Monday's Not Coming

by Tiffany D. Jackson

  “When you hadn’t heard from her, I thought maybe they—I mean, social services—took her out the house for good. And we, I mean, I . . . I didn’t want you hating me because I had something to do with you losing your best friend.”

  Ma finally let the tears fall. “I was wrong not to tell you, because I knew you were old enough, smart enough, to understand. I’m sorry, Sweet Pea. But please, don’t hate me.”

  I took a much-needed breath as she reached over to hold my hands.

  “I could never hate you, Ma. Never!”

  She wiped her eyes. “My God, it just felt like I lost another child all over again. I didn’t want you seeing me like that. Not again. ’Cause I knew how much you loved that girl.”

  My lip quivered. “I did, Ma. I did love her.”

  Ma reached over and held my hand.

  “So did I, Sweet Pea,” she whispered. “So did Daddy. That’s why I think it’s time we . . . all got some real help. Together.”

  June

  If I was a color, I would be white, vast in my blankness. Pure, whole, virginal, predictable . . .

  Boring.

  The colors thrown at me didn’t bleed into my canvas and leave a mark. The colors washed out with nothing but water. That’s what made this story so hard to remember. It’s hard facing a mirror and seeing all you are made of and all you couldn’t absorb.

  But I’m open to be changed. To be in a place where I can hold all the colors I love at once, appreciate what they are, and learn from them.

  I’m open to new beginnings.

  The After

  “Last week, Thomas Charles, the father of Monday and August Charles, filed a multimillion-dollar wrongful death lawsuit against the city, after officials failed to respond properly to school social workers’ concerns.

  “The lawsuit has created a rift between city council and community leaders. Todd Harris, from the DC Urban Development Coalition, feels the suit raises a fundamental concern.

  “Well, I think it boils down to one question: who’s really responsible for your well-being—your family, the government, or your community?”

  I waited patiently in line for my turn at Starbucks in Gallery Place Chinatown. Waiting for her to see me. Waiting for us to lock eyes and really see each other. I stepped up to the counter and she blinked, hands rubbing against her apron.

  “Your hair is shorter,” I blurted out. “And red. More like tomato mixed with cherry.”

  April chuckled. “So. You finally remembered. About fucking time.”

  I smiled. “I’ll take a hot chocolate.”

  She nodded and called over her shoulder. “Taking a break!”

  I had to find April. Because I trusted her, more than anyone, to keep it real with me. We sat on a bus bench on the corner of H and 7th Street, sipping in silence, watching cars drive under the Chinese archway.

  “I only got fifteen minutes, so make it quick.”

  “How many times have I done this?”

  “Twice,” she admitted. “But this was the longest.”

  I shook my head. “Surprised you played along.”

  “Ain’t like I wanted to. Your mom begged me. Said it was a part of your ‘healing’ and that I should take ‘pity’ on you. Heh! Why should I pity YOU? Ain’t like you lost your WHOLE family like I did.”

  I bit my lip, trying to match the stinging guilt. “So. Why did you?”

  She shook her head, tears welling up fast. “’Cause you ain’t never stop looking for her. Never.”

  BUZZZZZ.

  “And Tuesday?” I asked, talking over the noise. “How’s she?”

  Just the mention of Tuesday made her tense, an instinctive move I no longer blamed her for. Not after everything they’d been through.

  “Better. In school now. Going to therapy. We . . . both are.”

  We caught eyes and I enjoyed the calm in the moment.

  “I got accepted to Cardozo. Gonna start in the fall. And . . . I’m in therapy too.”

  She smiled, a real genuine one. “Good. Maybe you’ll stay with us for a while.”

  The backstage of any recital is a hectic circus, a mosh pit of screaming girls, mothers, powdery makeup, and hot lights. That’s why Daddy looked like an elephant tiptoeing around a glass dollhouse, weaving through tutus and sparkly-feathered headdresses.

  “Daddy?”

  He spotted me by the vanity mirrors in the corner and waved.

  “Hey, Sweet Pea.”

  “What are you doing back here? Ma already went to take her seat.”

  “Yeah, I know. I passed her on the way. You look . . . beautiful.”

  I glanced down at my silky snow-white dress that stopped just at the knees. It flowed and moved like waves over my tights with just a hint of silver glitter. My nails matched my lipstick and eye shadow—frosted pink.

  “Thanks.”

  “Nervous? You know I always get nervous before hitting the stage.”

  If he squeezed my hands any tighter, sweat would drip out. I glanced at the black door leading to the main stage, flinching at the roaring applause.

  “Um, a little. I’m not on for another thirty minutes.”

  “Well, I was gonna wait until after to give this to you,” he said. “But then I thought . . . why not, since you got some time to kill.”

  He whipped out a manila folder, presenting it like a bouquet of flowers.

  “What is it?” I laughed. “Another coloring book?”

  He shrugged as I opened the folder to find a stack of black-and-white photocopies from Monday’s journal.

  “Daddy,” I gasped.

  “It ain’t the original, but it’s better than nothing.”

  I flipped through the pages before diving into his arms, trying to squeeze all my love into him.

  “Thank you, Daddy,” I cried. “Thank you!”

  Claudia painted my nails with this color called cherry bomb. She even painted little cherries on the tips. She is like an artist or something. She is SO good. The pictures she colors are pretty too. She don’t know it but I have some of her pictures in my drawer. And her dancing! In all them recitals, she’s just . . . wow!

  I wish she wasn’t so scared all the time, though. She’s afraid people will treat her different cause of the way she read and write. But if they got to know her, they’d see how smart and cool she is. Then everyone gonna want to be her friend. I can’t believe out of all the people in the world, she chose me, ME, to be her best friend. Well, we ain’t just best friends, more like sisters.

  “You ready?” Megan said, standing beside me at the makeup mirror. “Or are you gonna sit with your nose in them papers all night?”

  Sitting with a copy of my best friend’s journal in my lap, reading it without mixing up my words too bad, felt like heaven. I would’ve sat there forever if I could. I took a deep breath, stuffing the folder in my bag, trying to hold back my mile-long grin.

  “Yeah. I’m ready.”

  Megan shook her head. “I can’t believe you.”

  “Huh? What I do?”

  “I mean, I can’t believe you’re here,” she said, gripping the table. “After everything that’s happened! I don’t know what I would’ve done . . . if that was Kit Kat.”

  She’s right. I should’ve been a pile a shattered glass on the corner ready for the street sweepers to collect me. Only one thing kept me going—Monday.

  “You would have danced,” I said with a shrug. “’Cause she’d whoop your ass if you didn’t.”

  “Damn, that’s true.” We stared at each other in the mirror for a moment, then giggled. “Aight! You up next.”

  “You gonna watch?”

  “Girl, you already know! Let’s do this! And don’t forget to smile!”

  I didn’t forget. I smiled through every turn with my head held high, every leap, feeling Monday right next to me. Dancing in a lavender dress, sparkling, her smile brilliant. I poured my heart, soul, and all my love into every move. Just like old times, our steps in sync,
having fun until the very end, as we bowed to a roaring crowd.

  With Ma, Daddy, and Michael in the front row, cheering.

  Later On

  Dear Monday,

  I haven’t written to you in a while. I’m sure you know why.

  But, girl! Last weekend, at the annual block party, Daddy’s band did this cranking set, had everybody dancing. A bunch of folks that had moved away came. Even April and Tuesday! It was like a big family reunion. You should see Tuesday—she dances just like you.

  Been going to this therapist every week and she said something about me needing closure. I think I know where to get it, but nobody’s gonna like it.

  P.S. Look how GOOD I’m writing now! I even help out my friends in TLC.

  “You sure you want to hear this? Right here, right now?”

  I stared up at the house. Monday’s house. Its boarded-up windows, the door hanging off the hinges like a semicolon, secured with a thick chain and padlock. Thin gray clouds hung above while birds chirped in the tree, casting hectic designs on the sidewalk. I remembered it looking so much bigger.

  I turned to Michael, his head almost hitting the roof of his car. His dad had made good on his promise and bought him a brand-new Dodge Charger, all black. Michael took care of it better than some people take care of their children.

  “How many times do we have to go over this?” I sighed.

  “I know, but do we have to”—he glanced over his shoulder—“do it right here? Even I had a hard time stomaching it.”

  “I know,” I groaned. “I heard you the first four times.”

  He blew out some air, rubbed his head like a genie lamp, wishing this away. “Alright. I’m only going to play one part. Then that’s it.”

  “Would you hurry up with all this stalling?” I chuckled.

  He reached over and tickled my neck. I squealed with a fit of giggles before he grabbed my chin and tilted my face in his direction, planting a quick kiss on my lips, then another—a deeper one. I kissed him back, my lips hungry for more of his.

  “Tell me the truth,” he whispered. “You still hearing that buzzing?”

  I sighed. “Yes.”

  His smile fell fast. “Then why are we doing this?”

  “Because I need to know. I can’t go on not knowing and imagining what happened.”

  “She could be lying,” he said. “Coming out the woodwork with a new tune.”

  “She not lying. She’s got nothing to lose.”

  Michael shook his head. “Your dad is gonna kill me.”

  “He hasn’t the last twenty times you’ve said that.”

  Michael smirked and pulled out his iPhone, clicking on his podcast app before grabbing my hand.

  “Okay. Ready?”

  I held my breath, squeezing his hand back. “Yeah.”

  Michael nodded, pressed play, and Mrs. Charles joined us in the car.

  “August kept putting his hands on females! I kept telling him to stop that. But he was beating up on his sisters. Them bruises you see on Monday and April you can’t put all the blame on me. Final straw was when I caught him biting Tuesday. She was just a baby! I started punching him, biting him back. Told him, ‘Didn’t I tell you boys not supposed to touch no females?’ He knew that I told him all the time. He was screaming and wouldn’t shut up. I choked him, putting my hands around his throat. He fought until his eyes started rolling back, and then he was dead. Told April to put him in the freezer ’cause . . . well, I didn’t feel like dealing with him.”

  Her voice was calm, level, smooth as silk, detailing the way she murdered her child much like the way you talk about a boring Sunday afternoon.

  “Monday was a fast-ass little girl. Fast from the day she was born. Got boys coming up to my house looking for her and shit. I even heard her messing with girls too.”

  Michael and I locked eyes and he gripped my hand, kissing my knuckles.

  “I came home early from babysitting and see her coming out of some car, in these tight-ass little shorts, talking fast, telling me she’s about to leave me. I grabbed her by the neck and started punching her. She wanted to be all big and bad, trying to face me like a grown-ass woman, she gonna get beat like a grown woman. She started screaming, cursing at me and carrying on.

  “I threw her in the closet for a couple of days. She kept on screaming, begging to be let out, begging for water. Every time she made too much noise I’d walk in and kick her. That last time . . . she wouldn’t get up. I don’t know how she got in that freezer. I didn’t put her there. I would’ve let her rot in that closet.

  “I ain’t sorry for what I done. People been making excuses, talking about this and that. But I know what I did and I ain’t sorry.”

  Michael pressed stop and pulled me into a hug. “We’re never gonna play shit like that again. Ever!”

  I rubbed my face on his shoulder, not realizing that I had been crying. He pulled back and kissed both of my cheeks.

  “Are you okay?” he whispered into my lips.

  I nodded. “Stay here.”

  “You sure?”

  I glanced over at the house, picturing Monday hopping out of the back seat of the car, skipping up the pathway, slow and dreamlike. Her arms swinging as she took one big jump up the stairs to the landing, turning to wave at us with a silly grin. And I almost waved back at her. Almost.

  “Yeah. I’m okay. I need to do this.”

  A fall breeze played with my freshly straightened hair as I wrapped my black knit scarf around my neck twice. I wore nothing but blue and black. Any other color reminded me too much of Monday. Still felt a pinch of guilt whenever I saw pink.

  With all the eviction notices, over the last year Ed Borough slowly turned into a ghost town, and Monday’s home was renamed “the House of Horrors.” I shuffled closer to it, listening for the blaring television, and lifted the heavy padlock, hanging like a weight. It clanged against the thin wood. Pressing my ear to the door, I closed my eyes and listened. Silence. No buzzing, just wind whistling through an empty space. I backed away with a small relieved smile. She’s not in there, I said to myself. She’s not in that freezer. She’s gone.

  “You’re Monday’s friend, right?”

  I yelped, almost tripping over the same crack in the pathway as I had years ago. A woman sat on the stoop next door, so still she blended into the background.

  “I remember, you came by here a few times looking.” She buttoned up the top of her tan coat. “She told me about you. Said y’all looked alike. Like y’all could be twins.”

  My heart swelled at the thought of Monday talking about me with such pride, and I walked through the yellowing grass to her stoop. She looked much older up close, with a shock of platinum hair, creamy butterscotch skin, and a smile that could light up the night sky.

  “I’m Ms. Roundtree. Was about to head inside. You want some tea?”

  The crooked boarded-up windows on the abandoned home to the right of hers seemed like a rush job.

  “No thank you, ma’am. Are you the only one left on this strip?”

  Ms. Roundtree smirked. “Rodney and Kasey moved about a year after it happened. With everything else going on around here . . . no one wants to live next to that place. But this has been my home for a long time. Too late to quit it now.”

  My eyes flickered up to Monday’s boarded-up bedroom window. She’s not in there anymore, I reminded myself. She’s gone.

  “She used to sit on her stoop a lot, looking up at them clouds,” Ms. Roundtree said, sighing. “She’d cry sometimes. That’s how I knew something must have happened. Hadn’t heard her cry in a long time.”

  I eased my hands into my pockets. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. She probably heard this question ten thousand times, but this time, she seemed to have a different answer.

  “I got two grandkids that live over in PG County. Can’t be no more than twenty minutes from here, maybe forty with traffic. Krystal just t
urned twelve and Dean is about nine. Students of the month, piano lessons, violin, soccer, football, ballet . . . Their schedule got their mother ripping and running everywhere. And I’m proud of them. I just never see them. I haven’t laid eyes on my grandbabies in maybe three months. They just busy. Too busy to even give their grandma a call. But just ’cause I don’t see them or hear from them often, don’t mean I rush and think they dead. And that’s what I figured about Patti’s babies. Shoo, Monday was over at your house more than her own.”

  Back at the car, Michael watched us from a half-open window, hands gripping the steering wheel. So damn overprotective. I nodded and smiled at him.

  “I ain’t making excuses,” she continued. “But that’s what it’s like nowadays. You used to see your family, at least for Sunday dinner. This here used to be a pretty tight community. But now everybody so caught up in this and that, that you don’t notice what’s right in front you.” She cleaned off the front of her coat and shook her head. “Sometimes I have nightmares about what went on in there.”

  “I have nightmares too,” I admitted, kicking a few acorns by my feet.

  “Oh yeah. About what?”

  “I don’t really remember. I just remember the . . . buzzing.” I bit my lip, holding back tears.

  Her face wiped blank as she leaned back. “The freezer sat up against the wall, so that buzzing was in my house too. Even after they found them, it took a while to get rid of the sound.”

  We both looked at the house as if someone was about to walk out the door. Goose bumps popped up all over my arms, growing up to my neck.

  Michael honked his horn, and I nearly jumped out my boots. He peered out the window, waving me on.

  “Guess I gotta go. It was nice talking to you.” Heading for the car, the question hit me and I doubled back. “Wait! How’d you get rid of the buzzing?”

  Ms. Roundtree smiled, folding her hands together. “It’s all about the way you look at it. You got to decide what something is or isn’t. It may have been buzzing, but I decided it’s humming. Someone is just humming a song in my ear. A pretty song.”