Of Things Unseen

by L. Jaye Morgan

  Tony was still moping about, and I was letting him wallow, but I was close to my breaking point. He wasn’t even looking for a new job.

  And then there were the thoughts. The visions. With nothing else to do, I had no way to stop them. Leah’s face. That day. The lie. The fear. The tide trick had stopped working. Plugging my ears didn’t help. It was hopeless.

  The full weight of it hit me hard. I was never going to be free. I was never going to have peace. I would be tormented by my past for the rest of my pathetic life.

  Confession is supposed to be good for the soul. That’s what people say, anyway. People always say things. Mysterious people with no names or faces with lots of wisdom to dispense about other people’s lives. Why does anyone listen to people? I’ve never believed confession is good for the soul. Confession is good for the guilty soul, but what about the person you hurt?

  I turned over on her left side but found no relief. What good would it really do, anyway? I thought of my talk with Dr. Thomas, about trauma and its effects. I wasn’t sure if I believed it but there had to be something to it. Why else would I physically feel worse when I was upset?

  I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like to feel nothing. The knowledge escaped me.

  My phone rang. I sent the call to voicemail without bothering to see who it was. It made absolutely no difference to me because I had nothing to say to anyone, and there was certainly nothing anyone could say to me at that moment.

  Is this my life? It was unbearable to imagine living like this for the rest of my life, however long that was going to be. I could shorten it if I wanted. The thought comforted me.

  I was at a crossroads. I could lie there and die, or I could summon my strength, after I found it, and make a move. Any kind of move would do. A shower, eating lunch, drinking some water, anything.

  There was nothing.

  I drifted off briefly until my phone rang again. It was Andre. I sent it to voicemail again and lay there feeling pathetic.

  Then it came to me, and before I could talk myself out of it, I hit the button and called my brother back. He didn’t even say hello.

  “Yeah, so did you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Did you really call the police on me?”

  “Andre—”

  “Tell the truth, little sis. You big and bad enough to call, be a woman about it and tell the truth.”

  “I called them and told them I thought the sketch looked like you. And that you have a dark car.” I closed my eyes and waited for the explosion but none came.

  “Yo, just tell me one thing. What the fuck did I ever do to you?”

  I frowned. “Is that a serious question?”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  I sat up, setting off more pounding in my skull. “You’re really asking me what you did to me?”

  “It’s gotta be something.”

  “Andre. Do you honestly not remember?”

  “If I did something tell me so I can apologize cuz this shit right here is for the birds. I got a daughter on the way and you out here trying to get me locked up. That’s fucked up.”

  I shook my head and tried to calm myself. My hands shook violently and my head pounded. This was it. I hadn’t planned it, but it was spilling over. Might as well. “You don’t remember beating on me?”

  “What?” He sounded shocked, which infuriated me.

  “You used to punch me and kick me all the time. And you choked me too. Does any of that ring a bell?” I asked, my voice rising.

  “Wowwwwwww. Tamara. You got me fucked up. I don’t remember none of that. Are you sure?”

  Another boom exploded deep inside my skull and my hands shook so hard that I dropped the phone.

  I regained my composure, barely. “I’m just...Are you doing this on purpose?”

  “What am I doing?”

  Tears streamed out of my eyes and I couldn’t take anymore. “Fuck you, Andre!”

  He had the nerve and bad timing to chuckle.

  “Oh is that funny, you piece of shit?”

  “Nah, just never really heard you cuss. Calm down, little sis.”

  “I hate you so fucking much.”

  “Oh, so it’s like that?”

  “I hate you. I fucking hate you! Don’t ever call me again. You’re not my brother. You never were.”

  “Bet,” he said before hanging up. I was furious. It would have been better if he had cussed me out, yelled at me, pleaded with me. Anything other than what he did. Because his indifferent acceptance told me one thing and one thing only: He didn’t care.

  And just like that, he had done the same to me that he had to that old man. He had robbed me. He’d stolen the one thing I thought would bring me peace. I hated him for it.

  It hit me that I would probably never talk to my brother again, and that realization didn’t bother me much. But what about Val and the boys? Val would side with her husband and there was really no way to get around that. I might be able to sneak over to my mother’s house when the boys were there alone but I couldn’t bank on that. And what would happen to my family? There would be no more gatherings or get-togethers, that much was certain. Since Andre had the only grandchildren, he would be preferred over me. But then, that would have happened anyway for a couple of reasons. One, because I was the one who had snatched the cover off of my brother, and in my family, that was the worse offense. And two, they had all just been putting up with me anyway.

  That fact hit me hard, and I sobbed quietly for several minutes. It was a cleansing, something I’d needed to do for a long time, but I didn’t feel better after. It was an incomplete catharsis that left me unsatisfied, like slight hunger after a big meal. I needed something more. More cleansing. More release. There was another thing that had evaded me for years, since that hot, sticky summer when a little girl died and everything changed.

  Absolution is what I needed. And I knew exactly how to get it.

  PART THREE

  THE TRUTH

  Chapter 25

  That Summer

  THE SUN WAS BLAZING hot and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. As usual, I was stuck outside until my mother got home from work. Erica was gone off somewhere with her friends and Andre had a girl over. We weren’t supposed to have company in the house when our mother wasn’t home but Andre did it anyway because he had no respect.

  He thought I didn’t know. He would send me outside and bring his girls in, right through the front door where anybody could see. If I came inside for a drink he would monitor my every move, making sure I didn’t go near his bedroom. Eventually, he started sending me outside with a couple of sodas and a sack lunch. It was the best he’d ever taken care of me.

  I glanced at my purple rubber watch. 12:17. My mom didn’t usually get home until 6 or 6:30, which meant I was doomed to sit around sweaty and bored for hours unless I could find something to do.

  Leah came galloping around the corner and joined me on the green utility box. Great! Just what I needed.

  “What you doin’'?” she asked.

  “What does it look like?”

  “My mama said I had to come outside and find something to do. Let’s do something.”

  “There’s nothing to do.”

  “We could ride bikes.”

  “Maybe later,” I said, looking the little girl up and down. “Why do you always wear that cheerleader outfit?”

  The little girl swung her feet back and forth against the green box, making a metallic thump each time. “It’s not a outfit, it’s a uniform,” she said with an irritating emphasis on the word uniform. As if I was an idiot. It was an honest question. She didn’t wear it every day but she definitely wore it too much. The black and gold uniform was made of a thick material and covered her entire body from the neck to her knee. It looked hot. I stared at her socks, little white anklets with gold pompoms on the back. They looked stupid.

  I rolled my eyes, annoyed by the nuisance. It wasn’t anything she said, it was h
er presence. She was a couple of years younger than me and my friends but she was always trying to hang. I probably should have been more sympathetic to her given my place in my own family. The youngest is always on the outside, not understanding the stories and jokes, laughing too loud and too late, wanting desperately to fit in and savoring every moment until someone inevitably yells at them to get out. Sometimes we talked about stuff she had no business hearing but we let her stick around anyway. Mostly because of Jarvis.

  “Where’s your brother?” I asked the pest.

  “Which one?”

  “Jarvis.”

  “I don’t know. Why? You like him or something?”

  Yeeeeesssss.“No! I’m just wondering. Why are you so nosy?”

  She scrunched her face up. “I’m not nosy.”

  I shook my head. It was true, I had a serious crush on Jarvis. He was a few years older than me and probably didn’t even know my name but he was so cute. He had skin the color of caramel, nice full lips, long black eyelashes, and a face that was pretty like a girl. I turned into a stuttering idiot when he came around but I had promised myself that I would talk to him one day. Maybe today.

  I stood up and started walking toward Fefe’s house, praying my friend was home. I heard steps behind me and turned around abruptly, causing Leah to stop short. “What are you doing?” I asked her.

  “I’m coming with you.” Again, she spoke as if I was an idiot.

  “You don’t even know where I’m going.”

  “Where you going?”

  I sucked my teeth. “To Fefe house.”

  “Okay, I’m coming with you to Fefe house.”

  I said nothing and continued walking. I crossed the lawn and rang the doorbell. Her bike was on the lawn so she had to be home. Please let her be home.

  Fefe’s sister opened the door and sized up the two girls on her porch with a scowl on her face. “Fatima’s not home,” she announced.

  Darn it! “When will she be back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well can you tell her to come out when she comes home?” I pleaded.

  “Yeah. Bye,” Jamila said as she slammed the door in my face. All the girls wanted to be like Jamila. She was in high school and she had an asymmetrical bob that was always laid, plus she wore red lipstick and eyeliner. My mom said eyeliner was for whores. The best part was that Jamila carried a white Dooney bag and it was always spotless. Fatima said she cleaned it every night with a toothbrush. Nobody seemed to care that Jamila was mean; in fact, the boys seemed to love it.

  Leah looked up at me. “Fefe stay gone somewhere. I wish I could be gone like that.”

  Truthfully, I wished I could, too.

  “So what are we doing now?” asked the pest, and I silently cursed her and wished she would go home. Just then, chimes from the ice cream truck rang in the distance. My pockets were empty but I didn’t dare go home and interrupt whatever Andre was doing.

  “You got some money?” I asked Leah.

  “I got a dollar.”

  “Let’s get some ice cream.”

  THE STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE bar was my absolute favorite. It cost sixty-five cents, more than the fifty cent deal I had struck with Leah, so she agreed to buy a pack of bubblegum instead of ice cream. We sat on the green box and chewed together, enjoying the sticky sweetness of our treats. I usually savored my food but it was too hot for that. I had to eat quickly to keep it from running down my hand.

  “There go Jason,” said Leah, pointing across the street. The tall boy came ambling down the sidewalk with a basketball in one hand and a football in the other. “What’s up y’all?” he asked us. Jason was cute too, but too skinny for me. Plus we’d had a few classes together the year before and he got bad grades on his tests. The only thing worse than an ugly boy is a stupid one.

  “Nothing,” I said between bites.

  “Aye, where your brother at, little girl?”

  Leah shrugged and chewed. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh never mind. I see him.”

  Oh my God! My heartbeat quickened and I sat up straighter. My hands involuntarily flew straight to my hair, which I smoothed down with sticky fingers. I hoped I didn’t look dirty.

  There he was, riding up the street on his bike. The closer he got, the taller I sat, even poking out my small chest for good measure. He came to a stop in front of Jason and the two dapped each other. He eyed his sister carefully. “What are you eating?” he asked her.

  “Bubblegum.”

  “It’s gonna be lunchtime soon. What did Mama tell you about eating all that candy?”

  “It’s not candy, it’s gum,” she retorted, as only an annoying little sibling could.

  “Don’t get smart.” He turned his attention to Jason. “What you getting into?”

  “I’m trying to ball. You playing?”

  “Nah. I gotta make some rounds,” Jarvis said, patting his backpack.

  “Come on, man.”

  “I gotta get this money. I’m trying to get a car next year.” A long blue Cutlass crept slowly up the street. I identified it immediately because I got into cars when I realized boys liked cars. Kilo Ali’s bassline rattled both the car’s speakers and the windows on the houses nearby. My mother hated that. She said it brought down property values.

  Jason and Jarvis studied the car. “Daytons?” asked Jason.

  “Nah, Vogues,” Jarvis answered. “Might get some next summer if I make enough money.”

  Jason perked up. “Aye, you got hot fries?”

  “Nah I’m out. I got hot pickles though. You like those?”

  “Nah.”

  “Alright, get up with me tomorrow and I should have the fries.”

  “Cool, I’ll get up,” said Jason. “So where you gonna be?”

  “I’m going to the clubhouse to sell and then I’m going swimming.”

  Jarvis glanced at me. Well, not really. It’s more accurate to say he took a scan of the area that I happened to be standing in, but for the brief second in which we locked eyes, my stomach flipped and my whole body flushed hot. I watched him pedal away, his navy blue book bag tapping against his back. I could think of nothing relevant to say but I wanted to talk about him and keep him on my mind.

  “Is he the new candy lady?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Ms. Jackie sick,” Jason answered. Poor Ms. Jackie had fallen ill a while back. My mom sent me over sometimes with covered glass dishes of hot food. A man in a white uniform always took the food from me. Nobody seemed to know what was wrong.

  I desperately tried to think of something, anything else to say about the love of my life. “So um...I know he has hot fries and pickles but what else does he sell?”

  Jason shrugged and scrunched his face up. “I don’t know. Why you ain’t just ask him?”

  Leah tapped Jason on the arm. “Cuz she likes him.”

  My eyes widened and before I could stop myself, I punched Leah’s arm as hard as I could. “Shut up!”

  She frowned for a second and rubbed the spot where my punch landed, but as soon as Jason laughed, she laughed too. At me. “Nah, I seen his ex-girlfriend. You’re not his type,” said Jason.

  “I don’t like him so I don’t care.” I looked at the clouds and pretended to be unbothered by the turn the conversation had taken. Finally, I gave up. I had to know. “What’s his type?”

  “I mean...” Jason began, grinning and clearly relishing in my discomfort, “...he like ass and titties.”

  Leah giggled. “And yeen got nan one of em!”

  Jason gave her a high-five and the two laughed again. I whirled around and stomped home, which only made them laugh harder.

  I couldn’t go inside so I walked around the side of the house and sat on the stairs of the back deck. I felt like crying but there were no tears. Only anger, which quickly turned to rage. I hated when anyone got the best of me.

  FEFE HAD FINALLY COME home and our other friend Diante had come outside. We sat around, shooting the breeze, joning
, Leah included, all seemingly forgiven. Fefe’s family had moved to the neighborhood a year earlier, and Diante’s family arrived soon after. My mother hadn’t been happy about the latter. I overheard her telling someone on the phone that the Bright family was renting their house, but she’d said it with such disdain that I figured that must be a bad thing.

  We kids loved Diante, though. He was 14 and had a dirty mind, and his jokes and stories were always a big hit. He also liked to jone people and he was good at it. Nobody had ever successfully roasted him back. It was a rare occasion when he went too far, and that day was one of them.

  “...And you,” he said, pointing at Leah, “my mama said your pops ain’t even your real daddy.”

  “He is my daddy. He adopted me,” she said, proud and defiant.

  “That don’t make him your real daddy though. Your real daddy didn’t want you cuz you ugly. You look like a little roach with a cheerleader costume on.” We all laughed hysterically as if that was the funniest thing we’d ever heard.

  “I’m not a roach, you’re a roach,” Leah retorted.

  “You a black roach.”

  She jumped up and got closer to Diante. “You’re darker than I am!”

  “It don’t matter though.” He walked closer until he closed the distance between them. He was right in her face. “I don’t care what color I am, I still look good. But you don’t, cuz you ugly.”

  We laughed again. Leah pouted and for a split second, I thought she was going to cry. Instead, she put a hand on her hip and steeled herself. “My boyfriend said I’m pretty.”

  “Boyfriend? You ain’t got no boyfriend,” Fefe said.

  “Uh huh, I do got a boyfriend.”

  “What’s his name then? Say it fast so I know you’re not lying!”

  Leah shook her head. “It’s a secret.”