Is it me? Cuz I haven’t used it in so long?
Miss Athena shakes her head. “It’s Evvie. She’s put up a wall to keep us out.”
Miss Athena tries to call on the haints again, but they can’t return. She tries to call Evvie once more. Evvie looks across the pond and shoots her response to Grammie Atti like a dagger.
Stop.
“We can’t help her anymore. Neither can you. The rest she must do alone,” an unseen haint explains. They’re invisible, but they’re still present, even if they can no longer intervene.
They all watch Evalene. Miss Indigo keeps jubin’ to no avail until she falls to the ground in exhaustion. Miss Athena wishes she didn’t have to see this next part. For her granddaughter’s sake. But she can’t abandon her now.
Gentle. I am gentle. I kiss Clay’s lips like so many times before. I lay him down on the ground. So softly. I stand.
“You’re lucky I can’t quite bring myself to do you in,” Virgil says. “You’re also lucky cuz I happen to know a lawyer or two. A few senators. If you learn to behave yourself, they might see to it that you don’t fry for what you’ve done to my friends.”
I walk. There is no reason to run now.
“Hey! Don’t you try anything else! I said I don’t wanna kill you, but I will if I have to,” he threatens as I get closer.
I stop about two feet in front of him. He’s not positioned where I need him, so I throw him to the proper spot.
“Goddamnit, girl!” He stumbles after a rough landing and readjusts the rifle, preppin’ to shoot me. I knock him down, belly up, on the bank, hold him down with my own natural weight, wrap my hands around his neck, and squeeze.
He struggles. He tries to talk, but fails. He tries to grab at my face, and he scratches me a few times, but I don’t stop. I squeeze tighter. He pulls on the buckskin of my necklace, but I don’t care. I squeeze tighter and tighter. And when he starts to turn blue, I loosen my grip. Just enough. This will not be fast.
He chokes and writhes on the ground. He tries to force my fingers from his neck, but I tighten my grip again, and when the blue tint creeps into his skin, I ease up again. He chokes and still tries to talk. This time, because he’s perfectly positioned where I need him, I dunk his head in Bottomless Pit and hold it.
Hold it.
Hold it.
Hold it.
Hey, Evvie girl.
Then I release it and he flails like a fish and I shove his head down again and hold it there.
You’re like nobody else.
I lift his head, and he’s not fighting anymore. You weak sonuvabitch. Breathe!
“Breathe, goddamn you!” I shriek.
He chokes up water and takes another breath. He opens those ocean-blue eyes, and they almost look human in their sad resignation.
He looks at me. I let him speak. “We did have fun. You and me once.” He hacks the words up with more water and some blood. “I know I made you smile.”
I wouldn’t survive up there without you.
“Evvie!” Grammie Atti calls out desperately from the other side.
I sniff. I blink. I breathe.
I dunk his head once more. I cry out like the wounded animal that I am, and the sound I make goes on and on until there’s nothing left. He’s stopped moving.
My hands let go and I sit. I sniff again. Look around.
This is how I’ve killed Virgil Hampton. Without any magic.
Grammie Atti still stares at me, not makin’ a sound. And Mama’s there too.
Go home, Grammie Atti. Go home, Mama, I tell them.
You gonna need help with this, Grammie Atti says.
No. Go home.
Grammie Atti leaves.
“I’m sorry, Evvie,” Mama calls out.
I stare at her and say nothing. She doesn’t move.
Go away.
She sniffles like she’s been cryin’ a lot, and she slowly fades into the trees. Can’t tell if she’s really gone or hidin’. Don’t matter.
I have no practical tools. So I make do. I spend time collecting rocks. I place them in Virgil’s pockets and inside his clothes, and I push him off the bank into Bottomless Pit. Probably I coulda used the jube to float him over to the fire and cook him like the rest. But I didn’t. Maybe I hope his corpse is discovered one day, bloated, rotting, repulsive. Maybe I don’t give a shit.
At the fire, I kick a few remaining body parts the haints left behind into the hot center, and the flames crackle.
If I’d just waited for him a little longer.
A little longer.
Clayton Alexander Jr.
There ain’t much out here but weeds. Still, I find a few wildflowers, and I bring them to Clay. I delicately place them in his hands and wrap the fingers that ain’t been crushed around them. I cry without makin’ any noise. I find a stick, and I write in the dirt Evvie loves Clay.
I lie down next to him and keep cryin’. I wrap my arms around him. We hold each other for a long time. As long as we can.
2 “Your spirit is our blessing” in Gullah language.
3 “She wants, needs you. Here” in Gullah language.
28 Life
“THINK I FOUND SOMETHIN’ THAT’LL fit you,” Mama says.
She takes the nightgown off, lifting my arms for me. She secures me into a brassiere and then slides the black dress over my head. She looks me over. Then she sits behind me on the bed and combs my hair. She says things to me. I don’t know what. I can’t listen anymore.
“You gotta stand up now,” she tells me, and I do.
Next thing I know we’re in the church for the funeral. I stare down at the hymnals and fans on the back of the pew ahead of us. Occasionally Mama dabs her eyes and mine. I don’t hear what the preacher’s sayin’. Don’t matter. I don’t hear all the amens and give us strength, Lords. They don’t matter either.
I do hear Mr. and Mrs. Alexander. They sob. Clay’s daddy, like a lost little boy. Clay’s mama, like a mad woman. Their cries matter.
The casket is closed. A bouquet of lilacs and carnations lies on top of it. Sittin’ just to the side of the flowers is his trumpet. It’s to be buried with him.
When we get back home, I crawl into bed and stay there. The twins come in and say things, but mostly they try not to bother me. Sleep is better. Sleepin’, I dream about him, and he’s still here and he’s makin’ me laugh and makin’ me melt, and I’m real good at wakin’ myself up before it all goes wrong. Sleepin’, I can’t think about everything that’s been taken. All the memories we’ll never have. All the music he’ll never make.
They’re tryin’. Tryna break through. Mama first. Mama’s been knockin’ at the door in my head since I got home that Sunday morning. They say they had to rip him outta my arms, and I screamed and fought. I don’t remember. She’s tryna read me and get me to talk to her with my mind’s voice. But I can’t. Grammie Atti’s started doin’ it too. Even future Atti has tried to check up on me, bless her heart. I just can’t. They need to let me be.
The door opens. My back’s to it, but I blink my eyes open. The sun seems high in the sky. Probably about noon. Don’t matter.
“Baby?” It’s Mama.
“I know you hurtin’ right now. I know it must feel like you ain’t never gonna feel happy again.” She pauses for a second. She might be givin’ me space in case I wanna talk. No need.
“You might not wanna hear this, but God’s here for you. He’s here for all of us. I know he doesn’t always answer our prayers the way we want him to. But he will take care of you, and you will have good days again. I promise,” she says, and I can hear that she’s clearly tryin’ not to cry.
“Evvie? It’s been four days. You gotta get outta that bed. You gotta take a bath. And I’m probably gonna have to burn that dress.” She actually tried to joke at the end of that, which makes everything she just said even sadder.
I do the best I can. I get up and it hurts, and she walks me into the bathroom. I can do it, though. I run my
bathwater, and I sit in the tub. When she grabs a washcloth and starts to bathe me, I take it from her. I can do it myself, even though it’s hard and it takes me a long time.
“Don’t you feel a little better now?” she asks once I’m out of the tub and wearing clean clothes. I make some kinda gesture with my head to acknowledge that I heard her.
“Now you need some food. I made shrimp and grits and biscuits,” she says, coaxin’ me to the kitchen. Coralene and Doralene appear from behind her, clinging to her hips for comfort as they look up at me, confused and scared. I shake my head.
“Okay. Well. I could make some soup? Or chicken broth?”
The world is moving past me, and before I give any thought as to why, I’m back in bed. Mama starts to cry, and then so do the twins.
“Baby, you gotta try!”
I’m sorry they’re all crying. I’m sorry I can’t help them. I’m sorry I can’t try. My eyes drift closed again, and already it’s better.
* * *
September. That means school. I can’t do the first day, which turns into the first week. The following Monday, Mama and a few of her church lady friends force me out of the bed and take me to a doctor. I don’t speak to him, either. He asks me how much weight I’ve lost in the last few weeks. I say nothing. Mama tells him at least ten pounds, and then he puts me on the scale and she gasps. Twenty. He says if I don’t eat, I’ll die. I don’t need a doctor to tell me this. He says Mama should force-feed me if she has to. He also asks her if she’s heard of St. John’s Wort.
“Evvie Evvie Evvie. Everybody misses you. A lot.” Anne Marie sits beside me on my bed. Today I’m sitting up. Today I’ll try to stay sitting up.
She’s brought books and papers and explains each to me.
“These are all the assignments you’ve missed from biology, trig, and history. I’ve put bookmarks in your textbooks, so you know which units we’ve done so far,” she says. “I’m sorry. Since these are the only classes we got together, these were the only teachers that would let me bring your work home.” She looks up at me apologetically.
I glance at the stack. Pages and pages of words that don’t mean anything to me.
“I could help you. If you want. So you don’t fall behind,” she offers. That’s sweet. I’m already way behind with no hope of catching up.
“Up to you,” she adds. She coughs nervously, and I feel bad that she’s here and seeing me like this.
“Please don’t give up, Evvie. We need you,” she says softly.
I lean back against the wall and stare out the window. Dreamin’ of escape.
“Uncle Roland’s gone. I was scared and I didn’t want to tell my parents about the black eye, but I did. And would you believe he admitted it? Daddy was furious, but felt bad kickin’ him out with nowhere to go. He gave him a month to find a place and told me I wasn’t to be alone with him again. As if I’d wanna be! Then Mama was makin’ plans for our Labor Day picnic. This was before…” She trails off. She means before Clay died. They decided not to have the picnic this year.
“Anyways, Mama mentioned havin’ you, your mother, and sisters over, and he started stammerin’ and sayin’ stuff that made no sense, and for some mysterious reason, he didn’t want you to come over. Mama told him plain: Evvie’s like family and it ain’t his house. Next morning, he was gone. Ain’t that somethin’? I mean, ain’t that weird?”
I try to give her a touch of a smile. I lost track of her situation, and I hate that I did. I’m proud she stood up for herself, though. I’m glad the specter of me unnerved her uncle enough to send him runnin’ for the hills. I do care, and I want her to know. I’m tryin’. I hope she knows I’m tryin’.
I can feel her eyes on me. Mine are glued to the parched grass out the window. Not for any reason. Just because they landed there, and I don’t have the energy to move them.
“I—uh—I had a soda the other day with this new girl. Pearl. She’s from Florida. I’d been wantin’ to tell you about her, but… Anyway, we had a soda and we talked. She’s real nice and funny and smart. She reminds me of you.” Anne clears her throat before continuing. “And we walked home and it was dark and…” Anne Marie stops to look up at me to see if I’m listenin’ to her. I am. I may not look like it, but I am.
“If I tell you, will you promise not to tell anyone else?
I nod.
She moves closer to me and whispers, “She kissed me. On the lips.” Then she cowers a little, like she’s afraid of what I might say.
I turn my head and look directly at Anne Marie for the first time since she’s come into my room.
“What?”
“Thank you, Jesus!” she exclaims, and hugs me. “I got you speakin’ again!”
“Yeah, yeah, go back,” I say. “You and this girl… kissed? Like—kiss kissed?”
“I think so. Yeah. Yeah we did. Please don’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t.”
“I’m still scared of hell, but I like her. I really like her. I don’t know what to do.”
I feel a lump in my throat. She’s needed me, and I haven’t been available.
“If there’s a hell, you’ll never see it,” I tell her. “I don’t care what anybody says. If nobody’s gettin’ hurt, and somebody’s gettin’ happy, you ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong.”
She smiles at me with tears in her eyes.
“I love you, Evvie.”
“Oh.” I try to chuckle a little. I didn’t expect this conversation to get so emotional. “I love you, too,” I say.
She tells me all about this Pearl, who is apparently dreamy. For a hot second, I wonder if Anne Marie’s ever thought about me in this way, and I feel a li’l funny about it, but I let the thought pass. She’s my best friend, and she’s happy. It’s nice to see someone happy. The good kinda happy that doesn’t hurt a soul. And this is the most I’ve been able to talk in over a month, and I love her for givin’ me that.
* * *
He’s against the back seat, and I’m in front of him, his arm draped over me. It’s cramped, but we don’t mind.
“Tell me somethin’ good,” he says.
“Like what?”
“Like somethin’ good that I don’t know about.”
I scratch an itch on my cheek with his stubble.
“Hmm. D’ya know what comets are made of?”
“I do not.”
“Ice, gas, and dust,” I inform him.
“Wow.”
“Does that count as somethin’ good?”
I look up at him. He gets a sad, faraway look in his eyes.
“I wish we’d talked more about that kinda stuff,” he says.
“I didn’t wanna bore you,” I reply.
“You never bored me.”
“I also thought we had more time.”
He kisses my forehead. I squeeze his arms around me tighter.
“Wanna see a movie later?” he says.
“Okay. What movie?”
He snickers in a devilish way. “How about Lolita?”
“Sure.”
He tries to smile as he says, “Wait for me this time.”
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. I breathe deep. I turn over on my other side to go back to sleep, and tears dampen my pillowcase. The dreams hurt when I’m awake.
* * *
Mama’s makin’ me go to school. I don’t know how I’ll last. Every day is long and joyless. Anne Marie comes over now a few times a week, and that ain’t so bad. I’m learning that life is a thing to get through.
I’m out on my bike. Nowhere to go. Just ridin’. I don’t know why I put myself on display, cuz folks keep wavin’ and callin’ my name, and I ain’t talkin’ to nobody.
I find myself headin’ to the outskirts of town and up that steep hill. To the lookout. I arrive at the top, and I’m winded. The sun’s still out, so the lookout seems pretty ordinary compared to how it is at night. I sit in the dirt and gaze out over my town.
Right now? At this second, I�
�m thinking about death and responsibility. I am responsible for Virgil’s death. Virgil is responsible for Clay’s. I should’ve waited for him that night. I don’t know if I could’ve saved him, but I should’ve waited. I have to live with that. I wouldn’t say my mistake makes me responsible exactly. It does, however, make me accountable. Who’s responsible for the others? Can haints be held responsible? I don’t think so. I think Virgil and I are both responsible for the others. And it don’t even matter how awful those men were. I’m still half-responsible. Their suffering can’t bring Clay back to me. None of it is a comfort. Virgil’s pale, dying face in my memory is not a comfort.
There was a story in the paper. Mama tried to hide it from me, but I saw it. Took up a lotta space. All about the disappearance of Virgil Hampton, a descendant of the Wade Hamptons (the First, the Second, and the Third). The article talked about his accomplishments—two years at Cornell before dropping out (the article said he “took a leave of absence”)—and his promising future. As far as I know, none of the others made it into the paper. Clay certainly didn’t.
I think I understand what they meant, the haints. In the moment of exacting my revenge, I got a rush, a high, but it was short-lived and it wasn’t joy. I may be a disappointment to my ancestors. But I found no jubilation in vengeance.
I hear footsteps near me. I hope they’ll just pass me by.
“Evvie?” someone calls.
I turn my head to see R. J. Funny. I must’ve seen him at school by now, but I can’t remember. Feels like I haven’t seen him in years.
“Mind if I join you?” he asks. I watch him for a moment and then face forward. After a moment, he sits on the ground beside me. For a long time, neither of us says anything. He’s the one that breaks the silence.
“It ain’t fair. What you been goin’ through. It ain’t fair at all.”
You don’t know what I’m goin’ through, R. J.
He doesn’t say anything for a bit. I’m grateful that he doesn’t need to talk and doesn’t try to force me to talk.
Daughters of Jubilation Page 24