That Girl Is Poison

by Tia Hines

  I made the cab driver pull over farther down the street by some brick buildings. He read the price off the meter. I pretended like I was looking for my money, and in the midst of my search, I opened the door, put one foot out, and then asked, “Do you have change for a fifty?”

  As soon as he put his head down to look, I hopped out of the car and made a dash for it. The driver got out of the car and started chasing me. That wasn’t in the script. I kept running without looking back, repeating the same thing over and over to myself. Don’t let him catch you. Don’t let him catch you. You better not let him catch you.

  I felt him gaining on me. Then I felt a tug at my bag, and it ripped. Oh, man, I couldn’t let that stop me. I kept running while stuff was falling out of my bag. The Lord was on my side that night because that man should have caught my pregnant ass. I wasn’t running nearly as fast as I could, especially since my sneakers were a half-size too small. I had outrun him though, and I made it to 663 River Street safe and sound.

  Before I rang the doorbell, I tried to pull myself together. It wasn’t much to do, but I had to straighten up, at least look a little decent. I had to change my sneakers back to slippers because the pain was unbearable. I had to carry my bag in my hand because it was ripped. I had inspected it first to see what fell out, and it turned out to be some underwear, like I could have afforded to lose that.

  Anyway, I did what I could to look presentable. I tried to rehearse what to say, but nothing sounded good. I was feeling stupid when I heard myself talk, so I decided to play it by ear. I rang the doorbell quickly then stood stiff as the door opened.

  A tall, hefty-looking white man greeted me at the door. I made a face at his appearance like, Uh-oh, wrong house. I had to make sure though.

  “Hi, I’m looking for James Taylor.”

  “You must be the daughter. I talked to you on the phone, remember?”

  “Ah . . . yeah.”

  “Well, come on in. Make yourself at home.”

  I walked in the house and followed the guy down a long hallway that led to the living room.

  “By the way, I’m your daddy’s friend, Bubba. I noticed you were looking at me like, ‘Who the hell is he?’ I’m house-sitting for him.” He laughed.

  I smiled back, not knowing what to say.

  “I would have done the same thing. Don’t be embarrassed.”

  I smiled again then pranced around the living room glancing at everything in sight. I just knew I was home. The house was decent. The living room was carpeted. It had a love seat and a roundabout couch. I thought there would have been some photos, but the walls were bare. I had no idea what my father looked like, which was sad.

  “So your dad is away on business, and I’m house-sitting. He’ll back some time in the morning. Are you here on break?”

  “Break from what?”

  “You know, school.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but I went with the flow. “Ah, yeah.”

  “You hungry?”

  “No. No, thanks.”

  I really was, but I didn’t want to seem greedy on my first visit.

  “Don’t be shy now. I got some hot dogs cooking up, and I got some cheese and chili to top it with.”

  “Okay.” I left the answer open-ended so, when I did decide to get my grub on, I wouldn’t seem desperate.

  “You can sit down if you like. Take your jacket off and stay awhile. You’re in good hands, trust me. Make yourself at home.”

  I took my jacket off and got comfortable on the couch. Surprisingly, I wasn’t even scared in this stranger’s presence. I don’t know if it had something to do with being pregnant, the fact that I had found my father, or that I just didn’t care anymore. It’s funny to me though, now that I think about it. I was in the presence of some 280-pound guy that I didn’t know, and I wasn’t scared. It must have been that I was overwhelmed with the anticipation of meeting my father. Yeah, that’s what it was. I just knew I was in good hands.

  Bubba showed me to the shower after I dug into that bomb chili cheese dog. That dog was out of this world. The bathroom was set up with a separate tub and shower. That was a new sight for me, and I was loving it. My pregnant, smelly behind couldn’t wait to utilize the shower. I took a long, hot one too. I was well overdue for it. I couldn’t believe I had gone a day without bathing.

  I stayed in that sauna for almost an hour. After that, my eyes grew heavy, and it was bedtime. I was in no mood to talk to anyone except a bed. Bubba showed me to the couch, which let out into a bed. He let me see where he was sleeping at too, which was in the spare room two doors down the hall from the living room. The couch bed with no pillow was cool. It didn’t bother me none. As long as I had a place to lay my head, I was good to go.

  I woke up the next morning to the smell of scrambled eggs and pancakes. Bubba was up bright and early cooking breakfast for himself. My stomach immediately turned sour.

  “You can help yourself to some breakfast. There is pancake mix and sausages. I ate the last egg.”

  “Thank you, but no thanks.”

  I got up and went to the bathroom, where I hurled. My morning sickness was a killer, and the smell of eggs didn’t make it any better. On top of that, I didn’t really have an appetite in the morning.

  I came out of the bathroom refreshed, and I overheard another male voice in the kitchen with Bubba. I walked in slowly, not knowing what to expect, but having in mind that it was possibly my father. The unfamiliar face looked at me, and I gave him a strange look.

  “Bubba, who’s this?” the man asked, pointing to me.

  Bubba laughed. “You don’t know what your own daughter looks like?”

  “My daughter?”

  “Yeah, your daughter. The one you told me to be expecting.”

  “Bubba, are you fuckin’ drunk? This ain’t my daughter.”

  “You’re not James Taylor?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I’m James Taylor.”

  “You own a company?”

  “Yeah, I own a dry cleaner’s down on Washington Street? Why?”

  “I don’t know. If you’re James Taylor and you own a company, then you’re my father.”

  He had to be my father, and for the shock of my life, he was a white man. I stood there for a second trying to think clearly. I wanted to know how in the world my father managed to be a tall, skinny redhead.

  “Your father? No, not me. Not this James Taylor.”

  “But my uncle gave me this card that said James Taylor. I can’t remember the name of the company but—”

  “What’s your uncle’s name?”

  “Frank Jones.”

  “Frank Jones . . . Frank Jones. No, I don’t know a Frank Jones. How’d you get this address?”

  “I got it out of the phone book when I looked up your number. When I called, Bubba told me you were expecting me. So I got in a cab and found my way here, which is apparently the wrong place. Sorry.”

  I walked away and began to gather my things. I refolded my clothes and put them in my ripped bag.

  “I take it you never met your father.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. It’s not the first time I’ve been abandoned,” I whispered.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Here, let me get you another bag. Do you need a ride somewhere?”

  “Oh no. No, I’m fine. I was just looking to meet my father for the first time, but I guess not.” I didn’t know what else to say. I was happy he didn’t notice I was pregnant. That may have led to more questions.

  He handed me the bag, and I switched my belongings over to it. I folded my last pair of pants, and voilà, the card fell out. I picked it up and looked at it.

  James Taylor WoodSteel Stock Inc.

  4743 Truman Hwy

  Hyde Park, MA 02136

  “Do you know where you’re going? Do you have somewhere to go?” James asked.

  I
handed him the card.

  “Oh, you’re looking for Jimmy Steel. I know him. I can take you by his place.”

  I didn’t bother to get my hopes up because I didn’t know what to expect. I was already at the wrong house. Who knew? I could have been going to another wrong address.

  Chapter 17

  Both Jameses greeted each other as they met up in the driveway. The James that was supposed to be my father looked familiar. I couldn’t make out where I knew him from, but I knew I had seen him before.

  “You know this young lady?” the white James asked.

  He looked at me. “No. Am I supposed to?”

  “I would hope so. I gotta run though.”

  Then, just like that, my fifteen-minute white dad was gone. He didn’t even give the other James a chance to get more info. I guess it didn’t matter though ’cause I was the one who had to do the explaining.

  “So how can I help you, young lady?”

  “I am looking for my father, James Taylor.”

  “Me? James Taylor?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Noooooo. You must be mistaken. I had one child, and that was my boy Greg who was killed last year in October.”

  “Greg Little,” I called out in amazement.

  “Yeah.”

  “I know him. I mean, I knew him. He . . . wait, you’re—I’m, I’m sorry. I read a poem at his funeral.”

  “Desire, right?”

  “Yes,” I responded, surprised he remembered.

  You know I was floating inside, right? I couldn’t believe he remembered me. All I kept thinking was, Greg’s father. He knows me. Wow!

  On the flip side though, I was still curdled inside, knowing that I was again at a dead end. With no more to say, I stood there silently looking around, dumbfounded.

  I had to take a monstrous piss. “Can I use your bathroom please?” I wiggled.

  “Oh, sure. Follow me.”

  I followed him into his house, and he showed me to the bathroom.

  I came out of the bathroom refreshed and walked into the living room, where he was waiting on me. I glanced around at pictures galore of Greg. I took it upon myself to view each one individually.

  As I glanced around, James walked out of the living room area into the kitchen next door.

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  I continued to surf the portraits. Then I spotted a familiar face. I picked up the framed picture, being careful not to drop it, and examined it closely. This man looks like Uncle Frank. I couldn’t make out if it was or not, so I just asked.

  “Excuse me. Who’s the guy in this picture right here?”

  He looked over at the photo. “Oh, that’s a guy I used to work with.”

  Duh, I see that. “What’s his name?”

  “Ah, Frank, I believe.”

  I stared at the picture.

  “Frank Jones.”

  “Yeah.”

  “This is my uncle.”

  “Frank Jones is your uncle? Really? Wow! Small world.”

  “Actually, my great uncle. He’s my mother’s uncle.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “You know my mother?”

  “Your mother who?”

  “Never mind. You wouldn’t know her.”

  “Yeah, I just know Frank from work.”

  “Oh.”

  I kept looking at the same pictures over and over. I didn’t know what else to do. I knew I was at the wrong house again, but I didn’t know how to make the getaway. Am I supposed to say thank you and ask for help? Do I continue my journey of homelessness?

  “Are you all set?” he asked me as I was steady looking at the pictures like an idiot.

  “Oh, yeah. Thanks for letting me use the bathroom.”

  “Oh, no problem.” He showed me to the door.

  I waved bye to him as I walked down the stairs. I was about to cry, y’all. I had no idea what to do next. The “daddy idea” was gone with the wind. Neither my right brain nor left brain was functioning at that point.

  I heard the house door close behind me, and that was it. At that moment, I lost the feeling in my legs and fell to the ground. I landed on my side, barely hitting my stomach. I grabbed a hold of it though, as if I had fallen directly on it.

  That was the first time ever that I’d emotionally attached myself to my pregnancy. I became conscious of how real it was. I felt around on my stomach as if I was calming the baby’s nerves.

  The house door opened, and James noticed me on the ground. I quickly stopped caressing and pretended to just have a regular non-life-threatening fall.

  “Are you okay?”

  I leaned forward to get off of my side. Regular fall, my ass! I didn’t realize how bad it was until I actually tried to get up. I was breathing heavy to the point where I got dizzy. I had to just sit there for a bit.

  James came down beside me. “You all right? Let me help you up.”

  “No, I’m all right. I just need to catch my breath.” I did want help up, but I was so worried about him seeing that I was pregnant, my dumb ass refused.

  “Did you hurt yourself?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” I quickly answered. I looked down at my stomach. I was hoping he couldn’t tell I was pregnant. I don’t know why I was so stuck on him not knowing.

  He stood up beside me as I put my head down between my knees, prepping myself to get up. I took a deep breath. Then I felt his hands on me. He assisted me up like I didn’t want him to. Once I was on my feet, I wiped the dirt off my freshly scraped hands. While I’m doing that, I heard Mr. Taylor yell out something that sounded like profanity. I looked over at him to see what the fuss was about.

  “I know you know, okay. Just cut the shit, Desire. You’re my daughter, yes! What do you want from me? Why are you here? What? You need money? Here, let me give you what you want.” He rummaged in his pockets.

  I watched him like, What? Wait, what did you say?

  A twenty-dollar bill came sailing my way. The money hit the ground, and I just stood there like it was invisible. Did he just throw money at me? Was I on stage dancing?

  “What? Is that not enough?”

  I looked down at the twenty, and then it all hit me. This was my father. This was my father, y’all! All this time, Greg and I were blood brother and sister. Tears streamed immediately. I looked back down at the twenty. I was insulted. The first visit with my father, and he made me feel like that. I was better off homeless, right?

  I wiped my eyes and began walking away, leaving the twenty on the ground.

  “Wait. Desire, I’m sorry.”

  I stopped walking but didn’t turn around.

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  I wiped my eyes again from the tears that kept coming.

  He came up behind me and reached for my bag. “Come inside, please.”

  I wanted to smile so bad, you just don’t know. As quickly as he had ruined my day, he made the sun shine again. I followed him into the house and sat on the couch.

  He sat down beside me holding his head in the palm of his hands. “I knew this day would come. I’m not mad at you. I can only be mad at myself.” He lifted his head up and turned to me. “I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry. I’m just unprepared.”

  I shook my head up and down as if I understood.

  “That boy of mine would have killed for this moment. He never knew you ever existed, but that man upstairs made it happen. He brought y’all together, and neither one of you knew.”

  I had a flashback of Greg as I focused on one of his pictures. Tears fell. “I wish I knew he was my brother . . . not like he treated me as if I wasn’t anyway.”

  “I know. He was that kind of person.”

  “Yeah, he used to stick up for me all the time. That’s how I met him. My first day at school, these kids were teasing me, and he came to my rescue.”

  “That was my boy. He was always there to help somebody.”

  “Yeah, he
was always there for me.” I touched my face. “This scar could have been a lot worse if Greg didn’t again come to my rescue.”

  “Yeah, he was a true saint. Every time he mentioned you, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth. My son was never really a worrier, but when it came to you, he was always worried. But even with his worries about you, I still couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth.”

  I sat silent without a word to say. I was stumped and hurt. I couldn’t believe he knew about me all that time and said nothing. I was shocked he didn’t at least try to swear Greg to secrecy or something.

  “If you didn’t want anything to do with me, then why didn’t you at least tell Greg?”

  “It wasn’t that I didn’t want anything to do with you. I just . . . I didn’t want him to know because I knew he would press me about it. He would have tried to bring you here, and I wasn’t ready for all that yet.”

  So what does that mean now? It was official. I was an outcast to both my parents. Neither one of them wanted me. I picked up my bag to leave, feeling like I was going to be a burden to my father too.

  “Well, I won’t waste your time. At least now I know neither of my parents wanted me.”

  “Wait. What do you mean? Where’s your mother?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in like two years.”

  “Two years? Wait. You’re the one whose mother left her after her fifth-grade graduation?”

  I took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. “Yup, that’s me.”

  “I can’t believe that was you Greg was talking about. So you live with Frank?”

  “I did but” I stopped talking. Tears rolled from my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I cried.

  He took a deep breath, leaned me into his shoulder, and embraced me.

  I let it all out then. I had the hiccup-cry going on. It was like everything sour about my life hit me at one time. I thought about being pregnant, running away, missing school, taking my aunt’s money, Malik giving me HIV, Greg not being around forever. Everything.

  “Everything’s going to be all right!”