by Janay Harden
CHAPTER 21
Will and I sat on the dock behind the house. The sky was overcast, and in the distance, I peeped a small brushfire from the direction of Ez’s house. What was that old man doing now? My feet swung over the ledge and I peered at my reflection in the water. Will sat next to me, looking downstream.
“What happened at the party after I left?” he asked.
I inhaled.
“I’m not sure. Mila and I were so out of it.” I snickered. It was a nervous laugh.
“Indy, anything could have happened,” he shook his head.
“You haven’t spoken to me in weeks, and then you call me out here to say that?”
“No, that’s not it.”
I waited.
“Remember that time we were riding our bikes down the hill? You hit that speed bump behind the middle school, and you flew off your bike?”
I remembered. “Of course! I almost broke my neck! My bike landed right on top of me!”
Will threw his head back and laughed. His sideburns were cut to perfection. I knew that made him happy. He got a haircut every weekend, faithfully. My mom always said, “A man is only loyal to two things, his football team and his barber.” Will’s loyalty lay in a lot of things. I hoped I was one of them and that’s why he summoned me outside today, like the old days.
“I remember you were going so fast. Your legs were peddling and spinning, and you were glaring and gripping the handlebar at the same time.” Will imitated me holding onto the bars and riding my bike.
“Shut up!” I giggled.
“When you went flying, I was so worried.”
“You know what I’ve been thinking about?” I said.
“What?”
“Remember when we were in middle school and you called me from Chicago and cussed me out?”
A large smile spread across Will’s face and he chuckled. “First of all, I didn’t cuss you out. Woman, I couldn’t believe you. We went from seeing each other all day every day that summer to nothing. And I rode my bike all the way to your house to drop off a slip of paper with my phone number on it before we left, and you never even called. I couldn’t believe it. I was like, did I do something?” he grabbed his chest and feigned hurt.
I giggled. He was Drakin’ and it was cute. “And how do you feel now?” I held my breath.
Will looked at me. “I don’t know. I don’t have words for it.”
“Try.”
Will sighed. “You, Mila, and Malachi—it’s been us four for a while. I mean, yes, Malachi came later but… you and Malachi dated. Mila and I dated. Everyone has dated… except… ”
“Except… ” I repeated. I couldn’t say the words myself.
“Whatever you’re going through Indy, I want to help you. I don’t know what’s going on, but I want to help you figure it out.”
How did you tell your best friend that you heard your mom’s voice every day in your head? How did you tell your best friend you fantasized about slaying others, and sometimes emotions overcame you that were so strong, and so angry, that it scared even you? And the worst one of all, how did you tell your best friend that sometimes these feelings made you feel powerful and in charge? That you smirk when you daydream about wiping out Jaxon?
I wanted to explore things with Will. He was right, something was there. But what if I had these bad feelings about Will too? They came on for Jaxon out of nowhere, and I couldn’t risk hurting Will.
He looked at me with thoughtful eyes, and I wanted so badly to return his gaze. I wanted to turn to him and say let’s try. Let’s make two weeks our limit—no more than that. Let’s go ride our bikes like we used to and laugh about Chicago. But I couldn’t. Something bigger was taking over me and I didn’t have control over it. Something would suffer, and I couldn’t let it be Will.
“I-I don’t know, Will. It’s a lot to think about,” I lied.
He looked at me with surprised eyes.
“Indy, I-I. I wouldn’t mind… I want to be there. For you.” Will stumbled over his words. I wanted him to grab me and say everything would be okay while I cried. But I also wanted him safe and I’m not sure he could be that with me—not right now.
“And I want you to be. As friends.” I lied again.
Will stood and wiped nothing off his jeans. “It’s cool, I just thought I would throw it out there,” he half smiled. His eyes were different now, cold.
“Wait, are you leaving already? I don’t have to be at work until later today. You can stay if you want?” Please stay… I thought.
“I have to get going, I have to get home.” Will’s keys clinked. The planks creaked underneath me as I hurried behind Will.
“I’ll call you later,” Will gave a wave and weak smile. He got into his mom’s car and pulled off. Tears dropped from my eyes, and I wiped them on my sweatshirt sleeve as he pulled off. What was happening to us?
Later that day at the funeral home, I worked beside Mr. Dennis. I haven’t seen him in a few weeks, and Tyson and I have been holding it down in the basement while he took care of the families upstairs. Mr. Dennis wore oversized suspenders hanging from his too long pants. A brown fedora hat sat on his head, and that, too, was oversized, and it slid around his head as he talked. I tried not looking at it when he spoke, but it was hard not to.
“Indigo, did you clean the tanks last night? I didn’t see it noted on the contact log?”
“I did, I had to start a new sheet. We filled the other one.”
Mr. Dennis was cited by the health department a few months ago. He swore someone downtown was picking on him because it was his first citation in twenty years. “They’re trying to buy me out and make us move,” Mr. Dennis said. I overheard him and Tyson discussing it one day in the office. I hoped they didn’t buy him out while I was still working here; I needed this job, and I didn’t want to go back to Ms. Montague’s studio. I needed the money now that I had Ez’s old clunker fulltime to fill up weekly; money was non-negotiable.
“Now, I want to show you something,” Mr. Dennis wrung his hands. “Do you know how to work the internet?”
I giggled. “Yes, Mr. Dennis, I know how to work the internet.”
Mr. Dennis rummaged through his file cabinet and retrieved a piece of paper. “Good. Put this in the search row,” he pulled his glasses up from the lanyard around his neck.
I typed the website into the search bar and a crematorium website loaded.
“I’m thinking about buying us a new system,” Mr. Dennis grinned.
“That’s great news, Mr. Dennis!” I shouted.
Tyson and I spent many days sitting and waiting for the incinerator to finish burning. It hummed loudly, and even though Mr. Dennis told Tyson and me not to turn the temperature all the way up, we did it anyway to cut down on time and we regularly pushed it past fifteen hundred degrees Fahrenheit. We didn’t tell him that part, though. I was thrilled that he was thinking about purchasing an upgrade because this place needed it. He compared himself to the funeral home down the street, and they upgraded to all new systems a few months ago. If Mr. Dennis wanted to stay in business, he had to upgrade his business. He didn’t listen to me, and he didn’t listen to Tyson. But when it started affecting his money, Mr. Dennis acted.
Mr. Dennis grinned, proud of himself. I watched him describe the new machine and all the bells and whistles it came with. His eyes lit up with anticipation and he pointed at the screen on his old desktop computer in his dated office. I surveyed the room; his office looked straight out of the 1980s. The curtains hung limp, as if they hadn’t been changed in years. The carpet was a matted shade of brown and the ends of his desk were worn down to the metal. Pictures of Tyson when he was a baby lined the room, hanging crooked on the walls. Mr. Dennis looked like a good dad. He did what most dads thought was the extent of doing a good job. He went to work.
Mr. Dennis’
enthusiasm kept him young and agile. He was older than my dad, but he had so much more life to him. Sure, Ms. Arletha was spending even more time at the house, but I couldn’t help but notice when he arrived home late into the night he hobbled, crouched over in pain. The other night, he took off his work boots and Ms. Arletha made him sit them outside; she almost vomited because of the smell. Ms. Arletha didn’t have any children, and she spent most of her days at church, or at our house cooking and cleaning. Dad and Sidney ate it up; she was just what they needed. Dad wasn’t a ‘get up and go to church’ kind of guy, but every Sunday, Ms. Arletha made him put on his Sunday best and take her out. Those days, I noticed his eyes the most. He seemed so tired all the time. I hated to see him like that, and me going to college would be our ticket out. I’m not sure how, but whatever they threw my way, I knew I could handle it.
Dad and Arletha made French toast together yesterday morning for Sidney’s birthday. Ms. Arletha also baked Sidney a big chocolate cake, and Sidney ate the whole thing just like that fat kid from Matilda. Mom didn’t come to me then. When I thought she would scream into my ear or wake me from my dreams, she was quiet. But when I wanted her to go away and let me figure things out on my own, she put on her director’s hat and said, “Action.”
Work kept me busy these days, and I hadn’t been to Trochesse to see her. Plus, I still haven’t told her about Ms. Arletha. If I wanted to call a Spade a Spade, Mom was the one who told me about Ms. Arletha—so technically she already knew.
Dennis and Son’s Funeral Home was dark when I locked up that night. I set the alarm and grabbed Ez’s keys—my keys. It would take some time to get used to saying that. I opened the door and plopped into The Bus, as my phone chimed. Glancing down, I saw an email header from Titus University, Admissions Department. My heart skipped. I submitted my application weeks ago and had heard nothing.
Until today. I hesitated and looked outside. My hands shook, and I rolled down the window to let cool air in. I tapped on the Titus icon, and the screen jumped and turned black. A GIF with balloons and streamers opened up. Congratulations, and welcome to Titus University, it read.
I screamed, banging my hands on the steering wheel. The horn beeped and beeped as I pounded it. I did it! I got into college, and my very first choice too! Maybe things would work out. I just had to get my thoughts under control. Next stop would be college! I had to be mentally prepared for the role.
I started up The Bus and headed home with a grin. Wait until I tell Dad and Sidney… Ms. Arletha too. They would be so happy.
A few minutes later I screeched into the driveway at home and was surprised to find Sidney, Dad, and Arletha home. Good, I didn’t have to tell the story over and over again.
“Dad! Dad!” I yelled, barreling out of the car. Ms. Arletha came running out of the house with flour all over her apron and hands with Dad right behind her. “I got in! I got in!” I jumped. I scrolled through my phone until I landed on the email. I opened the GIF and the balloons, streamers, and congratulatory noise played.
“Ahhh!” Dad and Ms. Arletha screamed together. Sidney came outside and looked at us like we were crazy.
“She got in, baby! She got into college!” Ms. Arletha nudged Sidney. Sidney’s face broke into a smile, and the four of us began jumping and shouting on the front step. “This calls for a celebration! A fresh lemon pound cake coming right up!” Ms. Arletha shimmied in place and clapped her hands together before heading back into the house.
“Hold on, I want to help!” Sidney ran after her. “Congrats, Indy!” She screamed over her shoulder.
Dad and I stood outside smiling at each other. Tears formed in his eyes as he looked at me. His gaze made me nervous as understanding passed between us.
“Your Mom would be so proud,” he said. “So proud.”
“I know Dad. She is.”
And I knew that she was.
CHAPTER 22
“Honeydew, what’s this here picture from?” Ms. Arletha examined an old framed photograph..
“That one’s nothing, my dear,” Dad snatched the frame from Ms. Arletha. Sidney and I snickered at each other—Honeydew.
“Well, you said you were serious about cleaning this stuff out, Honeydew, and we have to part ways with some of it.”
“I know, honey—I know. But this isn’t my box; this is Sonia’s stuff that we found from Ez’s house, and she would want it.”
Even in another relationship, Dad was still loyal to Mom. That was a constant, and never changing. Anyone who came after her would just have to be okay with it. My own loyalty to my mom was still there, but my feelings for Ms. Arletha were growing too.
Ms. Arletha raised an eyebrow at Dad. These two were blowing kisses and swatting at each other’s butts all day while we cleaned out the shed. We spent hours—and I mean hours—cleaning Ez’s house weeks ago and loading tons of Mom’s old stuff into our car. Now, Dad wanted to tackle ours too.
In our bathroom currently sat Ms. Arletha’s toothbrush and some hair grease. You know, the old-fashioned Blue Magic grease. Once she greased her scalp at the kitchen table and heated the hot comb on the stove, I knew it was official; she was here to stay.
“Well, you invited me over, and I’m just doing what you asked, Honeydew.”
Dad’s jaw tightened. “I know I invited you because I invited you. It’s just… those are her things.”
Sidney and I stopped packing boxes and peered at Dad and Ms. Arletha. She crossed her arms at her chest. “I’m getting a drink.”
Dad was caught between two women. One woman wanting to be his future, and another controlled his past. His past was always there; even locked away in a shed, it was there. I walked across the room and peered into the box Ms. Arletha and Dad were bickering over. The box contained dozens of handwritten letters and some of Mom’s old clothes were haphazardly stuffed inside. The letters were frayed at the ends and yellow. Mom’s handwriting.
“What’s all this?” I whispered.
“Nothing,” Dad kicked the box away from me.
I squinted. His eyes were large and fearful. “Dad. What’s in the box?”
“Those are your Mom’s things, Indigo!”
Indigo, he called me Indigo. I glanced at Sidney and she sat on the floor cross-legged, staring at us.
“Dad,” I rose to my feet, “… what’s in the box?”
“Those are your mom’s things!” He repeated.
I crept closer to my father, and we now stood inches apart, breathing heavily.
“Y’all, everything okay?” Ms. Arletha cocked an eye at us. She was wiping her hands with the dish towel from the sink. Mom’s dish towels.
While he turned to Ms. Arletha, I dashed for the box and snatched a handful of letters.
“Indigo! You know what, do what you want,” Dad threw his hands in the air. “Maybe you’re old enough—at least you think you are!”
Dad’s last words stung my soul. At least you think you are. He sounded tired of me. He was the one keeping secrets locked up in a box like some Nancy Drew novel, and he was annoyed with me. Holding the letters tightly under my arm, I hustled to my bedroom, shutting and locking the door; Dad didn’t chase me.
I plopped on the bed and opened the first letter.
June 1990, not sure what day it is.
Mom and Dad… how much longer do I have to stay here? It’s already been three months, and you guys said if I improved, I could come home. I’ve done the cycle class, and I even took the Jazzercise class. (That one was fun) We made a little singing group, and I convinced Ms. Shelton (our camp counselor) to let us compete in teams. That’s the good.
I haven’t had any more of those thoughts… the bad ones. I promise you guys, that cat they say I burned, I didn’t! I will keep saying it, I didn’t do it! I don’t know how it ended up with the lighter fluid on it, but it wasn’t me.
I will ta
ke all the knives out of my bedroom, and you can take my Walkman at night. Hopefully, that will stop with the voices, I promise Mom… I promise. Can I come home now? I’ll do better. I’ll try harder. We wake up at 5am and run through the desert. They have us on this weird diet. They said in order for the voices to go away we have to change what we are eating, so we eat grass. I swear that’s what it is. Not really but it’s definitely all this healthy stuff that’s disgusting. Worst of all, the doctor keeps holding me down and spilling water onto my face until I say I don’t hear the voices anymore. I hate that part.
Please come see me or write back,
Love, Sonny
September 1990
Mom and Dad:
The summer is over and enough is enough. I can’t take these people anymore. The dorm is loud, and these girls in here are disgusting. We don’t have any pads. Do you know what we’ve had to use instead? No one cares what’s going on, Mom. My roommate, Audra, said her parents told her this is not summer camp; it’s conversion camp. Conversion Mom. And I’m saying Mom because Dad says nothing anyway, so I’m talking to you. You sent me to a conversion camp? I told you I would take the medicine! I just didn’t agree with that word they said. Schizophrenia. I’m not that word! It sounds like Schitzo and I’m not a Schitzo and I don’t even know how to spell it. And I told you I didn’t set that cat on fire, and even after you asked me in your last letter, I didn’t burn down that laundromat! My phone time was changed, and it’s now from 6 p.m.–7 p.m. Please call me soon, and I’ll explain more. I have to get out of here.
Please write back,
Sonny
October 1990
Mom, this will be my last letter. You lie too much. I told you I would take the medicine, but you insist on trying to make me complete the full course, so I had no choice. You and your bad parenting skills brought this on yourself. Is Jackie even your real name? I don’t know why I have these thoughts! I just do! I thought I was doing the right thing when I told you and Dad, but you used it to stuff me away so these people could abuse me! Yes, I said abuse! You control Dad; he is your little slave, and he goes along with everything you say. Well, no more, I won’t do it either. He doesn’t even respond to my letters anymore, and I know it’s because of you.