Daughters of Jubilation

by Kara Lee Corthron

Oh. Wow. For all my two-headedness, I did not see that one coming. Shit. Oh shit. What do I say? What is she talkin’ about?

  “Really? Like? You like a girl the way you’d like a boy?” I ask. I just wanna make sure I understand.

  “The way you’d like a boy, but yes,” she replies.

  I shrug. “I mean—I guess it’s normal for you. Probably normal for a lotta people. Just cuz we don’t know ’em don’t mean it’s not.” I will admit: I can’t quite picture two girls makin’ out. It just sounds silly to me, but I am in no position to judge anybody. There’s a good chance that Anne Marie likin’ girls is still more normal than me jubin’ all over the place.

  She looks up at me, and I can see the beginnings of a little, teeny smile.

  “You’re a good friend, Evvie,” she says, and I hear her voice cracking again. I don’t know whether to leave her be or to embrace her again. Either could hasten the waterworks.

  “That don’t mean my parents would understand. And… it’s against”—and she whispers—“God.”

  “Isn’t everything?”

  “Evvie, I’m serious. I’ve worked too hard to go to hell!”

  “You’re not goin’ to hell! I’m sure they have a special room up in heaven all ready for ya when it’s time.”

  “It’s in the Bible. Leviticus 18:22. ‘You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination,’ ” she recites mournfully. “They don’t say a woman shall not lie with another woman, but it’s implied.”

  “So? Bible’s fulla ridiculous shit,” I say.

  “Wow. Right outside the church. You’ll just say anything, woncha?”

  I don’t know if that’s true, but I’m unnerved by how much I just sounded like my grandmother.

  “I feel like Leviticus is one a those books of the Bible that was written by crazy people. You can’t take it literally.”

  “I appreciate your willingness to blaspheme in order to make me feel better, but—”

  “I’m not just tryna make you feel better. I honestly remember readin’ stuff in that book that is positively crazy.”

  “Evvie…”

  “Hold that thought!” I run inside through the back door of the church, up into the hallway, and Reverend Henry’s office door is open. I race in before I realize he’s in there.

  “Evalene! Surprised to see you here! What can I do for ya?” he asks, startled by my abrupt appearance.

  “Um, can I borrow a Bible real quick? I’ll bring it back, I promise.”

  He breaks into a huge smile. “Of course.” He goes to his bookshelf and pulls down a small one. “This is a King James, but it’s especially suited for young people who—”

  I snatch it from his hands. “Thank you!” I run back out the way I came. Anne Marie’s sittin’ on the bench lookin’ irritated, which is a healthy step up from despondent.

  I quickly flip to Leviticus and start running my finger down each page.

  “Is this really necessary?” she asks me.

  “Yes,” I answer.

  She fidgets while I speed-read. Outta the corner of my eye, I see her check her watch.

  “I should be gettin’ home soon,” she says. The despair’s sneakin’ back into her voice, and I won’t have it.

  “This,” I exclaim. “I found it! Listen up. ‘The Lord said to Moses, “Say to Aaron: ‘For the generations to come none of your descendants who has a defect may come near to offer the food of his God. No man who has any defect may come near: no man who is blind or lame, disfigured or deformed; no man with a crippled foot or hand, or who is a hunchback or a dwarf, or who has any eye defect, or who has festering or running sores or damaged testicles.’ ” ’ This is sayin’ that God wants nothin’ to do with the crippled! That’s insane! There. I have discredited the book of Leviticus for you. Your room is safe in heaven.” I wink at her, disproportionately proud of what I’ve accomplished here.

  And she smiles! A real smile, a joyful smile. Hallelujah!

  “You always make me feel better,” she says.

  “Same here.”

  Despite her arguments, I walk her home before it gets dark. We get inside, and her mother’s in the kitchen cookin’. She pops her head in from the doorway.

  “Oh hi, Evalene. Nice to see you! Should I set another place?” she asks. I glance at Anne Marie, who’s sittin’ in the corner of the couch with her hair in her face, covering her eye injury.

  “No thank you, ma’am, but d’ya mind if I use your phone?”

  I call Clay, and he agrees to come pick me up and take me home. Before I hang up, Roland enters the room. Anne Marie stiffens. Her mother fries fish in the kitchen, unware anything’s amiss. I watch this man closely and take a deep breath.

  “Anne?” I begin. “Remember that red checkered top you borrowed from me?”

  She frowns in confusion.

  “Yeah. Didn’t I give it back to you?”

  “Maybe. I just haven’t been able to find it. Can you check your closet? Just in case?” I ask.

  “I’ll look, but I’m sure I gave it back to you,” she says as she heads to her room.

  Now it’s just me and Roland.

  He holds up a newspaper to block me from his view.

  It’s practically effortless. I look at him—as if flimsy newsprint could protect him from me—and his stomach makes a terrible sound. He drops the paper and inhales sharply. He leaps off the chair and tries to run, but he can’t. His stomach rumbles again, and again he tries to move, but he cannot. He chokes back a moan.

  “You have to use the bathroom, doncha?” I ask softly. I don’t want to disturb Miss Alice in the kitchen.

  He nods. Helpless.

  “It’s real bad, ain’t it?”

  His eyes grow wide with fear.

  “If you touch her again, I will make you suffer. If you violate her privacy again, I will ruin you. Do you understand what I’m sayin’ to you?”

  “What are you?” he whispers.

  This time his insides roar like thunder, and tears stream down his face.

  “I’m just playin’ with you right now. Don’t make me get serious with you. Do you understand?” I try to ignore it, but I feel just a taste of it again. A taste of the happy-happy.

  He nods. I hear Anne Marie coming down the hall, so I release him. He races past her as she reenters. She glances at him and then just rolls her eyes.

  “Evvie, I’m sorry, but I don’t have your shirt. Did you lend it out to anybody else?”

  “Oh, you know what? I think I might have. Sorry for wastin’ your time,” I tell her.

  “That’s all right,” she says, starin’ in the direction her uncle went.

  “I wish he would just… leave,” she says. She wanted to say worse, but she’s too good for that.

  “If he bothers you in any way again, you call me. I mean it.”

  “What are you gonna do?” she whispers.

  I take her hand and give it a strong squeeze. I need to get through to her, and I want the jube to help me.

  I look deep into her dark eyes, and she gasps. Something got through.

  “You don’t need to worry about him, Anne Marie. Ever again.”

  20 Destiny

  SHE TOLD ME TO COME at night. On top of that, she told me to come alone and to not use any magic to help me. Not that I would’ve, but I don’t appreciate being told not to.

  I have to use my flashlight. It’s too wild back here. I shine the light on the house, and it’s dark as a crypt. Lord. She better not be leadin’ me into a trap.

  I get to the door and walk in.

  “Grammie Atti?” I call. No response. It’s so quiet and dark in here it feels like the place was abandoned long ago.

  “Where you at?” Guided by my light, I creep through the kitchen, into the sittin’ room, and peer through the window that looks out onto her porch. She is not here, and her home is scary enough as it is. I don’t need to be wanderin’ around here in the pitch blackness by myself.

 
That daggone cuckoo clock goes off, announcing that it is ten, and I scream my fool head off.

  Stop that.

  I do.

  Calm down and turn off that goddamn flashlight.

  I sigh and do what she says. I concentrate. If this is how we’re gonna communicate this evening, I have to give it my full attention.

  Where are you? I ask.

  You tell me, she taunts.

  I don’t bother responding to that. I clearly don’t know, and if I start guessin’, she’s just gonna holler at me.

  What are you doin’ right now? she asks me.

  I shrug. I’m just standin’ here.

  How are you standin’? Describe and don’t move.

  Describe how I’m standin’? On my damn legs.

  I clear my throat.

  Quiet, she orders.

  I’m not standin’ up straight. I’m slouchin’.

  Where is most of your weight? Do NOT move, Evalene.

  On my right.

  She stops speaking. The quiet gets loud.

  Look inside, she says. What is your heart doing?

  I take a second. I had a feelin’ this was what she was gonna ask me next. I start to feel like I understand what she wants me to see, but I don’t know why yet.

  It’s pumpin’ blood through my veins.

  Describe the blood.

  Rusty red, viscous. Oxygen rich and warm, I say. Wow. I didn’t know I had all those words just waitin’ to come out.

  Look outside. In which direction are you facin’ right now?

  North… east.

  Keep lookin’ outside. What’s goin’ on next door?

  Next door? Now I’m stumped. I wasn’t prepared for that. I think I’m doin’ pretty well, but I don’t wanna be a Peepin’ Tom.

  I don’t know.

  Unacceptable. Don’t try to eavesdrop. Give the house one look and not with your eyes. Don’t imagine what’s in there. SEE it.

  See it. How was I able to see inside my heart so easily? I can feel myself dropping down, down, down once again. But I’m in a brand-new space. I think this is a new band. I swallow and feel each individual molecule of saliva migrate down my esophagus to my stomach. This is a new feeling. It’s not about focusing my anger or my giggles. It’s about goin’ quiet and gettin’ clear. Finding perfect awareness. It’s like all my senses are under a microscope. Time slows. Details expand. It’s coming together for me. It’s purple and silver, this band. It’s powerful, but unlike the others, this one makes me anxious.

  Answer, Evvie. Firm but not impatient. I answer her.

  The Ellisons live next door. Mr. Ellison is worried they won’t make the rent this month, because he lost his job at the paper mill. Mrs. Ellison is afraid to tell him she’s pregnant again. Millie, the youngest, is asleep right now and dreaming about a car crashin’ into a truck fulla chickens. Jake and Ritchie are sposeta be asleep, but Jake’s the oldest and can sense his parents’ stress. Ritchie’s tellin’ his big brother a story about the kid in his class that peed himself during assembly, but Jake’s not payin’ attention.

  I stop. That’s all I can see, and it feels like far too much. As soon as I see it all, it starts to fade away. My hands are jittery. The second the new band formed down in my special space, I could see everything as clearly as seeing my own likeness in a mirror. For some reason, it makes me almost feel like cryin’. Their lives are none a my business.

  Do you understand how you did that? she asks me.

  Not really.

  Liar.

  I take a deep breath and listen to the quiet. All my distractions fell away, so suddenly things inside me and outside me were noticeable. And clear. I think.

  Break it.

  What the hell does that mean?

  Don’t get smart!

  Whoops. I only meant for me to hear that thought.

  Break off a piece and toss it outside, she says.

  This is so strange. I don’t understand what she means, but I fiddle with my new band until it feels like a shard has come loose. A wobbly feeling. I try to throw it.

  Like that? I ask her.

  And I’m jolted with new knowledge that comes spewing out.

  The ground out there. Full of death and pain. Old blood, bones, flesh, hair, teeth, decomposition deep underground. We walk on their graves.

  I jolt back into myself and shake my head violently. Intentionally separating myself from what I’ve just seen. This house. This land. Horrors have taken place here.

  Who died here? I ask.

  If you hadn’t stopped yourself, you’d know.

  I don’t wanna see. Tell me, I say.

  Before she can respond, I hear a sound outside the back door. With the silence and my heightened senses, the sound has the impact of a rifle shot.

  “Grammie Atti? Is that you out there?” I ask with my regular voice.

  She says nothing, vocally or otherwise. Forget it. She can yell if she wants to, but I flip my flashlight back on and tiptoe toward the door and look out. I don’t see anyone.

  “Grammie Atti, if you’re close, will you please come out now?” I beg. I hear a rustling out in the dark and throw open the screen door just in time to see a figure disappear behind the bushes. My heart drops. I don’t believe this. That scumbag has followed me here.

  I steady myself. I’m terrified, but I’m also angry. No more. It’s time to end this.

  I shout with all my strength, “Come out now!” I see movement, and, tryin’ not to shake, I shine my flashlight behind the bushes.

  “Clay?”

  He shrugs, embarrassed. “Uh, hey, Evvie. What’s goin’ on?”

  I’m just starin’ at him, not knowing what to say. The kitchen light comes on inside the house.

  “What you doin’ out there?” Grammie Atti calls from inside.

  “Nothin’. Just a second,” I say to her.

  “Clay,” I whisper. “What’re you doing here?”

  “D’ya mind…” He points to the flashlight, which I now see is blinding him. I shut it off.

  “I was just—checkin’ up on ya.”

  “Since when?”

  Grammie Atti comes through the door. She looks at us and then at me and smirks.

  “Who are you?”

  “Oh, I’m Clay. Clayton Alexander. Junior, ma’am.”

  “I ain’t impressed by good manners, so don’t waste your time.”

  “Grammie? Clay’s my—”

  “Yeah, I get it. Either leave or come in,” she says, and turns back into the kitchen.

  “Sorry, Evvie,” he whispers. I gesture for him to follow me, and we join Grammie Atti in the house.

  “I don’t care for uninvited visitors, so—”

  “Grammie Atti, please be nice.”

  She gives me a look but doesn’t say anything else. She pulls her pipe out and lights it.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt y’all. It’s just—it’s late. And I noticed you leavin’ your house, and I didn’t want anything to happen to you, so I followed.”

  “What you think’s gonna happen to her?” Grammie Atti asks, and Clay glances at me like he’s afraid to say any more.

  “How’d you know I left?” I ask.

  Clay lightly taps the table, guilty.

  “Sounds like somebody’s been spyin’ on somebody else,” Grammie Atti says. Then she laughs.

  “I wasn’t spyin’. I happened to be in your neighborhood, and I saw you. That’s all. I mean it,” he says. “And I’m sorry. I should leave.”

  “Why you afraid to admit you was spyin’? You know you were, and you know it wasn’t the first time,” Grammie Atti tells him. Clay gazes at the floor. He won’t meet her eyes or mine. She’s right.

  “What is it you wanna know? Just ask,” she says.

  “Nothin’. I told you what I was—”

  “He only wants to protect me. There are worse things,” I say in his defense, but I have to say, I’m kinda siding with my grandmother on this one. Somethin’ doesn�
��t feel right. He’s not telling the whole truth.

  “So you her protector, huh?”

  “Uh—I mean—yes,” he stammers.

  Grammie Atti howls with laughter, and my cheeks get hot. Clay will not be able to charm her, and right now he’s not even trying. I can’t recall ever seein’ him so tongue-tied.

  “You thirsty?” she asks him.

  He takes a small breath before answering. “Yes, ma’am. A little.”

  “I know. Thirsty for knowledge. We ain’t talkin’ ’bout soda pop. What do you wanna know? This is the last time I’m gonna ask you nicely,” she warns.

  Clay looks up at her with fear in his eyes, like he’s terrified Grammie Atti’s finna go outside, tear off a switch, and use it on his behind.

  “I just…” He swallows. “I just wanted to know what it’s like,” he says.

  “What what is like?” I ask.

  Grammie Atti holds up her hand to shut me up. She’s focused on Clay. “Does it scare you?”

  He’s still for several seconds, and I think he’s ignorin’ her. But after a while, he finally nods his head.

  “Good. That means you’re smart. You should be scared. It’s not a bag a parlor tricks,” she explains. I think I know why Clay’s here now.

  “You could sit and watch while I help Evvie figure out how to use her many gifts, but you wouldn’t understand half of what we’d be doin’. It’s not for spectators.” Abruptly she turns to me.

  “Why’d you tell him?”

  I feel put on the spot. Was I not supposed to?

  “He noticed somethin’. Didn’t feel right to lie,” I reply.

  She inhales some more pipe smoke, turning back to Clay.

  “You better be worth it, young man. The more folks that know about us, the less safe we are. The less safe she is.”

  “Is there anything I can do to—like—help her?” he asks. I smile a little to myself. He doesn’t understand jubin’ at all—how could he? But it doesn’t matter. If he thinks I might be facing any kinda dilemma, he wants to fix it.

  “It’s not an illness. She was born with somethin’ extra, and now she’s figurin’ it out. She doesn’t need your help, and you wouldn’t know how to give it if she did.”

  I glance at Clay, and he looks like a deflated balloon. I wanna comfort him, but I’m still irritated by the spyin’.