She also said some stuff I didn’t really feel like hearin’.
It’s no big secret that Clay’s been with girls. A lotta girls. Unfortunately, Anne seemed to know many more details than I did, and she decided to share them.
“Ya know that girl Prissy? Gap toothed, long wavy hair?”
“Her too?”
Anne Marie nodded solemnly.
“And, I wasn’t gonna tell you this, but I think you deserve to know,” she dramatically began. “Remember Deacon Samuel? His wife Ida and their four kids?”
“What about ’em?”
Anne Marie gave me a knowing look.
“Wait a minute. Ida? Mrs. Samuel?”
Anne Marie raised her hands in that don’t kill the messenger way.
“I don’t know if I believe that one. I mean, ain’t she like thirty-five? That don’t make sense to me.”
“Evvie? Why do you think they moved?”
I stayed quiet. I didn’t know why they moved, and I’d never given it any thought before.
Anne Marie didn’t have much else to say after that. She didn’t have to; she’d made her point. I guess she’s just worried about me. I heard some things, sure, but… Ida Samuel? I would never say this out loud, but let’s just say Ida ain’t exactly… easy on the eyes. She’s not hideous or anything, bless her heart, but… I don’t get it.
Regardless, it doesn’t do to put too much weight on the idle words of idle tongues.
About that time the girls started screamin’ at each other and throwin’ breakable shit, so I sent Patty home, and Anne headed home too.
The bathwater is murky from my filth of the day and the Soir de Paris I sprayed in it while the water was runnin’. Clay and me didn’t make solid plans for tonight, but he asked if he could see me. And that would be the onliest reason for the Soir de Paris. But I doubt Mama will be inclined to let me go out again after gettin’ in late last night. That is if he comes by at all. Who knows? Maybe some nice deacon’s wife is keepin’ him company tonight.
Coralene walks in the bathroom without knockin’, and I shoot her a glare.
“How many times I gotta tell you to knock when you know somebody’s in here?”
Keeping her feet planted, she leans sideways back to the door and knocks on it from the inside. Smart-ass.
“Mama says you takin’ too long, cuz other people gotta use the bafroom,” she informs me.
“I’m almost done.”
“No! You gotta come outta there now.”
“Li’l girl, you bes’ watch your tone with me.”
“I’m just tellin’ you what Mama said.”
I feel a strong urge to teach her a real lesson. Like maybe reach out and tug on one a them pigtails without usin’ my hands, but then she’ll be havin’ nightmares and wakin’ me up at all hours. The twins are still too young to know what powers they’ll soon have. They got a good six or seven year before the jube comes for them. About the time they’ll be gettin’ their periods. Jubilation and menstruation are inextricably linked in our family.
“I’m comin’. Get out.”
“No, I’m sposeta bring you back wif me.”
“Out, or Imma dunk your head in here and wash that mop a yours!” This is enough to send her squealin’ from the room. I empty the tub and dry off. I get into my nightgown and make a firm decision. If I don’t hear from Clay tonight, I refuse to cry. Not gonna happen. I will not be the girl who can’t have an enjoyable evening without the attentions of a boy. Man. Either one.
In my bedroom (which ain’t too much bigger than a closet, but it’s mine and I love it), I look over my little bookshelf. I don’t have a whole lotta books, and most a the ones I have, I already read at least twice. There’s just one I’ve barely touched. That damn Ulysses. One a the old white ladies Mama used to work for gave us this box of donations once, and that book was in there. Books are rare cuz books ain’t cheap, so we cherish them. But this one I have yet to make heads or tails of. I pick it up again, just outta curiosity. I read the first seven lines. Nope. I slam that thing shut and shove it back on the shelf. I don’t think me and James Joyce’ll ever be on friendly terms.
I smile at my worn-out copy of The Golden Book of Astronomy, a childhood gift from an old auntie who has since passed on. I know it’s really for kids, but it’s still my favorite book. It’s always here for a reread when I need comfort. Just not in the mood for it right now.
I plop on my bed and sigh. I know Wagon Train’s on, so I could go out and watch that with Mama. Then again, I hate Wagon Train. Whatever it takes, I will find something to do tonight!
My door flies open. “Mama says gimme a bath,” Doralene announces.
Great.
“Didn’t you have one last night?”
“No, that was Coralene.”
“Give yourself a bath. You’re big enough.”
“Mama says you have to make sure I wash my butt and my bird.”
“Jesus,” I say under my breath.
“I’m tellin’ Mama you said Jesus.”
“What can I say? The holy spirit just hits me sometimes,” I mutter. She still wants to tattle, but now she’s confused. I go into the bathroom to run her bathwater.
“Mama says I can see my daddy on Sunday,” Doralene says, stepping into the water. “Too hot!” I know damn well that water’s barely tepid, but I humor her and sprinkle in a few drops of cold. Then she sits down in it.
“How comes you don’t never come wif us?”
“Because he’s not my daddy,” I say. “I tell you that every time you ask me.”
“Nuh-uh. You told Coralene.”
“I told the both a ya.”
“You don’t like him?”
“It’s not about that. If he lived with us, that’d be one thing, but he doesn’t. So he’s your family. Not mine.”
“Why ain’t he your daddy too?”
“Because I already had one before you were even a thought. Wash.”
Mama opens the door and walks in, because nobody in this family knows how to knock.
“You got a visitor,” she says.
“Tell ’em I’m busy,” Doralene instructs.
“Not you!” Mama frowns at me. “What you want me to tell him?”
So he did show up.
“I don’t know. Am I allowed out tonight?”
“Oh, that’s right! I almost forgot! You can wait ’til the weekend to go out.”
Goddamnit! She’d already forgotten about last night! I’m an idiot.
“Then I guess you can tell him I’m sorry, and I’ll call him later,” I say, tryna sound like it’s no big deal and I’m not devastated.
“You’ll call him?” she asks.
I nod and point out some dirt that Doralene’s missed on her leg.
Mama’s lips curl into a sly grin. “You didn’t even ask me who was at the door.”
My cheeks flush.
“Why don’t you go down and tell him yourself,” she says, taking my place by the tub. “Tell Coralene she can come in here with us. And cover up first,” she warns, glancing at my chest. My nightgown ain’t see-through, but it is rather flimsy.
I throw on a robe before I shove a complaining Coralene into the bathroom and shut the door. I run down the stairs, terrified he might be gone by now and momentarily terrified that it could be R. J.
I get to the door, and there he stands. Not R. J. Thank the sweet lord.
“Hey, Evvie girl,” he breathes with that smile a his. “Thought we had a date.”
“Yeah.” I step out onto the porch and pull the door closed behind me. I must look quite interesting in my flip-flops and robe. It’s a black satin kimono robe with dragons of different colors on it. It once belonged to Mama, but she gave it to me. Said it made her feel old to wear it. It’s pretty, but looks like somethin’ a madam in a whorehouse might wear.
“Sorry ’bout that,” I say. “I guess cuz we didn’t make no definite plans, I wasn’t real sure—”
A
nd Clay interrupts me with a kiss. A soft, quiet kiss, but intense nonetheless. He pulls his lips back, but his face remains so close to mine I could probably count his pores if I wanted to. It’s right, him bein’ this close to me. So right, it feels like we’ve always been like this.
“You sure now?” he whispers.
I nuzzle his nose, not wanting to lose this physical contact.
“I’m not sure I can get away tonight,” I finally say.
“Why?”
Such a simple question. Why indeed.
“I’m kinda in trouble,” I say, and then laugh at how babyish that sounds. He smiles at me.
“What did ya do, wild child?”
“Came home an hour past curfew last night. Cuz I was with you.”
“Just an hour. That ain’t nothin’.”
“Maybe you should explain that to my mother.”
“Maybe I should,” he says, and he kisses me again. I feel like I got the sun inside me.
“Know what?” he asks.
“What?”
“Pop lent me the Plymouth tonight. You know how often that happens?”
I pretend to think about my answer. “Not that often?”
“That is correct.” We both laugh. Kiss. Laugh. Kiss again.
“Tell her you’ll never miss curfew again. Come on! Let me take you somewhere. Anywhere you wanna go,” he says. “Where you wanna be right now?”
“Hawaii,” I tell him, and we both crack up. I know what I’ll be doing this evening, and I’m already planning out what I’ll say to Mama in a matter of seconds, because there’s no way anyone or anything can keep us apart tonight. Let ’em try.
* * *
I hop into the passenger’s seat. I told him I’d be ten minutes, but it was closer to twenty-five, and even so, I’m still just wearin’ some pedal pushers and a matchin’ top, nothin’ too special. But my cherry bomb lipstick is freshly coated, and my hair looks pretty sharp.
Mama wasn’t too tough to handle. She has trouble sayin’ no when she can tell how important something is to us. But if I don’t make curfew this time, she threatened to punish me in a way I haven’t even imagined, and I don’t think she was kidding.
I turn and flash him a grin. He grins right back.
“I’m not gonna tell you you’re stunning,” he says.
I’m cool on the outside. Inside, I’m swoonin’ like I’m in some old movie.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Cuz I don’t want you to get a big head.” He winks at me then and pulls away from the curb.
“Where we goin’?”
“You’ll see. Ain’t far.”
It gets quiet for a few seconds, and I panic. I don’t want him to get bored. I quickly try to come up with a conversation topic.
“You like workin’ at the garage with your dad?” I ask him, and I almost want to take it back. I wish I’d thought harder. This is just generic small talk.
“I wouldn’t say ‘like,’ but I could do worse. I can’t do it much longer, though. Too risky.”
I nod, confused at first, but then I know exactly what he’s talking about.
“Have you ever hurt your hands before?”
“Not so bad it affected my playin’. But it’s only a matter of time. That’s why I gotta retire,” he says.
“You should play for me sometime,” I tell him. “Just me.”
“I will,” he says with a smile.
Clay’s a real talented musician. He can play a few instruments, but his trumpet is like a part of him. I glance at the back seat, and there it sits in its sharp-lookin’ case, like a third passenger.
“So you gonna go professional?” I ask.
“That’s the plan. Not around here, though. Wouldn’t be able to feed a squirrel on what I’d make here. Gotta get up north. Wailin’ in a Chicago nightspot like the Regal Theater or at the Strand Hotel? That’s my dream.”
“That’s a hip dream,” I say. I bet it’s wonderful to have a dream that could come true for real.
“It’s a hard life, though,” he muses, “bein’ a musician. But I’d love to give it a real shot. At least then I’ll always know I tried, ya know?”
“Yeah,” I say, tryna imagine him moving from town to town just carrying his trumpet case. For some reason, the image makes me sad.
“What about you?” he asks. “You thought about what you gonna do when you graduate?”
I’m surprised by this question, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. This is the first time anybody’s asked me.
“No. Not really,” I say. I don’t reveal my secret wish to go to college. Any college. My grades are mostly good, and I love to learn new things. Mrs. Abernathy, the tenth-grade science teacher, thinks I might be able to do all right in college.
My bigger secret is that I’d love to study the stars and the planets. I love my astronomy book, but it only goes so far. I’ve read a few others from the library, but they’re all outta date. I’m sure in college they have modern books written by real astronomers workin’ today. I’d love to get ahold a those. But there’s no way in hell we’d ever be able to afford it.
“Not at all?” he pushes.
I shake my head. A few seconds later, we pull off onto a side road. He turns off the engine and doesn’t make a move to get out yet.
“I always thought you’d make a swell teacher,” he says. I’m shocked. Not only has nobody ever said this to me before, I never woulda guessed in a million years that Clayton Alexander Jr. sits around dreamin’ up career paths for me.
“Really?”
“Sure! You’re patient. Probably the smartest person I know. You’d be great,” he says. I take a deep breath. He must be joking. This is some kinda flattery trick.
“Clayton? How you figure I’m the smartest person you know? We don’t know each other that well.”
“Quiz me,” he says.
“Do what?”
“Ask me a question about you and see if I know the answer. Then decide how well I know you.”
This is just silly. I think for a minute. I really wanna stump him.
“All right. Which one a my sisters is older?”
Clayton looks at me like I’m bonkers. “Twins! They the same age!”
“Ha! Nope. One of ’em’s just a li’l bit—”
“Coralene is two minutes older than Doralene,” he replies smoothly, and I’m stunned speechless. How could he possibly know that?
“Ha yourself! I know you,” he says proudly. “And just to clarify? I said you were probably the smartest person I know. Jury’s still out. Could go either way.”
I laugh and just shake my head, not knowing what to do with him.
“Well? Did you know I hate kids?”
“Doesn’t everybody till they have ’em?” he asks, and then opens the door and gets out. I start to open mine, but then I see him pick up speed and race around to open it for me. Only thing is, I still got hold of the handle and he’s got momentum, so he nearly tears me outta the car just by force.
“Shit,” I laugh, stumbling to catch my balance.
“Sorry,” he says, and then smiles self-consciously. “I wanted to be a gentlemen. You gotta gimme a chance.” He reaches out for my hand and I give it to him, and he walks us up to a squat building I’ve never noticed before.
“What is this place?”
He puts a finger over his lips but beams. He leads me down a few steps to a side door below street level. He turns the knob, and the door opens with a mild screech. Apparently, nobody locks this place up. We go inside, and it is pitch black.
“Don’t move,” he says, and I hear his footsteps walking away. I put my hands out in front of me and immediately bump something hard. Not as hard as a wall, but it doesn’t budge. I don’t like being trapped in small places. I can’t hear his steps anymore, and I can’t see. It feels like I’m trapped in a shrinkin’ box. Clay’s absence is makin’ me nervous, and a thought takes me by surprise: this is the same kind of fear I felt earl
ier today when the Stranger appeared. The memory of him fills me with dread, and now I’m hyperventilating. I know I am gonna die if I don’t get outta this place. Whatever has caged me in starts to quake, and I feel a headache moving in.
“Clay?” I call.
Then: light! Faint at first, but it slowly gets brighter. Candles. I can now see that I’m stuck between the wall and huge stacks of heavy boxes. They stop quaking and sit perfectly still as the headache passes. I take a moment to collect myself and allow my breath to settle.
Clay comes and helps pull me free. I feel so much better to be in a larger space again, I almost jump for joy.
“You all right?” he asks.
“Yeah. Yeah, I am now,” I tell him breathlessly.
That’s when I take in our surroundings. Clay has lit over a dozen old candles, and they’re spread all around… books. Books everywhere. The ghostly light illuminates big cardboard displays with painted animals and pictures of children. A border at the top of one wall displays the cursive alphabet.
“Clay? What is this?”
“You never been here?” he asks.
I shake my head. He claps his hands one time and does a little dance, seamlessly transforming into a far younger version of himself.
“I was hopin’ you hadn’t. Come here,” he says, pulling me over to one section. “This used to be the colored children’s library.”
“What? Why didn’t nobody tell me ’bout this?” Good lord! If I’d known about this place, I’da spent just about every day a my childhood hiding out here readin’ everything in sight. Why was this a big secret? A second later I gasp at the sight of a mouse emerging from a wall. Clay stamps his foot at it, and it disappears.
“Yeah, a lotta people don’t know. Closed down before we were born. Look at this.” He points to a decrepit shelf. My eye goes right to The House at Pooh Corner, and I pull it out. It’s dusty, and some of the pages are frayed, but I can tell it was nice once. The cover feels like leather, and the drawing on the front looks similar to other Pooh pictures I’ve seen, but it’s fancier, more like an engraving.
Daughters of Jubilation Page 5