by Janay Harden
“I’m Trenita, one of the counselors here. It’s so nice to meet you.” Trenita smiled and extended her hand. Her nails were painted royal blue and her hair was cut down short and tapered on one side. Her face was shiny, like she just put on lotion, and every time her hands moved, I smelled her sweet perfume.
I liked her.
I gathered my pamphlets and exited the center holding back a smile—this might work out.
Sidney was hot on my heels sitting at a nearby bench. We had been talking so long about college—the big, bad elusive college—that when Sidney finally laid eyes on said college, and realized with her own eyes that I had to live there and wouldn’t return home every day, well, she clung to me like a kid clung to the last days of summer. Maybe I was her summer.
Later that night, after I showered and settled in, Mila called.
“Hey girl.” I answered.
“You okay?” Mila asked. Rather, it sounded like a demand.
“Yeah, why?” My heart beat.
“I just saw Joya at the skating rink. She said she picked you up from work a few weeks ago. She said you looked high, and you were mumbling and rocking in the car. Almost… talking to yourself.” Mila said the last words carefully. Like there were no other words in the English language that would convey what those few words would convey. She had chosen the direct route and did not beat around the bush.
No, this bitch didn’t.… A voice said in my head. Only this time, the voice was my own. Mila had nerve.
“I was fine. I needed a ride from work. My car was broken down at the time. I work around dead bodies all day long. Excuse me if I was out of it one day,” I scoffed. The words rapidly fired out of my mouth, sounding more rushed than the ones before it. I kept explaining. Mila put me on the spot, and I twirled one of my passion twists in my hand and picked at my nails. I was never one to tell what someone else trusted me with and even though I wanted to drop all of Joya’s business out, right there on the table for Mila to take and run with, I would still keep quiet.
“And you were… talking to yourself?”
“I was not.” I ached for my friends in my head, whom I had to deny to my friend in real life. They wouldn’t understand, and I wasn’t ready to have this conversation with anyone, and definitely not Mila.
Mila sighed. “Indy, have you been able to see someone, about what we talked about before? With Will?” Mila still thought I was crazy, that was clear. What did I do or say that made her feel that way? What gave me up?
I told the truth. “Yes, I have. We went to the university’s family day, and I grabbed a ton of brochures and pamphlets from their mental health clinic. I met some of the staff and I think it’ll be good for me.” Honesty was sometimes the best policy, sometimes. Only if it fit the time, person and place. This time it did, and I wielded my truth like a full house.
Mila’s voice became a high-pitched shriek. “Bitch tell me everything! How was family day? Why didn’t you tell me you were going? Did you see any cute guys there? We’re going to have to buy chastity belts. Tell me everything. Lawd the tea… .”
I smiled into the phone, and my shoulders relaxed. Mila’s shallowness easily allowed for her to chase me down rabbit holes. As the words spilled out of my mouth, I feared I had slapped down my joker card too soon.
CHAPTER 34
The sun was ablaze outside. Even at 7 a.m., it sat perched high in the sky, waking everyone and everything in its path. I heard Ez outside on the lake. He had a small battery powered radio and Martha and the Vandellas rocked about nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. Ez’s loud, baritone voice sang on the water as he cut through the waves with no destination in mind. Just him and the water, spending time. Ez shared a love affair with the water that I didn’t understand. It brought him solace and comforted him in ways that were foreign to me. I had to get to work in three hours, and I had already been awake the past fourteen hours.
Don’t go to sleep, Indy, not yet. The voices whined.
Ordinarryyyy ppeoplleeee… another one sang in my head.
The busy array of voices, when they were at their loudest, sounded like a Saints and Falcons game. The noise was deafening, and sleep did not come easy.
Mrs. Green had shown up to my house the day before, with snot filled cries. She knocked on the door and clutched her pearls and held tight to her purse. Her knees and feet were locked together straight ahead. When Dad invited her in, Ms. Arletha went into there’s-a-white-woman-in-the-house mode, and turned the TV off, offered her some pound cake, and a glass of water from Mom’s best china. We used regular cups, but Ms. Arletha opted for the good stuff. Only the best for Mrs. Green. Ms. Arletha didn’t even know her and made the white woman entering our home feel comfortable instead of asking why she clutched her valuables in the first place.
“I got your address from the Times, you captured my son so well, I hope you don’t mind” Ms. Green cried. “He was supposed to be interviewed for the school legacy committee. To get our family name dedicated into the school gym,” she explained. She dabbed at her eyes even though I saw no actual tears. She sat with her purse directly on her lap. “I was hoping you could write a follow-up article. Something mentioning that he is still missing, and we are looking for him. That way, they’ll still dedicate a brick to our family name, knowing that this is an active situation, and nothing nefarious is happening.”
But something nefarious did happen, Mrs. Green, I mused. Oh, but something did.
She sat in our living room, her eyes darting back and forth between our dated furniture and a few panels missing from our drop ceiling in the living room. She refused to take her jacket off even though it was hot as balls outside. She looked down on me and us, even in her time of need. And to make matters worse, on this day she called me Indigo. Today, she knew my name, after months of calling me whatever she wanted. But now, she needed me, and she knew my name. Go figure.
“I’ll think about it and send you what I come up with,” I considered. I walked her out and shut the door behind her.
The day after Mrs. Green’s impromptu visit, I struggled to find the words to accurately describe her son, what he meant to me, how his search party was going, and how people could get involved. Too many people were already involved. They were involved in capitalism and complacency. And Black people were too involved in scarcity mentalities. Yet here we were… what a tangled web we weaved.
Microsoft Word stared back at me. I pulled the laptop closer and began typing.
Jaxon Green has been missing for forty-seven days at the time of this article. Jaxon forever lives in our hearts, and we are hopeful that his imminent return will answer many questions and restore hope in the hearts and minds of Tunica Rivers citizens and concerned parents.
Indigo Lewis, Times Writer
A few hours later, I rushed to Ms. Montague’s studio. She emailed earlier mentioning she was leaving for vacation today, and she had a graduation gift for me. I wanted to catch her before she left and properly thank her for the studio’s endowment. Thanks to her, I wouldn’t need to worry about paying for college out of pocket for at least two years. Between her endowment, a small savings from Dad and a work-study job I would be assigned, I wouldn’t have to worry about money for a while. I pulled into the parking lot as Ms. Montague’s two-door white Mercedes pulled out. She had on sunglasses and all of her windows were down.
“I almost missed you!” I yelled out of my window. I parked, hopped out, ran over to her passenger side, and leaned in. “I wanted to thank you, Ms. Montague. You’ve done so much for me. Really, I… I… don’t know what to say. I’m so grateful.”
Ms. Montague’s skin reddened, and her face turned a medium shade of pink. Her tan skin made the blushing more noticeable. “You go stand in the light, Ms. Lewis,” she shook her head. A tear sat in the corner of her eye. “I left something for you, it’s on my desk.” She winked and pulled off.
I waved as
she turned the corner.
Entering the studio, Ms. Montague’s secretary ventured to the back and returned with a medium size brown bag. “Here you go,” she transferred it into my hands. They wrapped it in tight cellophane and bubble wrap, and I couldn’t make out what it was.
“Thank you,” I said, walking out. I sat in the car and opened the bag. There was a small greeting card. I opened that first, and it read:
The buyers returned this. I normally don’t allow refunds, but because of the circumstances, I allowed it this one time.
- Ms. Montague.
My heart skipped a beat… it couldn’t be…
I tore into the cellophane with the sharp end of my keys. It took a while but once I finally got it opened, Mom’s pottery piece sat before me. The one Mrs. Green had purchased. I held it to my chest and tears fell from my eyes. I wiped them, angry that they were there, but soon, I let them fall. I didn’t want anyone else to see me cry, but they rolled down my face anyway. They were salty and traced the corners of my mouth and onto my chin and neck.
I had a piece of Mom.
I didn’t know why the Greens returned the piece or what it meant, but I had a piece of my mom, and that was all I cared about.
CHAPTER 35
When I woke up that morning, the birds were chirping, and the sun grazed my face. It was the first time I had slept in weeks. No voices, no intrusive thoughts. Just me, myself, and I. I snuggled closer to the warmth of the rays. I felt the sun shining through my closed eyelids and I smiled.
Today I would visit Mom at Trochesse. I brought prom pictures with me that I got developed down at the drugstore. I was worried about having money to buy a prom dress but going through Mom’s things when we cleaned out the shed at Ez’s house, I found an older, slinky white lace dress and a wilted corsage.
Ms. Arletha hemmed and sewed some of the frayed edges until it was just right. It fit my long torso perfectly and I kicked my left leg out, Sonia Lewis style. Up against my deep brown skin, it looked perfect. When the night came, I proudly wore Mom’s high school prom dress to my own prom. I went alone—and it was my decision to do so. After the party, no one would be making decisions for me anymore, I made my own choices.
I was visiting Mom alone today. Sidney was with her dad, Ez wasn’t interested—and I didn’t ask Dad. He had Arletha, and that was answer enough. I waited and invited the voices into my head, but they didn’t come this morning. Slinging back the blankets, I sat up in bed and planted my bare feet on the floor. I gave a loud growl and stretched my arms to the sky, extending my still asleep muscles. I welcomed the bad things into my head instead of shushing them, and they let me get some sleep. What an arrangement.
People lived in me, and sometimes I listened to those versions of me. I pushed them away, cursed them away. I fussed with them and let them fuss at me. I was a child of a Schizophrenic, and most likely, it had not skipped a generation like all the research I had done said should happen. No, it didn’t skip a generation; it lived within me.
It felt natural. Primal. My, what evils girls can do—and we do.
I stood in line, inching closer to the front of Trochesse. Workers were on the left side of the building painting over the colored sign until it was no longer visible. I pulled my sunglasses up to get a better look, and I smiled. I watched them as I got closer, and I waved and said good morning.
I had left the house early to spread Jaxon’s ashes on the land at Ez’s house. He and the cats could get to know one another.
I put my braids up into a large bun on my head. I wore wine red lipstick and fake diamond stud earrings I picked up from the beauty supply store. It was a rare sight for me, but I was on some rare shit these days.
Entering the large rotunda, I clutched at my crossbody waist purse, and I nodded at Nurse MeanFace. She nodded back and studied me. I poked my neck out further, and I know the lights caught my earrings just right and they shined just like I shined.
Again, I heard her voice before I saw her…
“Whooaaa something on my mind… ” she sang.
Mom stood at the top of the cathedral stairs in a floor length fur coat. She gave her best shoulder shrug, Tina Turner style, and shimmied down the steps, carefully, one at a time. Behind her from the left and right, background dancers emerged—wearing similar outfits. By the descriptions that Mom gave in her letters, I recognized the man on the right to be Minister, and the woman on the left to be Ruth-Ann. Ruth-Ann wore a fur vest and Minister a fur belt. The tips of his hospital shoes also had faux fur glued to them.
The trio made their way closer to the visitors, never missing a beat. Mom didn’t even look down where she was walking. She pounded down the steps, not waiting for it to make room for her; she made room for it. The trio held hair brushes to their mouths, and they walked in front and behind of each other singing. It didn’t take me long to see they were moving in a figure-eight pattern. Mom was teaching them all of her stage tricks. I nodded.
Everyone in the rotunda stopped to stare at the group making their way to us, giving their best Showtime at the Apollo moves. I peered at Nurse MeanFace in the bubble. Her eyes were wide, and her hands were to her cheek. She looked both stunned and humored, but she didn’t stop them.
Mom and her group performed another number. This one was quicker in beat and required Mom and Minister to put their fake mics down, hold hands, and dance. Mom and Minister did some fancy footwork while people cheered and clapped around them. Mom beamed, and her hair bounced around her face. She leaned back and gave hearty belly giggles. She performed and worked the room like she was at the Grammy’s and we were her adoring fans.
“Okay, Ms. Lewis, that’s enough,” Nurse MeanFace finally warned.
Security had walked into the room and placed their hands on their waists. Too many people dancing, standing, and moving at the same time was not what they liked to see, and they were itching to shut down any resemblance of fun. The crowd settled down, and I waved to Mom through the scattered people. “Over here!” I yelled. I sat down at the table and waited for her to sashay over to me.
Mom collapsed into the seat with dramatic fashion and dabbed at her sweaty hairline and brows. People were tapping her shoulders and congratulating her for her performance, and one person actually asked her for her autograph. I sank into my seat and waited.
When they finally left us alone, Mom turned to me. She wore mascara and eyeliner, and the darkness sharply contrasted with her wide and wondrous eyes. She shone with madness only I—her daughter—understood. I had a feeling what she would say before she even said it.
“So how was it?” she shimmied her shoulders and playfully cut her eyes at me.
“How was what?”
“Your first… kill right? Your first kill? How was it?” She leaned forward and curled her lip into a half smile.
The End
Thank you for reading “Forty-Two Minutes.” I’d love to hear what you think! If you enjoyed this book (or even if you didn’t), please visit the site where you purchased it and write a brief review. Your feedback is so important to me and will help other readers decide whether to read the book too.
PS: Check out the next page for a sneak peek into Book 2 of the Indigo Lewis Series coming soon December 2021.
Sneak Peek
“And that, Ladies, is how you stay safe and not get yourself snatched up,” the older Black woman repeated. She nodded her head with a dramatic pause. I checked my phone for the second time. It felt like I had already been there forever, but it was only an hour.
Dorm orientation for Titus University was well underway, and we were learning the ins and out of how-not-to-get-yourself-raped spiel. As if it could somehow be our fault and there was something we could do to prevent it. I was alone, everyone else was sitting with their roommates. The orientation instructions stated we line up by our floor and room assignments and spend the next few
hours getting to know each other. My roommate seemed to be absent, and so I sat alone.
“She acts like we come to college and check off the ‘I want to be raped box.’” A light-skinned, girl leaned close to me and smirked.
I giggled.
“Never have I ever thought, man, I want to go to Titus University, and get raped today,” the girl dug a little harder. The way she rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth made me cover my mouth to hide my chuckles.
“I’m Naomi — Naomi Holland.” she said.
“I’m Indigo, they call me Indy.”
“I think I saw your name somewhere. You’re on my floor; the fifth, right?”
Naomi and I paused for a second before we exclaimed — “on the fifth floor,” and held up four fingers. Martin was life, and I hoped they had the channel here at Titus that I needed to watch it.
“What’s your major?” Naomi asked. She motioned for me to follow her and we trotted back to the food table.
Titus University set up an elaborate spread to welcome the incoming class of 2025. Cakes, pies, fruits, coffee, and sandwiches lined the tables, and we weren’t the only ones in line for second plates. They packed students inside the building and it was already a sizzling September day; the type in down south Louisiana when the old folks moved slower and quieter.
I knew choosing this college was a good choice. I only applied to two schools, but this one was only three hours away from home, plus I had The Bus and I could visit whenever I needed to see my sister, Sidney, and my dad.
Shrugging in Naomi’s direction, I said, “Liberal Arts is my major right now. I’m not sure what I want to do, but I just know I’ll find it in college.” Silently, I cursed myself for saying that last part. Hopefully, I wasn’t too forward.
She said nothing but nodded her head. “I feel the same. I’m majoring in Political Science, but I don’t know the first thing about it.” Naomi was heavyset with her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail at her nape. She had on these bad ass Jordan’s that I could never afford, not with my sad work-study job the school assigned me. When I got the letter in the mail and it said I would work in the theatrical arts department this school year — my dad laughed and said, “They’re gonna have my baby opening and closing the curtains.” He and his girlfriend, Ms. Arletha, thought that was hilarious and fell out in stitches.