For Black Girls Like Me

by Mariama J. Lockington

  “But what if she’s not ok?” Stay close. Stay close.

  “Keda! She’s fine. We’re fine. You heard her. She just needs to rest. I can’t believe she dragged us all the way out here just to be like she is at home. But here we are. Let’s be independent or whatever. Just like she’s always telling us to.”

  Eve calls the shuttle and in no time at all we arrive downtown. We have a wad of cash from Mama’s purse and even though we know we could treat ourselves. We don’t go overboard.

  “Want to get manicures?” Eve points to a fancy salon. “Nobody is here to tell us we can’t.”

  “No.” I look down at my stubby raw nails. “No thanks.”

  “Yeah. I guess we don’t need to give Mama a reason to throw any more pots right?”

  “Right.” I say.

  “That was supposed to be a joke.”

  “Haha! SO funny.”

  We keep walking. Eve keeps checking the time on her phone. I find new skin around my fingernails and chew on it. We get soft serve and then sit on a bench. The mall buzzes around us like a well-choreographed dance. We watch people walk by. Mothers with their daughters. Groups of giggling friends. Wobbling toddlers. A pack of skaters. A group of senior citizens speed-walking the perimeter. At some point I stop seeing faces and everything melts together. I get dizzy and toss my cone which feels too sweet to eat somehow.

  “We should go back.” I say. After only an hour.

  “I know.”

  “Now.” I say.

  Even the Aspen Trees

  Are hushed. Their gray trunks leaning toward the sagging cabin in stiff warning. The afternoon sun so bright it cuts my eyes and turns Eve’s cheeks raw. Thirty minutes later we jump out of the shuttle and make our way up the front path. Behind us we hear the bus’s wheels grinding the gravel as it turns and then speeds away. I grab Eve’s limp hand. She wiggles it free. We stand at the slightly open door listening. Listening.

  “Go in.” I whisper.

  “Stay here.” She says.

  But I follow her through the door.

  Inside the light hits the stale air. I watch thousands of delicate dust particles float to the floor.

  “She’s not in her room.” Eve gasps as she looks around.

  “She left us?” I say.

  “KEDA! She’s here!” Eve yells at me through my panic.

  In the coat closet. On top of all our shoes. We find Mama. Her lips bluing. She is slumped into the dark corner. Cedar smell. Dust dust dust falling onto her messy braid. Her hands tangled in her knitting.

  “Pills. A bunch of pills. Aspirin. Vicodin. Xanax. I dunno! Pills. Wine.” I hear Eve on the cabin phone with 911.

  And then Mama mumbles: “Sorry. I tried.”

  And all I can think is: Stay. Stay. Don’t leave me. But I am afraid to go to her. To move. So instead I give her a big frozen smile and stand like this until the ambulance comes.

  Suicide (noun)

  The decision to end one’s own life.

  In the hospital waiting room I look up the word on Eve’s phone. Eve is sitting next to me. Crying. And Aunt Sarah is holding her.

  “It’s not your fault.” I hear Aunt Sarah say. “Our dad. Your grandpa. He had really bad depressions too. You girls did the right thing.”

  It’s not your fault. These are the same words the social worker had said to us a few hours before. Eve and I rode in the ambulance and Eve called Aunt Sarah on the drive to the hospital. When we arrived Eve and I had to wait in a small room while they rolled Mama away to have her stomach pumped. We had to be interviewed together and then separately by the social worker. He asked us a bunch of questions. Did we have food? Where was our dad? Had Mama tried to hurt us? How long had we been at the cabin? Had she tried to hurt herself before? It went on and on. I was so tired. And then. When it was over. Aunt Sarah was there.

  I look at the word on the computer screen now. I think about Mama’s limp head. Bowed over her chest. About all the tubes and beeping things she’d been hooked up to in the ambulance. How weak and pale she was. How she couldn’t even look at us. Holding her hands. Sitting right next to her. She’d just turned her head away. Away from us. Her own daughters.

  “It’s not your fault. You did the right thing calling 911. Calling me. Your mom just needs time to heal.” I hear Aunt Sarah say again.

  But did we? I have a terrible pain in my gut. Like meat grinding. Do the right thing? Did I? All summer long I was alone in the house with Mama. All summer long. So worried. All summer long sneaking out of bed to watch her cry. Listen for her breathing. All summer long. So angry. Dreaming of another mother. All summer trying to soak up her sadness.

  I love. I hurt. I want. I love. I hurt. I want. All summer like this. Dreaming of another life. Silly girl. The Georgia Belles whisper-sing in my ear. That’s what the blues are all about.

  Aunt Sarah

  Is Mama’s older sister. By two years. She works as a veterinarian in Denver Colorado which is about an hour away from Boulder. Her house is one of my favorite places to visit. It’s full of colorful glass vases. Wind chimes and bird feeders. And dogs. And rabbits. And fish. And once even a monkey named Ezra.

  But today it is hard to be here. It’s hard to face the sunlight streaming through Aunt Sarah’s kitchen. It’s hard to care about the sugary French toast Aunt Sarah has prepared for us. Even the ten fluffy baby bunnies Aunt Sarah is raising in a hutch on her back porch cannot undo the events of yesterday.

  Outside in my pjs after breakfast I pick up a small white bunny named Daisy. I hold her to my pounding chest and bury my face in the fur at the back of her neck. But I cannot unsee Mama turning away from us. Mama’s limp hand waving away Papa’s worried face on Aunt Sarah’s phone once we got to see her again in her hospital room. The beep beep beep and whir whir whir of machines keeping people alive and stable.

  At some point yesterday. After the social worker interviewed us. After Mama’s stomach was pumped and she was tucked away in her room in the psych ward. After Aunt Sarah filled out all the paperwork while Eve and I tried to eat grilled cheeses in the cafeteria. We were released into Aunt Sarah’s care until Papa could make it back to the States. Aunt Sarah drove us home in her Jeep and made up an air mattress for us in her home office. We both arranged ourselves on the mattress to try and sleep. Eve played Candy Crush or Cookie Smash or some stupid game until her phone died. Then we both just lay there. In the dark. Trying not to hear Aunt Sarah on the phone with Papa. With the hospital.

  “Eve?” I said after a long while.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you think Mama will ever look at us again?”

  “I dunno Keda. I don’t know anything anymore. What she did was really selfish.”

  And I didn’t know what to say then. And soon Eve started to snore. But I was still awake. So I jammed my eyes shut. Over and over again. Hoping that the Georgia Belles would be in the room to comfort me when I opened them. But they never showed up. And the only songs in my head last night were crashing ones. Metal and screeching and noise.

  “Where are they when I need them the most?” I whisper in Daisy’s ear now. And Daisy jumps out of my arms and back into her cage where she is safe.

  Reunion

  Mama goes into the Boulder hospital on Sunday night and by Tuesday morning Papa arrives with his cello and all his bags. I’ve never seen him so pale. He is as white as computer paper. He has dark circles and little wrinkles around his eyes. We are in the hospital waiting room. It’s 11am and Aunt Sarah is behind us checking in. We spent most of Monday at the hospital and Mama has been silent each time we visit her room. But Aunt Sarah just talks to her as if she’s talking back. And I hold Mama’s hand. Eve mostly stands in the corner. I think she might really hate Mama.

  But now Papa is here too. “My girls—” He starts to say but before Papa can finish his greeting we are both in his arms. He smells like airplane food and sweat but we don’t care. We hug him tight and he doesn’t let go until Aunt Sarah’s voic
e breaks in.

  “Daniel. I’m sorry. The front desk needs some information from you.”

  “Of course.” Papa says giving Aunt Sarah a quick hug. “Thank you.”

  Aunt Sarah and Eve sit back down but I follow Papa to the front desk. I stand next to him as he confirms insurance information and signs a bunch of documents. His bushy eyebrows furrow in concentration and in between documents he bites the end of the pen cap between his teeth. When he’s finished he looks down at me and smiles.

  “I think you’ve gotten taller since I left little scoop!”

  “Yeah right. It hasn’t been that long.”

  “Still. You look taller. And wiser.”

  “Well. I’m eleven and a half now.”

  Papa laughs and pulls me in for another hug. “That you are my love.” He says. “I’m so sorry these months have been so rough. Thank you for being a big girl.”

  “Is Mama getting out today? Now that you’re here?”

  “I don’t know yet. I have to speak with the psychiatrist. We’ll see. The most important thing is that she is safe. And that you and your sister are safe.”

  “Ok.” I say. “But she’s going to be ok right? She’s going to come home?”

  “Let’s just take it one day at a time. Today I’m here. So I can get all the information and we’ll see. I know this is hard.”

  Papa and I join Eve and Aunt Sarah on the stiff blue couches. We wait for another twenty minutes and finally it’s time.

  “Girls.” Aunt Sarah starts. “Let’s let your dad go in first. So he can get a little time with your mom.”

  “She’s not going to speak to you you know.” Eve blurts. “She’s basically mute now. She doesn’t even want to be alive. I think she made that very clear.”

  “Eve.” Aunt Sarah whispers. “Stop. We’re all worried.”

  “I’m not worried! I’m glad she’s stopped talking. It’s always all about her. Finally. We can hear ourselves think.”

  “SHUT UP!” I yell. “Just shut up Eve.”

  “Eve.” Papa begins. “I’m so sorry this happened. It must have been so scary.”

  “Well. You’re not the one that should be apologizing. I’m fine. She’s the mental case.”

  Papa sighs and gives Aunt Sarah a pained look.

  “Ok. Let’s go get some fresh air. Then we can join your dad in your mom’s room.”

  I watch Papa head through a pair of swinging doors. I want to run after him. I want to jump on his back like I used to when I was little. I want to run into that room with him and see Mama smiling. Mama holding her arms out to all of us. Like she’s been waiting for this. A reunion. But instead I follow Eve and Aunt Sarah outside where it spits rain and the clouds are gray and heavy.

  Psychiatric Evaluation (noun)

  The evaluation of a person’s mental social and psychological health.

  Mama can’t leave the psych unit of the hospital until she has completed her 72-hour psychiatric hold. “When someone tries to hurt themselves. It’s a very serious matter. And we have to keep them here for three days. Even if they don’t want to be here.” A doctor in green scrubs explains to us. We are all crowded into Mama’s room. She’s propped up by three pillows but her head is turned away from us.

  “I told them I’m fine now. This is like prison.” Mama says to no one in particular.

  LOOK AT US. TALK TO US. I want to yell. I hold Papa’s hand instead. It shakes and I grip tighter. Everything about the room we are in is too bright. Fluorescent lights line the ceiling in neat rows. There is a blinding glare bouncing off of the doctor’s white white teeth as she explains what will happen next.

  “So. Your mother is going to stay here for a little longer. We’ve already done an initial evaluation. But given that this isn’t her first bad depression. And after speaking with some of your mother’s old therapists. We need to dive a little deep. And this will help us understand what’s going on here so she’s safe and healthy.”

  “How much longer is ‘a little longer’?” Eve asks.

  “Well. It’s hard to say exactly. We can’t legally hold her past tomorrow. But now that your dad’s here he and your mom might want to talk about extending care. We need to figure out why your mother is feeling this way. And then we’ll need to come up with a plan for treatment. So this doesn’t happen again.”

  “She’s sad. Depressed. How hard can it be to figure out what’s happening?” Eve says.

  “Eve.” Aunt Sarah begins. “It’s not that simple. Remember we talked about this. Let the doctor talk.”

  “Well. Eve. You’re right. But when someone is this sad. So sad they want to end their life it can be more than just depression. And that’s what we want to make sure we find out. Ok? You both have been very brave and patient. Your mom’s just going to need some time to heal.”

  We are standing there talking about Mama like she’s a ghost. Like she can’t hear us. And I don’t want her to be hurting anymore. She’s been hurting all summer and all I’ve done is watch her. Ignore her. Dream about being somewhere else. I don’t realize I am crying until Papa pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and starts wiping my nose.

  “Now.” The doctor says. “Do you have any other questions before I leave you to visit a little longer?”

  I have so many questions but I feel Papa loosen his grip. “No. Thank you.” He says. “I think that’s good for now.”

  And then we are alone. In the quiet bright room. And Mama keeps her arms crossed. And Eve stares out the window. And Aunt Sarah starts fussing with the TV volume. And Papa sits on the end of the bed. And I feel that stupid smile growing on my face. The one I can’t stop when I’m feeling scared. So I bite my tongue. Hard. Till I taste blood. Then I bury my nose in Papa’s handkerchief. And blow.

  Blessings

  When we return from the hospital that afternoon (without Mama) Papa is so exhausted he takes a shower and falls asleep until dinner. At 7pm Aunt Sarah orders Thai food and makes us sit down together even though nobody feels much like talking or eating.

  “Well. This won’t do.” She says after a long silence. “I know we are all worried about your mom but the universe has provided us with many blessings as well. She’s safe. And I am so glad to have my two nieces and brother-in-law staying with me. And it’s not even Christmas!”

  “Oh man. You sound just like Mama.” Eve says. “All that universe talk.”

  “Well. Where do you think she got it from?” Aunt Sarah says. Her eyes twinkling.

  “And at least we are not still in that cabin. Alone.” I shudder at the thought.

  “That’s right.” Papa chimes in. “I am so glad you acted quickly and made the call to 911 Eve. It’s a blessing you were able to get through to help so quickly. Even on the mountain.”

  “Are you serious?” Eve’s eyes are wide and wild. “Oh so you mean like counting it a blessing that you left us in the first place Papa? That you moved us away from our friends and then ditched us for weeks with a crazy person who basically kidnapped us in the middle of the night and brought us to some cabin in the woods? Yeah. I feel super blessed. I’ve for sure lost my job at this point. And now we’re stuck here. In this zoo. This house smells like a zoo. It’s disgusting.”

  “Eve!”

  “It’s ok Daniel.” Aunt Sarah says. “She’s just upset. She’s allowed to be upset.”

  “Oh I am? Thanks. Thanks for stating the obvious. I hate all of you.” And with that Eve kicks back her chair and leaves the table.

  “EVE!” Papa bellows after her. “Get back here right now. You will not disrespect your aunt like that. Unbelievable.” Papa gets up and chases after Eve.

  “How about a movie?” Aunt Sarah says to me as she starts clearing the table. Papa and Eve continue to yell at each other.

  “Sure.” I say. Even though part of me wants to follow Eve. To fling the dishes off the table and watch them shatter on the floor. I should have been paying more attention. Maybe then we wouldn’t be here. It’s my fa
ult. It’s my fault. It’s my fault. An ugly little voice sings in my head.

  It’s a Hard-Knock Life

  We decide on the musical Annie. The version from the 1980s. “I grew up watching this movie you know?” Aunt Sarah says settling in next to me on the couch.

  “I know.” I say. “This is one of Mama’s favorites.”

  In the kitchen Papa is on the phone. At least he and Eve have stopped screaming at each other. Between musical numbers I hear him sighing scribbling and whisper-talking in the kitchen as he makes plans for Mama’s release.

  Halfway through the movie Eve sulks in. “I’m glad you’re watching this version.” She says pointing at the TV. “The more recent version is trash.”

  “Is it?” Aunt Sarah asks. “I haven’t seen that one.”

  “Yeah. I mean it’s ok. It’s more diverse. It stars that girl whose name is hard to say. It’s something like Que-van-nisha. She plays Annie. But I dunno. Don’t you think Annie just makes more sense as a redhead?”

  It’s like I’m not even in the room the way Eve says this. Casually. That girl whose name is hard to say.

  “Her name is Quvenzhané Wallis.” I snap. My lips quivering. “And she was nominated for an Academy Award.”

  “Oh right. Well whatever.” Eve continues. Perching like a parrot on the arm of the couch. “Not for this movie though.”

  “It’s not whatever! That’s really rude.” I say.

  “What’s the big deal Keda? You agree with me. You like the old version of Annie better too.”

  I stand up and let the popcorn bowl that is in my lap fall.

  “Keda!” Aunt Sarah startles as the bowl crashes on the tile.

  But I ignore her. I am in Eve’s face now. “That’s not the point. Why can’t you just say her name right? You say my name right. It’s not hard. And what. You don’t think I could play Annie?”