteration.
To be with my momma
making marvelous miracles
in the kitchen again.
To stop seeing Danny sink steadily.
To be beautiful, bold, and brave.
I wish wishing would work.
It’s been raining on and off for two weeks. Sometimes it’s an on-and-off drizzle, sometimes sprinkles; today it’s storming. The sky is gray and it gets dark earlier now. October is the worst time of year to go on a weekend youth retreat. We can barely do any of the outdoor activities in Bend because everything is soggy and wet. Five hours of riding on this charter bus and we can’t even go horseback riding or white-water rafting like the brochure said.
“Whoever planned this trip needs to be fired,” Maria says to me. The bus is making us bounce up and down. Her cheeks vibrate. “You need to start using that PK power you have and tell your grandfather what’s going on.”
I just shake my head at Maria. I keep telling her that just because I’m the pastor’s granddaughter doesn’t mean I can work magic and get my way. “You need to stop talking so loud before you get in trouble again,” I tell her. We are sitting two seats behind Miss Valerie and she’s had it in for Maria ever since she caught Maria and Ricky kissing behind the baptism pool. Miss Valerie told everybody. Grandma says Maria is too fast for her own good.
Maria and Ricky are boyfriend and girlfriend now. She thinks he is cuter now that she knows him. I think he won her over when he freestyled a rap dedicated to her. That, and he cut his hair, so now it’s low and wavy. Maria and Ricky weren’t going to be allowed to go on the youth retreat, but Maria wrote an apology letter to my grandpa and Miss Valerie. Ricky did too. I am glad they are here. Maria has become my best friend; sometimes we tell people at school that we are cousins.
Grandpa said this youth retreat is going to be great. Our youth pastor, Pastor Mitchell, and his wife, took a team of kids from our youth group with him to evangelize the streets and invite kids in the neighborhood to come. “That’s what the church should do. Be where the people really are,” Grandpa said. “He’s doing things right.”
Pastor Mitchell is definitely doing something. He got Jay to come to the retreat. Everyone thinks that’s a miracle. Well, most of us. Some people say that Jay is only coming because of the cute girls, but I figure he sees cute girls every day, so why would he spend a whole weekend in the woods? Jay is sitting with Ricky and Danny at the back of the bus. They are right behind Karen and Sabrina. Karen and Sabrina also go to Rose City Academy. I am just now getting to know them. They are seen with each other so much and act just alike that people say their names like it’s one whole word: KarenandSabrina.
“Everyone, listen up!” Miss Valerie is standing at the front of the bus, holding on to the seat so she doesn’t fall. “We are about ten minutes away from the cabins. Make sure you clean up all the trash around you and take everything off the bus.” She pauses as people move and start doing as she says.
“Listen up, listen up!” Miss Valerie continues. “When we pull into the parking lot, I want you all to exit the bus quietly and go to your assigned cabins. Put your bags in your room and report to the dining hall for dinner,” she says. “Please be mindful of the rules,” Miss Valerie adds. Then she reads us a list:
1. No boys are allowed in girls’ rooms.
2. No girls are allowed in boys’ rooms.
3. No one can be in the common area or game room past ten p.m.
4. No skipping sessions—everyone must attend morning devotion, afternoon Bible study, and evening prayer.
5. No disrespect.
6. No secular music.
7. No television.
8. No cell phone usage. If you need to call your parents, you must use the staff phone.
9. No wandering off campgrounds without an adult.
10. Have fun.
“Have fun? Well, we would if we didn’t have rules one through nine,” Ricky shouts.
We all laugh.
“All right, all right.” Miss Valerie lifts her arms and lowers them several times like she can control our volume with hand gestures.
The bus pulls into the campgrounds and there are two cabins waiting for us behind a family of trees. The cabin on the left is for the boys, the one on the right is for us girls. There are ten rooms in each cabin. Each cabin has two suites for staff. Maria and I are together. We go straight to our room to drop off our bags and then join everyone for dinner.
When we enter the dining hall, we see Jay, Ricky, and Danny sitting with Karen and Sabrina. We join them. Jay scoots over and makes room for me to sit next to him. Every time I am near him my hands get sweaty. I wipe them on my jeans and try to act like it’s no big deal I’m sitting next to the finest boy at the camp.
The kitchen crew serves us macaroni and cheese that’s too gooey and thick to swallow. The salad is wilted and the chicken is dry. Maria whispers, “They should have asked your grandma to cook.” We drink lots of lemonade and eat the rolls to get full and then have dessert. Vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup. No one can mess that up.
We have evening Bible study as a group. Pastor Mitchell and his wife welcome us and remind us of the rules. They introduce the leaders that will be helping out. Ivan and Erica are here as extra staff.
Pastor Mitchell dismisses us and tells us we have two hours of free time and then we have to return to our cabins. “Morning prayer and Bible study are at eight o’clock in the morning.”
We moan.
Maria and I walk with Karen and Sabrina to explore the campgrounds. The rec room is at the end of a spiraling path, next to the fellowship hall. It has a pool table, air hockey table, and lots of board games. There are also puzzles and books to read. Most of the boys are playing air hockey or pool. We sit with Karen and Sabrina and play Monopoly until it’s time to go to our room.
When Maria and I go back to our room, we change into our nightclothes. Maria looks at me and says, “You should let me do your hair.” She goes into her overnight bag and takes out hair oil, a comb, and a flatiron. “Your hair is so pretty. Why do you always wear it back in a
ponytail?”
“I don’t know how to style it,” I tell Maria. She looks at me like she doesn’t believe me.
“My momma always did my hair,” I say. I remember sitting for hours having my momma comb through my thick hair. When I was in elementary school, she’d put it in lots of ponytails and decorate each one with a hair ribbon or barrette that matched my outfit. In the summertime, she’d braid it so it would stay for weeks at a time. Give her hands a break, she’d say.
“Why do you never talk about your mom?” Maria asks.
I shrug my shoulders.
“Tell me about her.” The flatiron is hot now. Maria parts my hair, takes a few strands from the back and presses the iron against my hair. She works her way from the back to the front of my head as we talk.
“She … she was really pretty and she could cook really good. Like my grandma.”
“Was she driving the car when she got in the accident?” Maria asks.
I don’t say anything.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t try to make you talk about it,” Maria says.
“I do want to talk about it,” I tell her. “I always have. I just—I just can’t.” My cheeks start to sting and my lips tremble. “I promised my momma I wouldn’t tell her secrets. And I know I can trust you. I know I can. But—even when I want the words to come out, sometimes they just don’t. Like they’re stuck.”
Maria stops combing my hair and sits down in front of me. She doesn’t say anything to me. She just takes my hand. She squeezes tight and it’s like she pushes out the pain. I feel hot and nervous and scared. Like I did that day, but that day I didn’t say anything. I kept my mouth shut and hid in the closet. But tonight my mouth opens.
“I lied to you.” The words come out as a whisper. “My father killed my mother,” I confess. “My father killed my mother,” I say again. “I’ve never said these words before.” The words feel strange on my tongue, like when I try to speak the Spanish words Maria teaches me. “I keep telling myself that he didn’t mean to. That he didn’t realize what he had done. But now? Now I’m not sure.”