Monday's Not Coming

by Tiffany D. Jackson

  “It’s high up here,” I said, smoothing down my hair, hoping it wouldn’t frizz in the sticky heat.

  “The air’s just fine,” he said with a wink, scooting closer. My cheeks burned as I bit back a girly grin. This is not a date.

  Second quarter, the Clerks with a 20–15 lead, I drank in the intoxicating electric air. A scene ripped right out of a movie that I now had a leading role in.

  “Aren’t you hot?” Michael said, tugging at my sleeve. “Take your coat off! Stay a while.”

  I pulled at Ma’s jacket in the tight space, and when he helped, his fingers grazing the back of my neck, a spark flew. Our eyes locked, tension frying like water popping off hot oil. He gulped as his eyes flicked back to the game. Just static. This is not a date.

  “So . . . uh . . . we only up by three. It’s gonna be a tight game,” he said, rubbing his sweaty hands over his jeans. “You know anything about basketball?”

  I let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah, but I like football better.”

  He grinned. “That’s cool. Maybe you can come to one of my games next year. Coach said I’ll be starting.”

  I shrugged, playing it off. “Okay.”

  He laughed as we turned back to the game. This is not a date. He’s just being friendly. But I wondered what Monday would have thought of it. I could picture us now in our tent, overanalyzing every word and movement of the moment. If Monday never comes back, who will I talk to about boys?

  The buzzer sounded, and the announcer blared through the speakers.

  “Alright, y’all! Put your hands together for the all-state Cardozo dance team!”

  A storm of silver and purple sequins ran out to the middle of the floor, waving at the crowd, forming a floor pyramid, their heads down. The music started, and heads popped up with huge red smiles before the team jumped into high splits and parted. I noticed Megan in the back row, her eyes sparkling as she high kicked. I leaned forward, engrossed in their routine. Michael watched me with a smirk.

  The crowd cheered, harder than they did during the game. Megan looked amazing, her moves fluid, smile effortless. Grinning as she twirled, her head arching back with a laugh before she dipped, like she was having the time of her life. Maybe that’s what’s missing from my dancing: fun. I used to have fun.

  Then I saw it. The move Monday taught me. The boom beat beat, step step. They did it twice before their grand finale. I stood with the rest of the crowd in awe, jumping and screaming my lungs out, like they’d won the game. That’s going to be us, I thought. Monday and me, on the dance team, the crowd loving us.

  That’s when her sweater caught my eye. My sweater. The white-and-fuchsia one I let Monday borrow last year. A huge bull’s-eye, sitting on one of the lower bleachers. My heart almost came to a full stop. But it wasn’t on Monday—it hung snugly on the busty frame of her sister.

  “April,” I gasped, but Michael couldn’t hear me over the loud roar of the crowd as the teams returned, halftime over.

  With her back to me, I recognized her profile, so similar to Monday’s, sitting next to a boy with a low cut, his arm roped around her waist, whispering in her ear. She faked a laugh, and he nudged her twice. He stood up, sweatpants hanging off his ass, and nodded toward the stairs. She sighed and followed him, heading toward doors leading into the school on the far end of the gym, his hand locked right above her butt, pushing her along. She shook her head a bit, and he whispered into her ear again, more aggressive than before. Her eyes softened, seeming defeated, before disappearing through the doors. The buzzer sounded and the game began again.

  I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe because she was the closest thing to Monday I had put my eyes on in months, but I leaped up and moved quickly through the crowd.

  “Claudia?” Michael called behind me. I ran around the perimeter of the court, eyes focused on the door she disappeared through. Right as I passed under the hoop, a whistle blew, squeaky footsteps sounding close before two players flew in front of me, slamming into the purple matted wall.

  “Ahhh!” I screamed, stopping short, seconds away from being trampled. The rogue basketball hit my ankle, and the players groaned in pain, panting. The tallest one glared at me. I remembered him—Megan’s boyfriend, Kam. He grabbed the ball by my feet with a grunt.

  “Get the fuck off the court,” he muttered and threw the ball back into play.

  “Shit,” I coughed out, my hand locked on my chest.

  “Claudia!” Michael called again. His voice shook me out my trance, and I raced toward the doors, crashing through them.

  “April!” I yelled, my voice echoing down the empty hallway. I walked aimlessly, passing the dark classrooms, stopping by the central staircase with purple-and-gold murals, staring up at the multiple flights of stairs. I kept wandering, studying the large bulletin board of photos, student trips to Italy, community garden, and spirit day . . . until I found myself in an enclosed courtyard with a glass roof—like a greenhouse—staring up at the night sky. This is high school, I thought, not knowing whether to be excited by the sheer size of it or scared shitless.

  “Ha, stoppppp, Keith,” April giggled, her voice echoing from somewhere close. I jogged, confused by its lightness. Did she want to be with that guy?

  Suddenly, something clanged behind me, like a metal cup dropping and bouncing on the floor. A group of colored pencils scattered and rolled out the cracked door of a darkened classroom into the hallway, greeting my sneakers.

  “Shhh,” the boy hushed her, his voice muffled. “You making a mess.”

  I tiptoed toward the door, peering through the window at the boy—his pants around his ankles—squeezed between April’s straddled legs as she lay on top of a teacher’s desk.

  I swung the door wide, letting the soft light from the hallway shine a spotlight on them.

  “Shit,” Keith muttered, pulling up his pants and jumping off April. She scrambled to cover herself, her mouth dropping.

  “Claudia?” she mumbled in shock.

  Keith did a double take. “Who the hell is this?”

  April wiggled off the desk, buttoning her jeans while glaring at me. “She’s . . . my little sister’s friend.”

  “April . . . what are you doing?” I gasped, blurting out the first thought stuck on my tongue. I mean, how could she have sex with some guy in a classroom? Didn’t she know what people already said about her? Didn’t she know how it embarrassed Monday?

  Heavy footsteps echoed in the hall and we froze. Damn, a teacher followed me. We’re all going to be in trouble now, I thought. Keith held a finger up to his lips, dipping into the shadows as the footsteps grew louder. I whipped around, bracing myself, as Michael appeared.

  Keith smiled, relaxing. “Oh, what’s up, Mikey?”

  Michael took in the scene as Keith continued to adjust his pants. His eyes narrowed.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, gently touching my elbow.

  “Yeah,” I mumbled.

  Keith chuckled and nodded in my direction. “Yo, Mikey, you robbing the cradle now?”

  Michael’s face hardened. “Naw, she just . . . goes to my church.”

  Dang, that’s all I am to him? He still acting like I’m some nobody from church. I snatched my arm back, sucking my teeth. He frowned, his eyebrows pinching together.

  “Um, what y’all doing?” Michael asked.

  “Pssh. Nothing. Just chillin’,” Keith laughed, smirking at April.

  “But what y’all doing?” April snapped. “Why don’t y’all go back to the game and mind yo’ business!”

  Michael sighed. “Whatever, April. You don’t even go to this school. You just here to get some dick. And ain’t you too old to be up in—”

  A quick spark of something unsaid flashed between them before they both glanced to see if I noticed.

  “You stupid motherfucker! Would you shut up with that big-ass mouth!” April shrieked, causing Michael to take the smallest step in front of me, readying himself.

  They know eac
h other. But how?

  Keith watched April with an amused smirk.

  “Hey, it ain’t that serious. We just messing around,” Keith chuckled, dapping Michael up. “And anyways, this ain’t supposed to be no party.” He shrugged at April. “I’ll check you later.”

  “What you mean?” she asked, her voice pleading, eyes widening. “I thought we . . .”

  “Naw, I’ll check you later,” he snapped, frustrated he had to repeat himself.

  April shrank back, her arms crossed. Even I felt the sting of his rejection, treating her like a plate of leftovers he could reheat another day. Reminding me of Jacob . . . and Monday.

  “Later, cuz,” Keith said to Michael. “Catch you in the weight room.”

  “Yeah, later,” Michael mumbled.

  The three of us stood there, exchanging a few uncomfortable glances before April’s foot started tapping, and then her whole body shook, teeth sucking every twenty seconds.

  “What the fuck are you looking at?” she snapped, each word a claw, lashing out at us. She turned to me, throwing her hands up. “You happy now?”

  I folded my hands behind my back with a wince. I’d thought I was saving her. Instead, I humiliated her.

  “I need to talk to April alone for a second,” I whispered to Michael.

  “Are you for real?”

  “Please?” I begged.

  He blew out air, glaring at me like a disappointed parent, and he shook his head.

  “Fine,” he hissed. “I’ll be in the gym.”

  He didn’t acknowledge April as he left, storming down the hall until we couldn’t hear his sneakers squeak anymore.

  April huffed, straightening her sweater. Monday’s sweater. My sweater. It fit like a crop top, her flat belly out for the world to see. The way I’m sure she wanted it.

  “April, I’m sorry.”

  Her eyes flared. “Whatever! He wasn’t shit anyways.”

  She jumped off the table, finished readjusting her clothes, and moved about as if I wasn’t standing right next to her. No use in trying to talk to her, make her see this wasn’t cool. The way she operated wasn’t going to change. But she was my only line to Monday.

  “So, has Monday come by lately?”

  She chuckled, a rough and throaty laugh just like her mom’s.

  “You still at this, Claudia?” She shook her head. “Okay, fine, I’ll play along. Monday is at my aunt’s.”

  “Huh? Last time you said she was with her dad.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

  “But Tuesday said she was home and she played with her.”

  That stopped April cold. Her eyes grew wide as she stared at the ground. Her body swayed lightly, and then she sniffed and zipped up her jacket.

  “Leave Tuesday out of this,” she snarled. “DON’T bring her up again.”

  A walking block of ice, cold and impenetrable, she tugged and straightened her tan coat, smoothing back her edges. Her hair seemed different, a shade brighter but hard to tell.

  “Damn, don’t you miss Monday at all?”

  “Bitch, you act like you know her!”

  “I know her better than you,” I snapped. The words were supposed to come out like bullets. Instead they landed with a soft thud against her—light as a paper plane.

  Her smirk chipped away at some of my nerve.

  “Oh really? You think you knew her so well? Alright, what was her favorite color?”

  “Pink,” I said, sucking my teeth at the dumb question.

  “ANTTTT! WRONG! Her favorite color wasn’t pink. It was purple. She fucking hated pink. She just went along with it because y’all couldn’t have the same favorite color.”

  That funny feeling in the pit of my stomach dropped lower.

  “That ain’t true,” I whispered.

  “Monday did anything you wanted ’cause you was the only one stupid enough to be her friend. She didn’t have anyone BUT you. And that dude she fucked.”

  The word fucked landed hard, thumping against my bubble.

  “Naw . . . Monday didn’t do anything like that with Jacob.”

  “Ha! Who said it was Jacob?”

  My tongue dropped dead in my mouth as my body went rigid.

  She smirked. “See?”

  She’s lying, I repeated in my head over and over. April lies. That’s what she does.

  Her sleeve crept up as she reached to tighten her ponytail, and I noticed a spot of raw skin on her arm. A scar. As if she’d held her arm over a birthday candle and the flame had engulfed her.

  “Dang, what happened to your arm?” I asked, reaching toward it instinctively.

  “Nothing,” she gasped, lowering her sleeve and slapping my hand away. She shoved me hard, a one-handed palm right in the middle of my chest. I yelped as I hit the floor. April stood over me, her hands balled into fists, just like her mother.

  “And I ain’t gonna tell you again. Quit bringing up Monday, and stay out of my fucking business!”

  I stayed dead on the floor, listening to her sneakers squeak down the hall until they disappeared. Just like Monday.

  The Before

  “I don’t know where your father is!”

  Ma slapped a thick wad of dough on the counter, kneading it with her fists. When she finished beating it to submission, she’d let it rise overnight and we’d have fresh rolls for Sunday dinner.

  “He know how I worry,” she grumbled. “You gonna work on your homework tonight?”

  “Yes, Ma,” I mumbled from the table, painting my nails an ombré blue sky with tiny white stars.

  The front door slammed. Ma looked up, placing powdery hands on her hips.

  “Where you been? You missed dinner! Your fingers broke? You can’t call nobody?”

  Daddy strolled into the kitchen, tickled by Ma’s snappiness.

  “Sorry, baby, was with Uncle Pete. Van broke down on the BWI.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I didn’t realize how late it was.”

  She huffed. “Well, wash your hands so you can eat. I’ll fix your plate.”

  Daddy winked at me and took to the sink while Ma heated up some greens, candied yams, and baked chicken.

  “Ladies, it’s freezing out there,” Daddy said, rubbing his hands together, grabbing a beer out the fridge. “I thought my fingers were about to break off.”

  He stroked my cheek with the back of his fingers and I flinched away from the cold.

  “Daddy! You’re gonna make me mess up my nails.”

  He grinned, tickling my neck. I couldn’t help laughing. He’s such a big kid.

  “You lucky you didn’t get frostbite,” Ma said, loading up his plate. “It’s negative two degrees out there. And with the wind chill, it feels like negative twenty.”

  “You should have seen us on the side of the parkway, trying to get that van to start. Almost froze to death. Van stopped in the middle of him driving—just crazy. Anyway, we swung by a service station up the road . . . and the funniest thing happened. I ran into Smokey Davenport. We played together, back in high school.”

  “His name’s not really Smokey, is it?”

  He chuckled. “No, it’s Herman. Just a nickname.”

  Ma shook her head. “What a crazy name he gave himself.”

  Daddy smiled. “Hadn’t seen him since I don’t even know when. We chopped it up for a bit, and he told me he just saw Tip, working at the gas pumps over at the Maryland House on 95.”

  I flinched, hitting my nails on the table. Ma spun around.

  “Tip? Tip Charles?”

  Daddy sat at the table next to me, his eyes focused on his bottle. “Yup.”

  Ma glanced over at me quick, then back to Daddy before placing a plate in front of him. “Okay . . . and?”

  He took a slow swig of his beer. “And I asked him if he had his number. And he said yeah.”

  I stared down at my nails to keep from looking too eager. My left ring finger and pinkie were smudged almost completely off. I tried blowing on my righ
t hand but I couldn’t cough up enough air.

  “And?” Ma encouraged.

  “He called him up . . . right then and there. So, I asked him about Monday.”

  “AND?”

  Daddy sighed. “And . . . he hasn’t seen her.”

  Ma’s head snapped back. We locked eyes, both stunned.

  “What do you mean he hasn’t seen her?” Ma asked in disbelief.

  “He hasn’t seen Monday, or any of them, in over a year, maybe longer.”

  My mouth dropped. Ma’s eyes widened. “A year!” she screamed. “How you not lay eyes on your own child for over a year?”

  He chugged back his drink. “He owe Patti thousands in child support. You know that woman is impossible. Ain’t no way she gonna let him see those kids without paying a toll. Tried to reason with her but it got too . . . exhausting.”

  “But a YEAR! That ain’t right!” Ma yelled, throwing the dough in a bowl.

  “I know, I know. But he hadn’t been working. He couldn’t pay child support, and he couldn’t get a lawyer with no job to take her to court. He just got that job. But hasn’t made enough to pay her back all he owes. He scared she may have him arrested. What good will that do them both?”

  Ma shook her head. “That’s a damn shame. Nothing should stop you from seeing your kids.”

  “Nothing should. But Patti sure can.”

  I shifted away from the table and headed up to my room in silence.

  The After

  “You know . . . you haven’t said a word about the game!”

  Bracing the early morning icy winds, I helped Ma pack her pie orders in the trunk of the car before heading to church with April’s words still dancing around my head. Monday wouldn’t lie about her favorite color, would she?

  “Yes I did. I said it was fine.”

  “Yeah, but how was it being in high school? With all those kids!”

  I shrugged, thinking of the massive hallways and April’s shirt—my shirt—hanging off her.

  “It was okay,” I said, climbing into the car.

  Ma hopped in and buckled her seat belt.

  “But . . . did it get you excited? Could you picture yourself there?”

  “At Cardozo?”