Daughters of Jubilation

by Kara Lee Corthron

  Thank you for downloading this Simon & Schuster ebook.

  Get a FREE ebook when you join our mailing list. Plus, get updates on new releases, deals, recommended reads, and more from Simon & Schuster. Click below to sign up and see terms and conditions.

  CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

  Already a subscriber? Provide your email again so we can register this ebook and send you more of what you like to read. You will continue to receive exclusive offers in your inbox.

  In memory of my mother

  You are horror and beauty in rare combination.

  —Octavia E. Butler

  1 Savior

  HERE’S THE THING ABOUT ME: I ain’t normal. Never have been, never will be. So? That’s my private business and nobody else’s. I got no interest in drawin’ attention to myself for any reason other than my good looks and memorable personality. They don’t understand what I did yesterday, so they’re makin’ a big fuss. I hate it, but what am I sposeta do? Refuse a newspaper interview, with my mother so proud she’s finna combust?

  “Can you remember what you were thinking when you first noticed that something was wrong?” a young reporter asks me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was in high school too.

  “Nothin’,” I say. “I could just tell it was gonna fall, so I had to get them outta the way.” This is silliness. Who wouldn’t have done what I did?

  He asks a few more questions; then he makes me pose for a photo with the family. The Pritchards. They flash toothy smiles at me, their savior. Had I not been there yesterday when a big ol’ oak tree was about to fall on them and their new, shiny T-Bird convertible, we would not be sittin’ here all sweet and harmonious.

  The flashbulb blinds me, and I’m finally free to go. Mr. and Mrs. Pritchard thank me once again. Their toddlers run circles around us, and Mrs. Pritchard’s fat with another one on the way. T-Bird ain’t exactly a family car, but that’s none a my business.

  “You should come over to our house for supper one night,” she offers. In a fraction of a second, Mr. Pritchard shoots her a look. Ain’t no way in hell he’s ever gonna let me step foot into his house. Not that I’d wanna go. Plus, white people can’t cook.

  “Thank you, but I’m just glad y’all are safe,” I say in my good-girl voice with my forced good-girl smile. I leave the newspaper office’s steps with Mama beamin’ beside me.

  “Imma stop sayin’ it, but I am so proud a you, baby. You’re so brave and selfless.”

  “Honestly, I just didn’t have time to think,” I say.

  “That means savin’ folks is just who you are then. Don’t lessen it. This is a great thing you done.”

  We get to the bus stop and wait.

  “Whatcha wanna eat tonight? I’ll make whatever you want, and you don’t even have to help me.”

  “Maybe chicken and dumplin’s,” I tell her.

  “Shoulda known. I was guessin’ you’d say shrimp and grits, but chicken and dumplin’s woulda been my second guess,” she says.

  I mighta said “shrimp and grits,” but the last time I asked for it, she complained about the rising price of certain kinds a fish, so I thought it was off limits.

  She bumps me with her shoulder, and I can’t help but grin. It’s a weird affectionate thing she used to do when I was little.

  Mama doesn’t know the whole story, though. I’m not a hero.

  It’s the end of a mostly mild spring. There was no storm or high winds. No reason for a giant oak like that to just plummet to the ground. I was foolin’ around cuz I got mad. I’d ridden my trusty Schwinn into a neighborhood I didn’t recognize. Hadn’t meant to, I just wasn’t payin’ attention. I stopped to figure out where I was and how I ended up there when a man approached me.

  “Who do you belong to?” he asked, givin’ me the dirtiest look.

  “No one. I just got lost,” I explained, backing me and my bike away from him.

  “I suggest you get unlost ’fore you catch some real trouble,” he barked, and then he marched across the street to the car where his wife and kids waited for him. The wife was hollerin’ at the little ones to get in the car, but they didn’t pay her no mind.

  When he got to the driver’s-side door, before gettin’ in, he said something to the woman, and she got closer to him. They talked for a few more seconds—I was too far away to hear what they said—and the wife looked over at me, shakin’ her head in disgust. Like the very sight a me was ruinin’ their whole day.

  That ol’ oak tree was big enough and near enough that I thought, Wouldn’t it be somethin’ for these folks to have an accident right now?

  It was a quick thought, and I don’t think I meant it, but it didn’t matter. A sharp headache ripped through me, and the tree started rockin’ at the bottom of its trunk. And it kept on rockin,’ harder and harder. Couldn’t believe my eyes. I tried to make it stop, but then I heard the unmistakable creakin’ sound of wood startin’ to snap.

  I ran over and shoved the family outta the way. All of ’em. And then the tree came down, crushin’ that shiny new car.

  Once they got over the initial shock, the kids started cryin’ and screamin’, and their parents tripped over each other thankin’ me. I made the mistake of tellin’ ’em my name, which is how the newspaper found me.

  So yeah. Sure. I guess I saved the Pritchards from certain death. But nobody knows I tried to kill ’em first.

  2 Flirting

  WELL. SPRING HAS FLOWN AWAY like it was runnin’ from the law, and summer has burdened us all again. It is hot as holy hell out here, and ain’t nobody bothered to refill the lemonade on account a the flies. But I swear to Christ Jesus they better do somethin’, less they want me to melt. My hair! Lord! Just pressed and curled it three hours ago, and it’s already startin’ to wilt. I don’t even wanna think ’bout that daggone kitchen at the back a my head. Nasty li’l tangles for days. Humidity can kiss my sweet brown ass!

  Anne Marie means well, but damn. When she first moved to South Cakalacky, she couldn’t believe none of us kids had never been to or heard of a Juneteenth party. She’s into history, so this holiday is tailor-made for her. She’s a sweetheart and my closest girlfriend, so I don’t complain about the swelterin’ heat. Or the flies. Out loud.

  “Did we run outta lemons or water or what?”

  “Weren’t you the one complainin’ about all the flies?” Anne Marie smirks at me.

  She’s right. I was.

  “I’m startin’ to think dehydration is the lesser evil,” I say.

  She makes a goofy face and curtsies low. “What else can I get for Your Highness?”

  “Highness? Please! I’ll make it myself. Just hand over the lemons.”

  She stands up straight again, giggling. “Kidding. I’m the hostess. You stay put,” she tells me as she heads over to the serving table.

  I told her I’d get out here early to help her set up, but that didn’t happen. I did try, but I was layin’ under the fan, lettin’ ice cubes melt on my neck and face, and it felt a little too good to just stop so I could come out here to carry chairs and shit. Lookin’ at the sad, droopy JUNETEENTH 1962 banner she made with construction paper and glue, I feel guilty. Somebody shoulda told her not to put up that raggedy thing, but nobody did, and now it’s too late. Oh well. I’ll make it up to her at some point.

  In my defense, I wasn’t the onliest one on CP time. As I was crossing the bridge earlier, I ran into Bernadette, Peggy, Marcus, and a couple others. All of us over an hour late. On the other side there was a thick grove of trees, and we all took a breather to enjoy the glorious shade. We’d been laughin’ and cuttin’ up and complainin’, but then, all at once, we got quiet. We were facing the same direction, and we all saw the same
thing: about fifty yards away was a big, gorgeous swimming pool. Kids were over there splashin’ around, and it looked like a slice of paradise to me. That big, bright, fake blue. Bet they keep the water nice and cold. We stared like it was a desert mirage from a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Might as well have been. Since none of us will ever be allowed in that pool.

  “Um, Evvie?” Anne Marie calls, bringing me back from my pool dreams.

  “What?” I’m fannin’ myself, tryna sound pleasant.

  “I think that’s for you,” Anne Marie says, lookin’ past me. I turn around and—oh come on now! What the hell is she doin’ here?

  “Hi, Evalene! Don’t you look pretty,” Miss Ethel says, looking me up and down. I know I look pretty. I’m in my new peach-colored swing dress that hugs me in all the right spots and makes my bosoms look like a movie star’s. And even though this humidity is doin’ a number on my hair, it looks a damn sight better than Miss Ethel’s on a good day. I always try to look decent, but I look even better today, and I certainly don’t need her to tell me.

  “Why, thank you, Miss Ethel,” I say, because I was raised right. “Thought you wouldn’t be gettin’ back in town till late.”

  “We just got in.” Miss Ethel smiles a phony smile and glances around at everybody here like she ain’t never seen colored people havin’ a cookout in her whole life. Hell, maybe she ain’t.

  “I just happened to see you out here, and I wanted to make sure you wadn’t plannin’ on stayin’ out to all hours, since I’ll need you bright and early. In all her four years, Abigail has yet to sleep in.” She tries to joke. Oh, this woman. Go home!

  “Don’t you worry. I’ll be there on time like always,” I promise, flashing my best, most white-people-pleasing smile. Yes. Always on time to feed and tend to that li’l demon spawn you spat out into the world.

  “Well,” she adds, “you’ve been late before. But I know what it’s like to be young. You just don’t make that a habit, ya hear? Bye-bye.” Miss Ethel looks around, a little lost, but when she gets her bearings, she scoots herself back out to the main road. I couldn’t imagine why she’d be in this neighborhood at all until I spy the brown paper bag under her arm, tied with blue string. She got herself some grub from Miss Johnnie’s. White people will venture into deepest Africa for colored-people food.

  “Daggone! Boss lady keepin’ a eye on you,” Leon teases as he flips some burgers on the grill.

  “She needs to keep them eyes to herself,” I tell him.

  “She pay pretty good, though, right?” Anne Marie asks, bringing out a fresh pitcher of lemonade. Hallelujah!

  “You are an angel,” I say, grabbing it from her hands and pouring myself a glass. “She pay good enough. She could pay better, and I’m finna tell her so. ’Specially if she wants me to stay on when school starts up.”

  “You goin’ back to school?” R. J. asks, a bit too eagerly.

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Ya know? You workin’ now. You sixteen. Seventeen soon, right? You could just quit and work if you want to,” he explains.

  That comment gets me so mad that for an instant, the ground rumbles beneath us.

  “What the hell?” Leon exclaims, holding on to a picnic table for support.

  “Language!” Anne Marie scolds, but she also looks frightened.

  Leon sucks his teeth at her and I take an easy breath and the earth settles down, like nothin’ unusual has happened. Shit. I must start watchin’ my temper.

  “Was that a baby earthquake?” R. J. asks.

  “Could be, but I doubt it,” I say.

  “It has been a while since we last had one,” Leon says.

  “We should watch the news to see if…”

  And before Anne Marie can finish tellin’ us to watch the news for an earthquake report, which won’t be there, I shift the focus.

  “I am not gonna quit school. Imma get my diploma come hell or high water.” I mean it too. Mama didn’t make it all the way through school cuz she had to work. My grandmother doesn’t trust anything learned from books, so I’m sure she never made it very far. I intend to be the first Deschamps girl to do it. If for no other reason than for my little sisters to know it’s possible.

  “Diploma’s just a piece a paper,” R. J. continues. “ ’Sides, somebody gonna marry you soon enough, so none a that’ll matter,” he says with that crooked smile a his. Leon laughs to himself; Anne Marie shakes her head. I ain’t in no mood for this today. Does he have no pride? This boy’s been following me around since I’s seven years old. Wadn’t interested then, and I sure ain’t now. ’Specially not when there are so many others out there I’d like to be makin’ time with. Well… one. Just one in particular, who might just be the finest boy I’ve ever seen in my life. This same one in particular who promised me he’d be at this damn shindig not two days ago, and so far I ain’t seen hide nor hair a him.

  “It’ll matter to me, that’s for sure,” I say.

  “That’s good. Give them pretty li’l babies you gonna have a mama they can look up to. Course, you already a famous hero.”

  I groan. I do not wanna talk about that goddamn article again. It’s been over a week since it came out. Enough already.

  “Oh, will you give it a rest?” Leon shoves a hot dog in R. J.’s face. “Here. Give your mouth somethin’ else to do, please.” I can’t help but giggle, and I smile at Leon.

  Anne Marie fills a bowl with fruit punch in addition to the lemonade. Festive.

  “I don’t know why you ain’t proud,” mouthy Bernadette says. “If I’d gotten my name in the paper for savin’ some lives, I’d never stop talkin’ about it.”

  That’s for damn sure.

  “I don’t like makin’ a fuss, and if people forget about it, they won’t expect me to do it again. Cuz I ain’t never doin’ that again.”

  They laugh and let it drop.

  Sun’s gettin’ lower and lower. Dammit. When I see Clayton next, Imma kill ’im!

  I shouldn’t be surprised. You know how babies can get all excited about a toy when they’re playin’ with it, but if you hide it from ’em when they ain’t lookin’, they forget it was ever there? Sometimes I think Clay’s like that with me. The first time I can remember feelin’ belly butterflies over Clay was when I was eleven. He never paid attention to me back then. But in the last couple years—really since I got to high school—he’s been different. He’d nod if he saw me in the halls, and sometimes he’d tease me, but never in a mean way. The first time I wondered if maybe he liked me for real was last summer.

  I know it’s childish, but somehow I got roped into playin’ jailbreak with some neighborhood kids. I was runnin’ for home base, and I happened to see Clay talkin’ to one of his friends on the street. I didn’t slow down, though. I made it to home base: an old Cadillac that probably hasn’t been used since Roosevelt was in office.

  I’m fast, so I was the first one there, but I ducked down behind the car so Clay wouldn’t see me runnin’ around like an idiot. I figured I’d just stay hidden, and eventually he’d leave.

  When nearly all my team members made it to home base, I will admit I got excited because we won. Jailbreak is dumb, but I always enjoy a victory, and we crushed the other team. They started whinin’ about it (sour grapes), but the game was over, so I walked back out to the street… and he was still there! On the corner, starin’ right at me. I kinda waved then, cuz it was awkward, and he half smiled. I turned to go in the opposite direction, and I tripped over absolutely nothin’ and fell on the ground. Right into a mud puddle. A couple of my teammates cracked up. I felt a strong urge to cry, but I couldn’t, because before I could do anything, Clay was at my side, helping me up.

  “Are you all right?” he asked me.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I mumbled, so embarrassed.

  He held on to my hand and looked me over for cuts and bruises. The other kids shut up then, cuz Clay’s older than them and far cooler.

  “You gotta be careful,” he said, and
I could see that he, too, wanted to laugh, but he didn’t.

  “Thanks,” I said. I tried to pull away from him, but he didn’t let me.

  “I’m not hurt. I swear.” I tried to pull away again, and he held on again. And he was starin’ at me hard, and even though I was sweaty, dressed like a derelict, and partially covered in mud, he seemed to like what he saw.

  Then one of his friends from the baseball team came by, and that was it. He let me go, smiled, and went off with his buddy.

  But that was last summer. Since then, we’d see each other every now and then and were friendly, but not much more than that. Something happened this spring, and it happened to him.

  He has been silly lately. Not me. Ever since school let out, I feel like I run into him just about everywhere I go. Not that I mind, of course. He’s cool and casual, like always, but I don’t think every time we’ve bumped into each other has been a complete accident. I mean, I ran into him at the salon. Once in a blue moon, I go to get my nails done without tellin’ Mama (she’d be furious if she knew I was spendin’ money on somethin’ we don’t need), and when I went in a week ago, guess who turned up? And I noticed he didn’t leave with a manicure or a new hairdo. I also believe he asked me three times if I’d be here tonight, knowin’ full well I would be, and where is he at?

  This cookout started two and a half hours ago. Bein’ fashionably late is one thing. Standin’ somebody up is another.

  “Why ain’t nobody dancin’?” Bernadette hollers, and turns up the radio playin’ Bunker Hill’s “Hide and Go Seek” and proceeds to mash potata like she invented it.

  “Too hot,” I call back.

  “Y’all ain’t no fun,” she argues, and keeps on dancing, sweat flyin’. A couple other folks join her, and pretty soon this is just a big outdoor dance party. While everybody’s occupied, I slide up to the punch bowl and add a few drops a joy from my purse flask. Just enough to stay happy. Smells like the burgers are burnin’, and I wanna help out, but it’s so hot, and it’s surely hotter over by that grill! I keep on fanning myself like I done stepped into Hades. I am South Carolina born and bred. And we are in the south of South Carolina (Savannah’s just a short ride away). So I can’t for the life a me figure why I feel like a withered wild flower soon as the mercury hits ninety.