Shake Down the Stars

by Renee Swindle

  It’s actually cold out, and I’m wearing a down jacket. “Can’t say that I am.”

  “I’m hot as hell. I think I’m gettin’ them hot flashes. You know Delores got that menopause. I think she gave it to me.”

  “I don’t think you get menopause through contact.”

  “You up there looking through that telescope?” she says, ignoring my comment. “If you see any aliens, you let me know!” This has been her running joke since I moved here. Before I know it, she slams the window shut.

  I don’t remember Tank, but I’ve never been around when people are actually making an altar, so I quickly put my telescope away and join them.

  The procession ends at Fiftieth and Gaskill where there’s a larger crowd of thirty or so people. Lit candles are spread out in front of an apartment complex’s carport, along with empty bottles of Hennessy, flowers, and teddy bears. Several balloons are tied to a stop sign.

  Hennessy is being passed around, and everyone talks and laughs loudly while drinking from plastic cups. If not for the poster board lining the carport with RIP Tank spray-painted in large letters, no one would suspect people have gathered to mourn and pay their respects. There are as many young women as men, their ages ranging from teens to midthirties. A few girls sit on the hood of a car, holding balloons and kicking their legs and laughing. Others write messages on the poster board or the garage wall itself. I walk closer and watch a woman draw a heart on the wall and write Tank’s name in the center. Her heart joins messages such as Tank, I miss you, bro; Gaskill MB Mob Forever; and We Have 2 Stop the Violence Fareals! A young man taps my arm and hands over a bottle of Hennessy. It’s been almost five weeks since my “intervention,” and except for an occasional nightcap, I haven’t been drinking at all. Figuring what the hell, though, I raise the bottle—“To Tank”—and take a long, hard pull.

  “Don’t hold back,” the man says, watching me.

  “I never do.” I take another swig and return the bottle. “How did he die?”

  “What else? Over some nonsense. He used to be in a gang. He got out several years ago. Some fool popped him over in West Oakland over some fight they had long long time ago. You know how these gangbangers be.” His voice sounds as if he’s been smoking since the age of three. But he has a soft beard and soft eyes that contradict all his muscle and girth. He looks to be in his early thirties and wears a bomber jacket and construction boots. “Did you know him?” he asks.

  “I don’t think so. I live around here, but I don’t remember seeing him.”

  “If you live around here, you saw him. Everybody knew Tank. Big dude. Got them light green eyes. Always on his bike.”

  “How did you know him?”

  “We worked together out near Fruitvale, building them new town houses. Name’s Jeremy, by the way.” He extends his hand, and we shake.

  “Piper.”

  “Piper? What kind of name is that?”

  “The kind my mother gave me.”

  He grins and gives me the bottle. We pass it back and forth until I feel a warm buzzing in the back of my brain.

  “Tank and me volunteer with Youth Construction, helping the young brothers and sisters learn construction skills. Tank was a mentor to a lot of these kids out here tonight. He was just coming home from a job when that fool up and shot him.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss. It’s all so damn tragic.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Two boys, both in their late teens, approach. They wear matching T-shirts with a picture of another boy their age on the front with RIP ANTHONY GREEN at the top. T-shirts like these are worn at funerals and kept as keepsakes. My students wear them frequently at school. Jeremy cups each boy’s hand and claps them on the back. As they exchange condolences, I make my way to the carport just as a woman finishes taping up more poster board. I watch as she takes out a marker and begins writing. Thank you, Tank, for teaching me to believe in myself. She hands the marker to me.

  “I didn’t know him.”

  She smiles with a shrug as if this is of no importance and walks away.

  I start to write in the center of the poster board, taking up more space than I need to. The poem I write was included in the program at Hailey’s funeral, and I know every word by heart. I take my time, writing slowly in big cursive letters.

  When I’m finished, I hear Jeremy behind me. “That some kind of Shakespeare?”

  “You’re close. John Donne. ‘Death Be Not Proud.’”

  He reads the last lines in his throaty baritone: “‘One short sleep past, we wake eternally, and death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.’

  “I likes,” he says, handing me the bottle. “I likes.”

  • • •

  Spencer is telling me that he loves me, but the sun is shining in his face and I can’t see him clearly. I try to move out of the bright glare, but every time I do, the light only brightens. “I want you back, Piper. I never should have left you in the first place.”

  A loud ringing noise starts. “Do you hear that?” I ask him. “What is it?”

  “Someone’s calling.” He takes me in his arms and we begin to kiss, but the ringing phone distracts me. “Is that your phone or mine?”

  I open my eyes and try to look around, but I have to shield my face from the sunlight streaming through the window. I blink a few times as I sit up and slowly shift from the dream I was having to what appears to be reality: me in my bedroom, a throbbing headache, and no Spencer.

  But I do see someone else.

  “Mornin’.” Jeremy sits in the chair in the corner of my room, tying his construction boots, dressed in his jeans and jacket.

  “Morning.” I feel around under the covers to see if I’m dressed and exactly how much I’m dressed. T-shirt. Underwear. I sit up while drawing the blanket to my chest.

  Jeremy walks over and kisses the top of my forehead. “I gotta bounce.”

  “Okay.”

  I look around my bedroom for clues and catch sight of Scrabble pieces strewn about the floor. I point. “What’s that about?”

  Jeremy strokes his beard with the tip of his fingers. “You don’t remember? I beat your ass at Scrabble and you started throwing your pieces at me.”

  I stare at the Scrabble pieces until our night together slowly surfaces. While at Tank’s altar, I told him I was a teacher, and that somehow led to a shared love of Scrabble. We played all night while drinking Hennessy. I was drunk-pissed when I lost and chased him around the apartment until we landed in bed.

  “You only beat me because I was drunk.”

  “Girl, you need to quit. I won fair and square.”

  He gives me another kiss before starting toward the door. “Listen, like I told you last night, if it weren’t for Amy, I would see you again, but even just the little foolin’ around we did last night can’t happen again.”

  I latch onto “little foolin’ around.” I have to ask. “So did we . . . ?”

  He catches on and blinks hard. “Naw, we didn’t do anything. Nothing worth writing home about, anyway. Don’t worry, girl. I didn’t take advantage. I don’t play like that. It was because of Tank I ended up here anyhow. ’Sides, Amy is one of them psycho bitches, if you wanna know the truth, and messin’ around on her would likely get you and me both killed.”

  “No need to explain.” Truly. He does not know the depths of my disinterest. “It was just the night. No problem. I’m seeing someone, too.”

  He gives the wall a pat. “You be good.”

  “You, too.”

  I hear the door close and try to recount the details of our “foolin’ around.” I lie back in bed and close my eyes. Jeremy’s probing fingers slowly come to mind. His gravelly voice: “I can’t do much else, girl. Amy would kill me.” I doze for a little while, but then I remember the ringing sound in my dream and check my phone. I expect
to see Mom’s or Margot’s name on my caller ID, but I’m wrong. Happily wrong. It’s Spencer. Spencer!

  “Hey, it’s me. It’s been too long. I miss you, P, and I can’t stop thinking about you. I was wondering if we could see each other. I’d like to talk.”

  After I replay the message a second time, I run for the shower. My headache, Tank, my night with Jeremy; all of them are forgotten.

  • • •

  The house has a kind of Sunday-morning quaintness to it. There’s a wreath on the door and while the lawn hasn’t changed, there are potted flowers on the porch and a potted bougainvillea, its bright fuchsia-colored flowers already beginning to frame the side of the house.

  I give an excited knock. On my way here, I picked up a coffee cake from Lulu’s. Spence and I always liked Sunday mornings—reading the Times in bed with coffee and a favorite baked good from Lulu’s. I’m hoping my gift, in its own small way, will show him how much I’m willing to go back to who we were.

  When I hear the latch at the door, I pull my shoulders back and hold up the cake with a big smile. I’m all set to announce Surprise! when Tisa of all people opens the door. “Piper?” She opens the door farther, her robe and pj’s, her messy curls and dewy face signaling that she’s just woken up. “What a surprise.”

  I try my best to appear unshaken, but I can’t help wonder what the hell is going on. Spencer misses me, and can’t stop thinking about me—and yet the nitwit is here?

  “I hope I didn’t wake you. I know it’s early. I thought I’d pop by with some of Spencer’s favorite coffee cake. But I could just leave it and talk to him another time.”

  “Don’t be silly. We’re in the kitchen reading the paper—Spence is reading the paper.” She suddenly wraps her arms around me. “I’m so happy to see you.”

  I remain frozen with the coffee cake in midair.

  “You wouldn’t know this, but my hope has been that we can all be friends. I just think that the Universe is constantly providing us with ways to connect. Love is made with small steps. That’s what I wrote in my journal yesterday. And now, you’re here.”

  I watch the butterflies swirling around her head; a group of fairies and nymphs soon join in. I’m sickened by the thought that I’m being invited into what was once my own home by a twenty-year-old ninny, but pride wins out and I politely follow her inside.

  I try to peek into each room for evidence that she’s moved in, but it’s been only a few months, and I talk myself down from the notion.

  She leads me to the kitchen where Spence sits at the table in an old Stanford sweatshirt and pajama bottoms. He has his laptop out and a coffee mug in his hand.

  “Honey,” Tisa says, “look who’s here.”

  Spencer practically jumps from his seat when he sees me. “Oh. Wow. Whoa. What a surprise. Hey, you.” He collects himself and rises from his seat. “What are you doing up so early?”

  I choose a lie—of the white variety. “You called and I had a few errands to run, so I thought I’d stop by. I brought you coffee cake.” I hold up the box. “From Lulu’s.”

  “We love that place,” Tisa says, reaching for the box. “Why don’t I help you with that. Coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  I watch her take a mug from the kitchen cabinet and pour coffee as if she owned the place. I have to keep myself from staring. Only a few months ago I was spending almost every night here, and now I’m suddenly a guest. Who does she think she is? Spence and I bought this place together, I want to tell her. We raised a child here. Get out! Get the hell out!

  I find a seat at the table where I once served breakfast to my family. The same table where Hailey once ate her cereal and Spencer and I would sometimes have candlelight dinners. I sit. I keep my mouth shut.

  “Excuse my mess,” she says, setting down my coffee and taking the second laptop to the counter. “I was shopping online while Spencer read the paper,” she explains. “I was telling him about bargains I’m finding while he was keeping me current on the news.” She moves her computer to the counter, takes out the coffee cake, and sets it on the table along with forks and knives. All I can think is that she doesn’t know that Spencer told me he misses me. Knowing Spence as I do, he probably doesn’t want to tell her anything until he talks to me.

  “So, how’s school?” he asks. “How are things?”

  “Everything is great.”

  Tisa starts to leave with her laptop and a slice of a cake. “Babe, I’m going to finish in the other room. Give you two some privacy.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, you two go ahead. I’ll join you later. Why don’t you show Piper the backyard. You guys can sit out there and enjoy the sun. You can use one of the heat lamps if it’s cold.”

  “Heat lamps?” I ask.

  “Wait until you see what he’s done with the backyard, Piper.”

  It appears Spencer’s compulsive shopping has led to the greater good of the backyard. There are two large heat lamps and new patio furniture on the deck; the barbecue has been cleaned and the entire yard replanted with native plants and flowers.

  “Nice.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been working around the house more.” He points out various plants and tells me that the patio furniture is made entirely from bamboo and organic fabrics.

  “You’ve done a good job. It’s nice.”

  “Yeah? You like it?”

  “I do.”

  We sit at the table and smile warmly at each other. “It’s really good to see you, P,” he says finally. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too, Spencer.”

  We eat and drink coffee and fall into our natural rhythm of conversation. I catch him up on my sister’s antics and he tells me about the book he’s been working on and that he’s been writing regularly.

  Eventually, he gazes out at the yard, then looks at me rather sheepishly. I decide to help him along. “You said in your message you wanted to talk?”

  “Yeah. I actually have some news.” He digs his hands into his hair in that way he does when the last thing he wants to do is talk.

  “What is it?”

  “Tisa wanted us to tell you together—have you over for dinner one night—but I thought it would be better if I told you first. I was going to ask you to coffee, but now that you’re here, I guess I should go on and tell you.” He sighs and pushes himself back into his chair and crosses his leg; he then decides to uncross his leg and fold his hands into his lap. Squirming, I believe it’s called.

  “What is it?”

  He clears his throat and gazes out across the lawn.

  “Spencer.”

  “Tisa’s pregnant.”

  I knock over my mug of coffee and watch as it splatters across the deck. I feel as if I’ve been pushed under water and I’m forced to gasp for air. In fact, I do. I inhale as deeply as I can, while making a loud throaty sound.

  “Shit,” Spencer says, shooting up from his chair. “Are you okay?”

  “Does it look like I’m okay?” I gasp.

  “I’ll get some paper towels.”

  “Fuck the paper towels. Pregnant?”

  He starts to leave. “I’ll be right back.”

  “No,” I command. “Stay.” I bend over and continue trying to catch my breath. “Pregnant, Spencer? You’re kidding, right?”

  I glance up as he lowers his head.

  “You’ve only been dating for a minute.”

  “It’s been since September; that’s almost four months.”

  “That’s exactly my point. You hardly know her, and you’re making a baby with her? Haven’t you heard of using protection? What are you? Teenagers?”

  “But I’m happy about it, P. We’re both very excited. We think it’s still too early to tell people, but Mom and Dad know, and I thought it was important that you heard the news
from me first.”

  I take a deep breath just as my lungs constrict again. I move my gaze back to the ground. Pregnant.

  “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “P, I want your support.”

  “How far along is she?”

  “Two months.”

  “Great. So basically you started fucking her the first night you went out.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry you’re upset, but let’s not get ugly.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I throw my head all the way back and stare into the sky. “You said you weren’t sleeping with her.”

  “It was an accident. The first time we did it, I mean. So I wasn’t lying necessarily.”

  “You’re a bastard. A lying bastard.”

  “P.”

  “I thought I was coming here so that we could get back together.”

  “Back together?”

  “Your message said you missed me, and you couldn’t stop thinking about me.”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “You haven’t known her six months! How can you two be doing this? It’s so foolish!”

  “We love each other. Sometimes you just know.”

  “You don’t know shit, Spencer. You don’t know shit! She’s fucking three years old!”

  “Will you lower your voice?”

  “No!”

  “She’s a great girl, Piper. We’re going to have a baby. Can you be happy for me?”

  “No, I can’t. I hate you.” I’m on my feet, pacing the parameters of the deck. Not only does he not want me back—fucking Tisa is fucking having Spencer’s baby. They’re having a baby. He’s making a family with her.

  “What about Hailey?” I say.

  “What about her?”

  “What do you mean what about her? How can you forget her like this! You’re betraying her!”