Daughters of Jubilation Page 3

  “What’s wrong?” I ask him.

  He still has his arms around me, his hands delicately caressing my back, but he’s pulled back. He’s put air between us, and I don’t want air between us.

  “Evvie,” he starts, but he doesn’t say anything else.

  “What is it? Is it me?” With horror, I wonder if my roll-on has worn off. I told Mama not to get the cheap one!

  “No! God no. I just…” He hesitates again. “I just don’t want to do… anything until you’re ready. Ya know?”

  I take a breath. “Uh-huh.”

  Though we can’t see each other too clearly in the dark, we keep on starin’ in each other’s eyes, waitin’. I know what we’re waitin’ for, and I kinda can’t believe we’re here already, but here we are. Kissin’ just ain’t enough. When I woke up this morning, I did not expect to be here. With him holding me tight and close like I’m a diamond. He’s probably right. Why rush? It’s risky, we could get caught, and I can’t even think about how mortifying that would be. Worse yet… would he resent me later? If he thinks I’m easy?

  “What are you thinkin’?” he asks.

  Of all the reasons I should turn around and run home before I miss curfew.

  “Clay?”

  “Yes, Evvie girl,” he whispers.

  “I’m ready.”

  Under the cover of trees and night and cricket songs, Clay’s gentle fingers slowly lift the bottom of my dress, as though he’s waitin’ for me to stop him at any second. I don’t stop him. He removes my panties, and I’m glad he can’t see ’em. They’re covered in childish pink flowers. He parts my thighs. I’m a little scared, I admit, but so excited by his touch, by everything about him, I can’t see straight. I can hardly breathe or think. And he’s here and he moves into me and it hurts for a second and then it doesn’t and I don’t know where he ends and I begin and his breathing’s coming hard now and we rock against the tree and he groans into my ear, a low deep sound from the far reaches of his throat and I exhale slowly… and then I see two eyes watching us.

  I scream.

  “What? What’s wrong?” He can barely get the words out. Though the intense, hot beauty of the moment is now dead and gone for me, somehow it’s not for Clay (bless his heart), and he finishes with a tiny cry.

  Then there’s stillness.

  I’m frozen still, lookin’ all around us, tryna find those eyes again.

  And then I hear a twig break several yards away.

  “Come on,” I whisper, urgently. I scramble to fix my clothes, and he does the same.

  “What’s happening?” he asks.

  “Somebody’s out there,” I say, and I scan the trees for any sign of life. I find none. The twig coulda been a critter, but not the eyes. They were at least five feet off the ground, maybe six, but the strangest thing was I could make out the eyes clear as day, but the rest of the face looked… blank.

  “You sure it wasn’t your imagination?”

  “No!” I snap. “I know what I saw.”

  We leave the woods and walk back toward the park. I start to feel bad for snappin’ at him, so I take hold of his hand, and he squeezes back tight.

  “Did you see what they looked like?”

  I shake my head. “It was weird lookin’.”

  “It?”

  “I don’t know if it was a man or a woman or—”

  “A bear?”

  I swat at him and he laughs, then pulls me close.

  “WHATCHU DOIN’?”

  I jump a mile high, and Clay clutches me with shaking hands as Marcus and R. J. emerge from the bushes, laughin’ their fool heads off!

  “You creeps! What is wrong with you?” I shout as I give R. J. a good, rough shove, but they both just keep on laughin’ at me. I have half a mind to put the hurtin’ on them. They don’t know who they’re messin’ with. They don’t know the talents I got.

  “Y’all a couple a jackasses! You scared poor Evvie half to death,” Clay yells, his own voice quivering.

  “Ah, can’t you take a li’l, bitty joke every now and again?” R. J. asks, batting his eyelashes at me.

  “Not funny at all,” I say, not daring to let any fear tears fall. “I’m finna stick the church ladies on y’all! What kinda perverts watch folks when they alone together like that?”

  R. J. and Marcus stop laughing then.

  “Watchin’ folks when…? R. J. just saw y’all coming down the path, so we hid and jumped out.” Marcus is puzzled. “I don’t see how that’s perverted at all.”

  “No before. Back in the woods! I saw you! We heard you runnin’ off,” I holler. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know what I’m sayin’ makes no sense. There’s no way R. J. or Marcus coulda been that quiet, and the blankness… Still, I’d rather find out it was just them bein’ stupid instead of thinkin’ about the alternatives.

  “We weren’t back in the woods,” R. J. says evenly. He’s telling the truth. So that means somebody else was watchin’ us.

  “Evalene,” R. J. begins, “what was you two doin’ alone back there?”

  I feel my cheeks get hot. Who the hell is he to be asking me that question?

  “R. J.?” Clay cocks his head at him and steps forward. “Think you done enough for one night. Why donchu go on home before I get irritated.” Oh shit. I do believe Clay just threatened him. He might be wiry and pretty, but Clay will knock a nigga down if they askin’ for it.

  R. J. takes a step back, and I can see that he’s mad, but also a li’l nervous. He’s not a fighter. “I can’t ask a simple question?”

  “Night, R. J. Night, Marcus,” Clay says.

  “You can’t stop me from talkin’ to her. We known each other since we was kids.” Damn! He just won’t give up.

  “R. J.! Go home,” I finally cry. “Stop pesterin’ me and stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong!” I pull Clay away from the pranksters, not caring about anything they might say in response. Why did they have to spoil everything? Course… somebody disrupted our perfect night before they came along.

  Once they’re outta earshot, Clay tugs gently at my hand. “He’s obsessed with you.”

  “I don’t care if he is. Sick of it.” I keep walking fast, and I don’t know who or what I need to get away from so badly, but I don’t wanna slow down. I don’t even wanna think. I just wanna go.

  “Evvie girl.” He plants himself on the sidewalk, and I’m forced to stop. I look up, and my house is in full view, just a couple steps away. We musta been walkin’ a good twenty minutes without sayin’ a word. Felt like two.

  “You mad at me?”

  I shake my head.

  He pulls me into his arms again, and I catch a good whiff of aftershave mixed with just a touch of sweat and fatigue, and I swear to Christ Jesus, if I don’t faint dead away, I might start chewin’ on his face.

  “Can I see you tomorrow?” he asks.

  I smile and nod. I gotta be careful with him. Can’t let him know how much power he’s got over me. Guys will walk all over you if they think they can get away with it. I know in my heart Clay’s not like that. Maybe it’s my mother’s voice in my head, urging me to always be cautious.

  “Good,” he says, and he kisses me again, firm and sincere, just enough to let me know there’s more to come. He slides his face near my ear. “I know I didn’t do my job tonight. But I will tomorrow.”

  He kisses my hand and waits until I’m inside. I stumble up the concrete walkway and repeat his words in my head. I know I didn’t do my job tonight. But I will tomorrow. So mysterious. As I unlock the door and step inside, I look over my shoulder, and he’s still there. Right now, he looks like a painting. Beautiful and strong, with just a touch of silliness. He’s perfection, and he has no idea. I wave and shut the door behind me.

  That’s when I get it. His job. Oh. My. Lord.

  I collapse against the door and slide down to the floor with this stupid grin on my face. Clayton Alexander Jr. must be from some special sexy planet.

 
While I’m still in a puddle on the floor, I feel pressure against my back. The door’s trying to come open, and I lean back with some force. Sometimes I don’t shut it hard enough the first time, and it comes loose. Then there’s a knock, and I jump up in case it’s Clay.

  But when I open the door, nobody’s there. Instead, I think I hear footsteps near the side of the house. I don’t know what to do, and I ain’t especially inclined to go investigate. I strain my ears, listening hard.

  Then I get an eerie feelin’. I look across the street, and my insides go cold. Standing there, facing me, is a man. At least I think it’s a man. He’s thin and pale. Ghostly white. His hair is jet black. He’s older than I am, maybe somewhere in his twenties, and he stands so still I begin to wonder if he’s a statue. I blink a few times to make sure I’m seeing properly. I am, and still he stands. But the second I venture past the threshold, the figure moves, and it scares the bejesus outta me!

  I duck back inside, slam the door shut, lock it, and turn out the hall light. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen this man in my life, and I don’t know why he scares me, but lookin’ at him is like lookin’ at the dead that won’t stay dead. They always want more than the living can possibly give. They want to devour. He has that look, but to see it in the face of a living person is far more chilling. The dead rarely hurt you. The living do it every day.

  After a few breaths, I peek through the window drape.

  He’s gone. I feel relief for the moment. But somehow I know that feeling won’t last.

  4 Beautiful

  EW. I FEEL DAMP GRASS under my feet. I look down and there it is. How’d I get outside? I don’t remember leavin’ the house. And why in the world am I barefoot?

  I figure it out pretty quick. This is a dream, maybe a dream-vision. Too soon to tell yet.

  I look around. Walls. I’m inside a building, but there’s no floor—just grass. It’s dingy in here. Ceiling’s leaking in one spot, and the walls are made of ugly wood paneling that’s stained. Scorched, actually.

  I hear steps. I turn, and a tall shape whirls past me and into a wall. Through the wall. I hear something like a giggle or a cry or a hum. Haints. What do they want? They never show up for no reason.

  “I saw you,” I call out into the emptiness.

  No response. My heart beats faster. I don’t know if a haint could seriously hurt me or not, but my fight-or-flight instinct kicks into high gear when they poke at me like this.

  Another one’s here. I can’t see or hear it. Until she laughs low into my ear canal, and my skin’s finna crawl off my bones. I cry out, and now I’m flying fast. She must be pushing me—something is—but my feet hover above the ground. I have no control of my body. We’re heading right for the wall.

  “No,” I whimper. Doesn’t she know I can’t move through walls?

  We are a breath away from smashing into the cheap wood paneling. I cover my face with my arms, and at the moment of impact, I spill out into a carpeted room, walls painted a sickly pink. The first room has vanished. Another faint giggle. If they weren’t so scary and… dead, the haints might remind me of the munchkins from The Wizard of Oz movie.

  I don’t see ’em anywhere. No odd shapes or blurs creepin’ into my view. But I do see somebody, a regular person. She’s sittin’ in a rickety rockin’ chair with her back to me. She’s just rockin’ back and forth. Then she starts to whistle Perry Como’s “Till the End of Time.” I hate that song. She stands up, and I stay where I am, afraid to move. She turns to me, and… she is me. Another me. Comin’ toward me, whistlin’ a tune I can’t stand. She cradles a box in both arms, takin’ her time to get to me. Obviously in no hurry.

  As she gets close, I realize I do not want whatever’s in that box, and I try to run, but I can’t move.

  She stops just in front of me, her whistlin’ now loud, piercing my precious eardrums. She holds the box out to me. I know I don’t have a choice, so I pull open the box’s flaps. Inside is a black-and-white rabbit with a pacifier in its mouth. Its throat has been slashed, and blood trickles from the wound. Where its eyes should be are dark mirrors. I scream as hard as I can, and I can feel it. But the only sound I hear is her—me?—whistling.

  I sit up so fast in bed, I come to standing. Goddamn haints, givin’ me nightmares. I lean against the wall, waitin’ for my pulse to get back to normal. Every now and then, I might learn somethin’ useful when the haints enter my dreamworld. Sometimes I think they just show up to remind me that they can. They can be sadistic.

  * * *

  Mama fries potatas and onions and a green tomato on the stove and shakes her head, cuz she sure didn’t raise me to be a tramp, she says. I don’t say too much a nothin’, but I listen to her criticize my every choice while I comb and plait the twins’ heads.

  “What kinda decent girl stays out to all hours with a buncha ragamuffins up to who knows what?”

  She knows damn well that that buncha “ragamuffins” includes honor students, churchgoers, and at least one Boy Scout. But what I say is:

  “I did get in before eleven.”

  “I told you be home by ten. Last time I checked, eleven and ten was two completely different times. Have they changed that? Is that the new math I keep hearin’ about?” She angrily places the food all on one plate and practically throws it on the table.

  “This is how girls be actin’ right before they turn up pregnant,” she informs me.

  “Ow,” Coralene whines when I yank her hair harder than I mean to. Doralene snickers.

  “Almost done,” I mumble.

  “So? Donchu got nothin’ to say for yourself?” Mama challenges.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else I can say.”

  She stares at me with her arms crossed. “How many a y’all stayed so late?”

  “Just a couple.”

  Mama watches me suspiciously, eating a forkful of potatas. Even though she’s chewing, I can see her face relax. She’s already less mad. This feels like the perfect time to remind her of how brave and selfless she thought I was not so long ago, but that’s the kinda smart-mouthin’ that might get me smacked. I decide it’s better to keep my mouth shut.

  “You have the curse,” she says quietly. “You know that?”

  I dip some fingers into the hair grease and rub it into Doralene’s scalp. Despite her resistance, we have talked about the strange talents we Deschamps women share, but I never heard her call it a curse before. I don’t think that’s right. Nobody should feel bad about shit they can’t help.

  “It’s a curse now?” I ask her.

  “Always has been.” She sighs. I’m shocked when she takes my face in her hands and looks deeply into my eyes. I’m so unprepared for whatever this is that I get the comb caught in Doralene’s hair, and she cries out.

  “Evalene,” Mama says. “You’re beautiful.”

  “Uh.” I don’t know what to say to this. “Thank you, Mama.”

  “Don’t thank me.” She is not playin’ around. Deadly serious. “It is a curse. A beautiful face and a beautiful body can bring no good fortune to a colored woman. Men always see the beautiful things. And they think they got a right to have ’em and do what they want with ’em regardless of how the beautiful thing feels. There’s a lotta ugly men out there, and sometimes their ugliness is hidden by a handsome face, but they ugly deep inside and they see that beauty and they want to steal it for themselves.” Mama leans on the counter for support, and her eyes travel far away for an instant. I wonder if she’s thinkin’ about men from her own life. I’d ask, but I don’t want to upset her. She doesn’t like talkin’ about the past.

  “I want you to be careful. I mean it.”

  “I will be, Mama.”

  I know why she’s scared, and I know what she thinks. If I wasn’t worried it’d break her heart, I’d tell her that being with Clay isn’t like that at all. He makes me feel loved and whole and not like he wants to own me or hide me away from the world for himself. But I can’t tell her I did in f
act do that thing that could make me pregnant. I also can’t tell her that I know I’m not pregnant, so that’s somethin’ else she needn’t worry about. I’m not. There’s a trick to it.

  “You already been…” She stops.

  “I been what?”

  “Mama, she hurtin’ me,” Coralene whimpers.

  “Me too,” Doralene says. I’m ’bout to smack both of ’em with this brush if they don’t shut up.

  Mama releases my face, and I finish up their plaits right before they both jump up at the same time and run out the door to play. No doubt their hair will look like a couple a birds’ nests by noon, but that ain’t my problem.

  I clean up the hair stuff and realize I have to get moving before Miss Ethel claims I’m late again. I bend down to slip on my flats, and I feel a kick in my rear, and I fall forward. On my hands and knees, I turn myself around and see that Mama’s still standin’ over by the screen door munchin’ on a green tomato, a good ten feet away from me. Oh. I see how it is.

  “Mama, what? I been listenin’ to you all morning. And I will be careful. I promise.”

  “Who was it?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at me.

  I dust myself off and stand, finally getting my shoes all the way on.

  “Imma be late if I don’t leave right now.”

  Her eyes flash, and without moving a muscle, she pushes me backward into a chair and scoots it up to the table, just shy a knockin’ the wind outta me.

  She’s playin’ with me. I don’t have time to play, and she’s gettin’ on my damn nerves. I take in a short breath, and I lift Mama off the floor about a foot or so, for about ten seconds. Then I let her drop easily like she’s landin’ on a pillow. Just so she knows that I can play too. Her eyes widen. She’s surprised, but not completely shocked.

  “You jube on the regular now?”

  Do I jube on the regular? Sounds like she’s askin’ about my monthlies.

  “Kinda,” I tell her.

  She nods, and I can see her rearrangin’ everything in her mind to line up with this new information.

  “Anybody else know?”