Monday's Not Coming

by Tiffany D. Jackson

  “How could she plead not guilty like that?” Ma asked. “After what she’s done!”

  “Well, that’s not entirely true. She has admitted to August’s death, but she is claiming no involvement in Monday’s. She was under the impression Monday ran away and has no idea how she ended up in the freezer.”

  “Ran away? Really,” I said pointedly to Carson. “Wonder why she didn’t file a police report.”

  Carson stiffened before clearing his throat.

  “The autopsy is a bit muddled given the conditions of the . . . bodies,” Detective Carson said, eyes shifting to me then back. “Hard to determine the exact cause of death.”

  Ma rubbed my back. “Sweet Pea, are you sure you want to be here for this? These questions could be kind of hard.”

  “Let her stay,” Daddy said. “She’s old enough and has a right to hear what happened to her friend.”

  Carson and Woods shared a quick look.

  “Claudia . . . I’m real sorry about your friend,” Carson said. “Your mother said you’ve taken this pretty hard. That’s why we wanted to come here, where you feel safe, and talk. Is that okay?”

  I tried talking to you, but you wouldn’t listen—I wanted to scream. Instead, I straightened my back and tilted up my chin. He knows what he did, living with that guilt is enough punishment.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Daddy and Ma beamed proudly.

  “Great. Now, we’re trying to put together a concrete timeline of events,” Woods said, flipping to a clean page in her legal pad. “We want this to be a rock-solid case, so we’re crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s.”

  The detectives drilled down for information, asking us a whole heap of questions: When did we first meet Monday? What was she like? What was Mrs. Charles like? On and on, they kept digging deeper into the ground, turning over fresh soil, planting seeds of new theories.

  “Mrs. Coleman,” Carson said, taking a sip from his water bottle. “When did you last see Monday?”

  Ma nibbled on her bottom lip. “A week after Claudia went to visit my mother. She came by one afternoon. Must have been a Saturday, since I was home. I offered her some iced tea and a sandwich. She seemed, I don’t know, frazzled.”

  Woods nodded. “Do you remember what she was wearing?

  “Yes. A pair of green-and-blue shorts with little white lace trim and a white tank top. The shorts had this sort of tribal pattern. I think it even had a little pink in it.”

  The detectives glanced at each other, eyebrows arching to the ceiling.

  “That’s very specific,” Carson said.

  “I bought those shorts for Claudia, for her to take to Georgia. She spends summers down there with my mother.”

  Woods scribbled some notes. “So did Monday take them?”

  Ma’s eyes narrowed. “Monday ain’t never stole a thing in her life. Claudia probably gave them to her. She gave Monday lots of her clothes. We knew, but it wasn’t hurting nobody.”

  Woods slipped an 8 x 11 photo out of her files, sliding it across the coffee table. I tensed, digging my nails into the sofa. Are we about to see Monday’s body?

  “Was this the pattern?”

  Ma swallowed, slowly leaning forward, easing the photo closer. I held my breath and looked over her shoulder at a fuzzy blown-up shot of a hectic tribal pattern, much like the ones I like to color. Lagoon blue, kelly green, and magenta divided by sharp black lines into shapes.

  “Yes, that’s it,” Ma muttered, then gasped. “Wait, is this what you found her in? Does this mean that she was wearing these when . . . ?”

  “We can’t say for certain,” Woods said.

  “Oh God!” Ma cried, and leaned into Daddy, sobbing into his chest.

  I dug my nails into my palms, hoping to feel something other than numbness, itching to touch the photo.

  “Claudia,” Carson said. “They found a unique key in one of her pockets. We couldn’t figure out what it belonged to, but her sister April mentioned it was to a journal.”

  The room turned cold and my lungs pinched shut.

  “We didn’t inventory a journal at the scene. Do know what she may be referring to?”

  “No.”

  “Claudia,” Daddy warned.

  “I mean, no, sir.”

  “April mentioned that you might have Monday’s journal,” Carson said. “That you might have taken it when you were over their house a few weeks back”

  Ma sniffed and leaned over to glare at me, tears soaking her face. “What’s he talking about? Didn’t I tell you about going over to that house?”

  I hung my head to avoid her eyes.

  “What were you thinking?” she screamed. “What if something happened to you too? Don’t you think we’ve lost enough?”

  “Sorry, Ma,” I squeaked, my lip trembling.

  “Do you still have it?” Woods asked. “The journal April mentioned?”

  “Yes, sir,” I mumbled.

  “Go get it,” Ma snapped. “Now, Claudia Mae!”

  I jumped at her sharp words, running up to my room and plucking it from its hiding spot.

  Carson stood as I returned, taking a large Ziploc bag out of his pocket.

  “Thank you, Claudia,” he said, shaking the bag open. “Now, if you can just drop it in here for me.”

  The plastic bag snapping the air shook me out of a fog. I was holding the last of my best friend, the other half of me, the only piece of her I had left, the only way to know what her life without me was like. The boys she kissed, the books she read, the swim classes she took . . .

  I clutched the book tight to my chest. “Will you give it back?”

  Carson’s lips tightened as he glanced at Woods. “Sorry, Claudia, we’re going to have to keep it. It’s evidence.”

  “But . . . ,” I whimpered. “I haven’t finished reading it yet. It takes me . . . a little longer.”

  “They need it for the investigation, Sweet Pea,” Daddy said, standing up. “You’ve got to give it to them.”

  Tears spilled over as my hands began to tremble. “I can’t. It’s all I have of her!” I turned to Carson. “And you OWE me!”

  Carson hesitated, gripping the bag as Woods frowned, eyes ping-ponging between us.

  “Claudia, give them the book,” Ma ordered.

  “No! It’s not fair!”

  “I’m sure if Monday were here, she’d be saying the same thing,” Daddy sighed, placing a hand on my shoulder. “It ain’t fair at all.”

  A cry, the one saved deep in my belly, rippled out of me.

  “Please,” I gasped between sobs, doubling over in pain. “Please, I’m not ready. Please, Daddy!”

  Daddy held me as I bawled, my body giving in as I slumped into him. Ma stood up to join us crying together. It was the type of crying that we should have done at the funeral, except the funeral never felt real. But here, in our home, where we spent so many hours playing, laughing, dancing, this was where we had to say good-bye.

  “Come on, Sweet Pea.” Daddy sniffed. “It’s time.”

  He held up my arm with my hand gripping the journal, rubbing my shoulder. Ma kissed my cheek and whispered, “I love you” as I dropped the journal in the bag along with my heart.

  “Thank you, Claudia,” Carson said, sealing the bag. “I know how much this means to you. Did you happen to take anything else out of the house that might help us build our case?”

  I think of the book, Flowers in the Attic, still hidden under my bed, and my back turned into a concrete wall.

  “No.”

  Ms. Clark gasped as I entered the main office, forty minutes late to school.

  “Claudia, I . . . um,” she started but stopped, her eyes filling with tears. The rest of the office froze around her.

  Mr. Hill ran in, the principal behind him.

  “Claudia! What are you . . . I mean, we weren’t expecting you today. Your father called and said you would be out for a little while. How are you?”

  I squirmed in my uniform
, hanging loose off my hips after going weeks without food sticking to my bones.

  “I need a late pass,” I mumbled.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” he said, giving Ms. Clark a curt nod. “How about I walk you to class?”

  He led me out of the office quickly, as if the very sight of me could trigger tears, escorting me from my locker to first-period English, filling my ears with promises. How he’ll talk to all the teachers about my grades, homework, and finals. Not even in class yet and already regretting the idea of coming to school just to get out the house while Ma and Daddy went to work. I couldn’t take the silence.

  Throughout the day, whispers hit my back like kicked-up pebbles.

  “That’s Claudia. She was best friends with that girl they found in the freezer.”

  The lunch line snaked around the outskirts of cafeteria. My movements felt robotic and staggering, much like the way Monday dragged herself through school all those months ago. Go home, I thought over and over again. You don’t belong here.

  A broken light flickered above me. The sound lifted me out the room and dropped me in the house. I could almost smell the mattress, hear Mrs. Charles cackle, feel myself falling out of the window.

  BUZZZZZ.

  A heavy hand tapped my shoulder. Trevor grinned with Carl standing behind him, their smiles unnerving.

  “Heyyyyy, Claudia! What’s up?”

  The hairs on the back of my neck spiked. They haven’t talked to me all year—what do they want now?

  Trevor’s face tightened, straining to hold back a laugh. “Yo, I’m sorry your girlfriend got murked.”

  I swallowed, my fists balling up as I turned back around.

  He tapped my shoulder again. “Hey. HEY! I’m talking to you.”

  “Don’t touch me,” I spat, slapping his hand away.

  “Oh, so you just gonna come back to school like nothing,” Carl yelled.

  The cafeteria came to a halt. Just ignore him, I chanted to myself, but the buzzing grew louder, drowning out my own voice.

  BUZZZZZ.

  “Man, fuck you, then, dumb bitch,” Trevor yelled, his breath on my neck. “I was just trying to be nice to you. Stupid, how you not know your best friend was dead? Why you ain’t say nothing?”

  “Hey! Leave her alone!”

  I whipped my head around the cafeteria to see where the voice came from, locking eyes with Shayla, sitting at a table a few feet from the line. Ashley next to her, clutching a bottle of water, her eyes bouncing from me to Shayla and back.

  “Y’all think this funny?” Shayla barked, shaking her head. “With y’all sorry asses.”

  BUZZZZZ.

  Trevor waved her off. “Man, whatever.”

  “My daddy said it took four days to thaw her out the freezer before they knew it was really her,” Carl chuckled. “They thawed that bitch out like a fucking turkey!”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and stuffed my ears.

  BUZZZZZ . . .

  “Aye! Didn’t she say leave her alone?” Jacob shoved Carl out the way, standing between Trevor and me like a brick wall. “Y’all lunchin’. How you going after a girl like that?”

  “For real? You acting like you didn’t smash that—”

  “Y’all talking about Monday like y’all didn’t know her too!” Jacob yelled, shoving Trevor before one of the lunch monitors stepped in. “We all knew her! We saw her every day, and now she’s GONE! That shit ain’t funny.”

  The words she’s gone rang like a massive bell that everyone could hear.

  “NO! They best meet still.” She isn’t dead.

  The room tensed and stiffened.

  “What’s she saying?”

  “I . . . don’t know.”

  “Bit most well spent no!” We have to save her from that house!

  “Dang, she talking in tongues. Claudia—”

  “The left foot missed right gone! GONE! GONE!”

  BUZZZZZ.

  I screamed and screamed and screamed until I had no air left. Girls began to cry. Carl’s face dropped as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. She’s gone. Gone. GONE!

  Mrs. Valente pushed through the crowd, pulling me into her arms.

  “It’s okay,” she sobbed, holding me tight. “You’re going to be okay.”

  The ticking light winked at me before I felt the prick of the nurse’s needle and the world went quiet.

  That was my last day at school.

  The After

  “I’ve never skipped school before,” Michael laughed as we walked inside Ms. Walker’s house. “Well, I didn’t skip school. Just left early, so it don’t really count. Coach finds out, I’ll be doing suicide drills for hours.”

  I took in the familiar warmth of the living room.

  “Where’s Ms. Walker?” I asked, following him into the kitchen.

  “She left for the annual church retreat,” Michael said, opening the fridge and pulling out two ginger ales.

  “That’s this weekend? Already?”

  “Well, you’ve been having trouble remembering stuff lately,” he said, placing the cans on the table.

  “Right,” I mumbled. It had been over a week and the shock hadn’t worn off yet. Two years of my life, gone. Monday, gone. I barely knew who I was anymore.

  “Claudia. You okay?”

  He rubbed both my arms, warming my skin, and I stared up into his bright, pleading brown eyes.

  “So,” I said, squirming, afraid I’d burst into a lake of tears. “When you moving in here?”

  Michael grinned. “Started moving my stuff in last weekend. But hey, I got a surprise for you!”

  We headed to the back of the house into a plain white narrow room with a small desk and a wooden twin bed propped against the wall. Michael stepped around a few boxes to a little bookcase on the floor made of milk crates.

  “This was my dad’s room when he was kid,” he said. “He still has a bunch of his stuff here. I was cleaning out his closet when I found this!”

  He pulled out a box of old cassette tapes, labeled by dates and venue name.

  “Oh snap! Are these his old go-go mixes?” I asked, combing through the thick stack.

  “Yeah, but want to hear something really cool?”

  He popped one cassette into the old stereo. The conga beat smoothed out the speakers and my ears welcomed its rhythm, the band unknown. I shrugged at him.

  “Just listen.”

  A guy spat over the beat, calling out folks’ names.

  “I see you, Claudia baby, over there from Southeast!”

  “Ahhh!” I screamed. “That’s me! Well, not really me but ME!”

  Michael laughed. “I was trying to decide if I should throw this box away when I heard it. Now you can say you were there, even if you weren’t.”

  I sat on the floor, in awe of the collection. Monday would have flipped if she had heard this. She would’ve blasted this from every speaker everywhere. She would have danced. She should be dancing.

  BUZZZZZ.

  “Claudia,” Michael said softly. “Come here.”

  My stomach clenched as I pulled myself up to join him on the unmade bed he sat on.

  “Hey,” he whispered, tipping my chin up. “What’s on your mind?”

  I took a deep breath. “I remember my last day at school.”

  Michael brightened. “You remember? Finally! We gotta tell your moms!”

  I had tons of questions, but only one mattered. “Why have you been . . . so nice to me?”

  He shook his head, glancing at the floor with a shrug. “’Cause . . . she was sitting in your kitchen.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Monday. Last time I saw her, she was with your mom.”

  My heart leaped. “When?”

  “Like, a few days before the church barbecue. I helped my mom drop the ribs off for your mom to season.”

  The church barbecue was held a week after I left for Georgia. I never usually missed it, but that year it was pushed back two weeks due to rain.
It would have cost too much money to change my flight.

  “I walked in and thought it was you,” he continued. “Y’all looked so alike it’s freaky. I remembered she had these bright-ass shorts on. Then after the way everything went down, I couldn’t stop thinking about it, how I saw her on her first last day. And then I thought, what if that was you? Couldn’t get it out of my head. It scared me.”

  He slipped my hand into his and squeezed it tight. My heart raced as I gazed into his chocolate eyes. Why am I so nervous? I thought. It’s just Michael—warm, tall, and solid. Michael is safe.

  Michael is safe, no bubble needed.

  I leaned over and kissed him. Not a drunken kiss, a kiss that felt more like flying, the air in my lungs loose instead of crushing in desperation. He smiled as he kissed me back.

  Ma stood in the kitchen doorway, hands locked on her hips.

  “We bought that cell phone for a reason, Claudia. You should have told me where you were,” she said, her voice measured but laced with an edge.

  “Sorry. I just . . . needed to clear my head.” I took a deep breath. “Ma, I remembered my last day of school.”

  Ma gasped, crossing her arms as if to shield herself before spinning on her heels, heading into the kitchen.

  “Come on in here. It’s time we had a talk.”

  I gulped, stomach squeezing against my spine.

  “I think it’s time I finally be straight with you, Claudia,” she said, pulling out a chair. “Didn’t think it would be good for your . . . recovery. But maybe knowing the truth will help.”

  “The truth about wh-what?” I stuttered, joining her at the table, bracing myself.

  Ma took a deep breath as she folded her hands together.

  “Before it happened, Monday came by here, not long after you left for Grandmamma’s. She didn’t say much, but . . . it seemed like she wanted to talk about something. I was heading to Bible study so I offered her a ride home. When we pulled up, not even a foot out of the car, Monday started crying. Something was just off about her that day. I spoke to your father about it, and we decided to make an anonymous call to social services. Now . . . I’m just wondering if I made things worse. If that call set Patti off somehow. And she took it out on that poor little girl.”

  My teeth chattered, as if a cold front had moved through my body. Ma’s eyes began to water.