Gone

(Serenity)

 

            Willie and me leave out the back door, hurry round the garbage pile holding our noses, and head on up Felicity Street toward school.  Air is warm and wet with Spring, and the sky all almost-blue like it ain't ready for day.  Can see folks moving down the street, standing in front they houses trying figure out what kind morning it gone be.  Mrs. Johnson next door standing out by her porch, got on a flower-print dress, got her grey hair curled, wearing old-kind jewelry that gold-colored but ain't really gold, cause nobody that rich in Promise, Mississippi, not even Mrs. Johnson with her nice yellow car and fresh-paint house.  She see us and wave.  Willie glare at her like he glare at everybody he think meddling him. 

            “Stop that, she nice,” I say. 

            “She one ugly old witch,” Willie say, scuffing the dirt on the street edge with his toe.  “Always watching folk.”

            “Woman ain't doing nothing to you.”  I take him by the elbow.  “And you got no business calling no grown woman no ugly old nothing.” 

            Willie shrug off my hand and make for Promise-Upper at a trot, and I jogging after him hollering for him to slow down when I see Mama coming the other way.  She wobbling on her high heels.  She got on a pink mini-skirt that let you see everything cause it riding up, got on a black top that too small.  As she get closer I see her stockings cut all to runs.  She don't see us til she right on us.  Her eyes all faraway bloodshot.  I see folks cross the road watching her, and I wonder if she know everybody see her coming home like this, that folks talk bout what she do. 

            “Babies,” she say, like we home and it make sense we there.  She reach for Willie head, but he don't want his hair mess up, so he flinch away.

            “Morning, Mama,” I say. 

            “Sure ain't night,” she say, blinking.  Her eyes rest on me, and she step close, reach out and straighten my collar.  “My babies got to look nice for school.”

            She reach her hand for Willie cheek and this time he let her touch, his whole body stiff like he gone run.  She act like she don't notice, but I see her bite her lip. 

            “See you later, baby.”  She let her hand drop, move past us down the road.  One of her butt cheek free from her mini-skirt, and I want to fix it.  But Willie yanking my hand toward school, and I go on after him and leave Mama find her own way home.  Can't do nothing bout Mama nomatter how bad I want to.  Ain't nothing to do, is the point.

 

            At Promise-Upper we go round back, slip through the break in the fence by the lower school where can't nobody see us, and head straight to the cafeteria for free breakfast.  Like it in there, with that high ceiling and wide window and cut-out poster of all them vegetable done up like people.  Broccoli got a big grin.  Carrot dancing on his little stick leg.  Tomato—and I don't like to eat them nasty tomato at all—standing on her head with her green leaf-hair all falling down.  I know them poster just silly little kid thing, but they big and colorful and even the tomato make me hungry.   

            Cafeteria hopping this morning.  Breakfast line wind clear out the third-grade hall and I can tell by the sweet-oil smell it got to be something good, bacon and biscuit or french toast with syrup.  My stomach pit-empty cause I ain't ate nothing since yesterday lunch, and when I see kids go past with pig in a blanket and juice and fresh-cut orange slice laid out all neat on they tray, it start growling loud.  Me and Willie make for the back of the line.  I keep his hand tight in mine, even when he say I hurting him and start clawing at my hand. 

            “Be still,” I say, poking him in his ribs, and when he see I won't let go, he quit his squirming.  Let him wander round and kids gone meddle him til he get to fighting again. 

            Kids in line in front of us is Shandreeka and her girls.  They got they hair done up in bows and balls and they new khaki skirt with all-kind flowers stitched on the front.  They the pretty girls everybody like, specially ‘Dreeka, who go with that big boy Pipe from Grayson Middle.  ‘Dreeka watch us come up, turn and whisper something to her girls, who bust up laughing.  Willie glare at them and  I squeeze his hand. 

            ‘Dreeka turn to us.  “Why, good morning Serenity,” she say like she wasn't already talking bout me.   Her hair pulled back all neat and shiny, so perfect it look like doll hair.   

            “Morning ‘Dreeka.” 

            She smile too big.  Then she sniff real loud.  “What that?” she say, looking round.  “You smell that?”
            “No,” I say quiet.  But I know where she going.  Me and Willie ain't showered since last week cause our water turned off.  I feel Willie ball up his hands, and I pull him close.  Kids don't like us cause we Warners and ain't got no money, no nice clothes, no more nothing.  I been told this to Willie since we at the lower school, but he still don't understand.  He go round with his lower lip stuck out and his little hand clenched all tight just waiting for the next kid gone tell him something.  I tell him it don't help, but he don't mind me.  He hard-headed.   

            “Huh,” she say.  “That strange.  Smell like something nasty dead.” 

            Now her friend Precious come into action.  I ain't never done nothing to that girl, and she used to be nice before her Papa passed on this year—seem like it made her mean. 

“Man, shoot, don't y'all know what that is?” Precious say.  I tired of this.  Waiting for it to be over already so I can eat.

            “Nope,” ‘Dreeka say.  “I seen this ugly woman on the street this morning and she smell like that.  That all I can think of.” 

            “Girl, don't you know that these children mama?  That smell just dirty Warners,” Precious say.  And they whole group bust up giggling, turn they backs.  Willie shaking he so mad, and I get my other arm round his shoulder. 

            “You be still,” I whisper.  But this time I feel him.  Wish, sometimes, that I wasn't me.  

           

            Willie and me eat and I drop Willie by his classroom, walk to the end of the fourth grade hall to Mr. Kato room.  My room.  Kids in class already inside, everybody come early cause we got us one nice room with them bright-color signs saying, “Yes We Can!” and “There is no Can't, only Won't,” and all them new things—little rugs to read on, chapter books, and them beanbag chairs and pillows and marker-boards for math problem.  Mr. Kato a China-man teacher come from California and he bring stuff just for us.  He up front writing the “Do Now,” on the Math Meeting board, got his hair comb back all neat and clean.  Usually he sing out, “Good morning, Serenity!” when he see me come through the door, and he always all busy and bouncy in the morning, always seem like he happy to see me with his big grin.  Today he turn and give a flat little nod; he been quiet all the time since his favorite Felicia Jackson got herself put out of school for putting her hand through that hall window.  Must have been something she really wanted on that other side, is all I can figure, though there no telling what that girl was ever thinking cause she so crazy smart and mean.  It been better for me since she gone, that for sure—one less person who gone meddle folk minding they own business. 

            I make for the reading rug and get my book-bin, a beanbag chair, and two rugs, and head for the corner.  I set the rugs along the wall leaving some space, put the beanbag chair to the outside and plump it up high, step over it with my bookbin and settle into my nest til I can't see nothing but beanbag and wall.  Then I pull out that thick cover magic-wizard book and sign my reading log.  I on page 173 of the third book and there bad trouble at the School of Magic.  I deep in it when I hear a knock on the wall above my head and Mr. Kato face pop over the edge. 

            “How's the reading going this morning?” Mr. Kato say. 

            “Good.”  I shift so I can see him better.  Today he wearing one sharp yellow shirt same color as Mrs. Johnson car, and I wonder what that kind cloth feel like on your skin.  Like cool breeze, maybe, or icy water just splashed on.

            “What's going on now?”

            “Everybody out in the woods, and they a unicorn and an evil snake-thing that hiss all the time.” 

            “Good,” he say, nodding.  He look at me close and clear his throat.  “And how's everything else going for you, Serenity?”

            “What you mean?”

            He glance at the hole in my shirt shoulder and I move my hand to cover it.  “I mean--” he clear his throat.  “You know, how you're doing.”

            “I fine.  Everything good.”

            He frown for a moment, then he shake his head and reach over the edge of the beanbag to pat my arm.  “Better let you get back to the story, then, since you're reading so well.”  

            “Yes, sir.”  I lift the book up to hide my face.  Mr. Kato always asking me question like that, and when I don't tell him nothing he act strange, then go on bout how I smart and the best reader in the class, maybe in the whole grade, cause he think that make me want to read.  He don't know that not why I like books.  In books, kids can live in beautiful castle with they friends, get all-you-can-eat banquet buffet every night, and always have nice clean uniform-robe.  Them kids always know what to do.  And I got to find out what next, what really wrong, who gone do what to save them good folks from all the bad.  Do wish I had me a wand and one fast flying broom-stick like them wizard-children.  Turn them kids meddling Willie into little ugly toad, and turn ‘Dreeka and Precious into big ugly toad, and then throw them all into the nasty green swamp.  Take they nice new clothes and put them on so kids will like us, put a paint-spell on our house so it look good, and put some special spell on Mama so she stay home and folk don't talk bout her no more.  And then me and Willie live happy ever after.

 

            After school Willie and me get home and it ain't good.  It nasty choking hot inside like a horrible oven.  It stanky too, smell like rotten fruit and bad meat and grease cause the trash just been piled on the kitchen floor in three big garbage bag and now it all heat up.  Willie head for the couch, which the only furniture we got cept the mattress in the bedroom since Mama been sold the rest last month.  It dark inside cause Mama boarded up the window after somebody throwed a rock through and all the lightbulb in the house dead cept in the kitchen by the sink.  Walls is bare but for a magazine picture Mama got taped of that New York City with that green-glass skyscraper-building so tall it pointy roof poke holes in the sky.  Mama always used to say we gone move there someday, up in a paint-house at the top of the world, which don't make no sense cause it easy to see they ain't no paint or house or nothing, just that long needle top and them white fluffy clouds.

            I go to the garbage bags in the kitchen to see what I can do bout the smell.  The beer can, pizza box and chicken bone pushing out the black plastic like they fitting to punch through.  I hold my nose and carry them bags one by one out the back door, toss them down with the rest.  Garbage man ain't come since the water turned off and the pile of bag out back as high as my head, the smell gag-awful, and flies swarming up.  Soon somebody grown gone have to do something.  I shut the door tight when I come back in.

            Willie thrown a bunch of clothes and papers to the carpet to make space on the couch, and he already got on the TV, is watching that HBO channel cause he think he old enough for swears and blood and naked people wiggling all over each other doing nasty things.  Right now theys just two white folk with yellow hair arguing bout something.  I grab the remote from his hand and switch it to the Cartoon Channel where Animaniacs on, which funny and good for little kids. 

            “Give it back!” he yell.   

            “You ain't gone watch that.  You know you ain't supposed to.”

            “You ain't Mama.”  He try to grab the remote, but I hold it high, and Willie let out a howl and start punching the couch.

            “Cut that mess out.”  When he don't I sigh, go to the kitchen with the remote and cover my ear.  It always take a while for him to cool off.  Sure enough, after a few minutes he gone quiet, and I see he watching the screen where Leroy cat got his hand in an electric socket.  Leroy cat hair all standing on end and smoke coming out his ear, and Willie giggle. 

            I fetch my backpack, don't need unzip it cause the zipper don't work anyway, and pull out my book.  It feel heavy and cool in my hand, and I run my finger cross the shiny silver letter of the title.  Mr. Kato told me I can take it home if I show him I still got it every morning.  I told him I only gone need it one night cause I gone finish it, and he smile at me looking all sharp in his yellow shirt and lean in and squeeze my shoulder and say, “That's wonderful, sweetheart.  You're an excellent reader.”  I covered my mouth real quick so wouldn't nobody see how big I was smiling, but not cause of nothing he said.  I smiled cause of that shirt.  When he squeezed my shoulder it brushed past my arm and felt so silky-smooth I knew it not like no icy water or wind or even butterfly wing.  It like nothing but itself.

            Everybody lost on they own in the woods and shadow-things creeping round in dry leaves when the porch groans and I know somebody at the door.  Footstep too loud for Mama.  Then there pounding.  I set the bookmark in real careful and slide the book under the couch fore I go to the door.  It C-Dog with his head shave clean-bald, them diamond-stud in both his ears, his thick neck all gold chain and bling.  I step back.  He big and mean, and one time I seen him kick Mama from one side the room to the other when she give him lip.

            “Serenity-girl,” he say.  I hadn't knowed he knew my name. 

            “Yes, sir.”

            “You Mama here?”  His voice always louder than it need be, sound all scratchy-low, and when he talk you can't help but stare at his gold front teeth.  He do this every week, come by to see Mama.  She send us outside and we sit on the porch listening to them make all kind dog-pant noises even nastier than them bad shows on TV.  Sometime he go on all out of breath bout you my bitch, take it, and I get Willie by his arm even though he want to listen, lead him on out Felicity to play kickball.  After C-Dog gone Mama always flying, and sometime she ain't even remembered to put her clothes back on and her breast sag down and she talk all kind nonsense.  Them times I try to put her in a blanket and usually she throw it off and mumble bout how it hot and is I crazy, and I take Willie all the way to the courts at Booker to watch the ball games. 

            “No, sir, ain't seen Mama since this morning,” I say.

            He shake his head.  “Woman always out.  Leave a little girl like you all alone.” 

            I feel Willie at my back, then he peek his head out.  “Who that is?”  I push his head back.

            “You two all alone,” C-Dog say as if it important he correct hisself.  He chuckle like something funny, lean in close and his breath stale with sour smell like Mama breath after she been out all night.  “You tell you Mama I been here.  Tell her she know where to find me.” 

            “Yes, sir.”  Willie poking me trying get up in the doorway.  Suddenly his head pop out the door side. 

            “We ain't gone tell Mama nothing!” he shout.  “Mama don't like you nasty ugly self, you fat stupid—“

            I get my hand over Willie mouth, but C-Dog look angry.  He squat down and stare at Willie, who squirm in my arm, but I still got my hand over his mouth and he can't say nothing.   

            “Boy, somebody need to learn you some manners.” C-Dog lift his hand up way up in the air, bring it down fast but stop an inch off Willie head.  Willie pull back so fast he catch me right in the lip, but I don't make a sound.  C-Dog grin, stand, nod his head like he just can't agree enough with his smart self. 

            “That right, boy.  Best watch yousself with that mouth.”  Willie shaking in my arm and my mouth taste metal-sweet.  C-Dog chuckle again, then he turn and go on down the steps, strut to he white Caddy with them 17-inch spinners.  I pull Willie inside, shut the door, lock it, get my back to it and take a deep breath and wait for the engine-growl of C-Dog car pulling out the drive.  Then I push Willie to the floor and glare at him.  His eyes all wide and he still look scared, but I don't care.  He stupid. 

            “You got no sense?” I say.  “What wrong with you, boy?” 

            He don't say nothing, just look at me with them big eyes, then a tear start down his cheek and he wipe it off.  His lower lip tremble.  There a wet spot on his pants all the way down his leg.  Which ain't good cause Mama don't go to the laundromat but once month, and he need them tan khakis if he gone go to school.  He need them for his uniform Wednesday and Friday both. 

            “Take them pants off,” I say, and go to the sink and spit.  Blood spatter all over the white tile, and then I realize the tap don't work, that there no way to rinse my mouth out or wash them red blood drop away.  There still a few paper towel on the roll, so I use one to wipe up the blood-spit.  When I turn back Willie standing there bare-ass with his pants in his hand.  

            “Give me them pants and wash off.” I take the last paper towel and dot some dishsoap, give it to Willie and take his pants with two fingers.  I can smell the sweet-sharp piss even though I try not to breathe.  He turn away and start rubbing hisself with the wadded paper towel. 

            “Get good and clean,” I say gentle.  Then I drop the pants in the sink, squeeze the last of the dishsoap on and start scrubbing the wet spot with my fingers.  Lemon scent soap hide the smell some.  In a minute I gone take the mop bucket next door and ask Mrs. Johnson can I fill it so Willie and me can have something  to drink.  She can't say no to that.  Then I'll have Willie rinse hisself off and I'll wash these pants clean as I can, cause my brother got to go to school.

 

 

            I knock on Mrs. Johnson door.  It take a while fore she come to open it.  She wearing glasses, but she got them to the end of her nose so she can see over the top.   

            “Serenity,” she say.  She look behind me, glance at the bucket in my hand.  “You ain't got your brother today?”

            “Yes, ma'am, he back in the house.”

            “With your mama?” she say, cocking her head to the side.

            “No, Ma'am, Mama gone today.”

            She nod slowly.  “I see.”  She look puzzled.  “Well, what can I do for you?”

            I hold up the bucket.  “Our water ain't working.  Willie thirsty, and I was wondering can we borrow us some water?”

            She look at me, let her breath out like it caught in her throat.  “Lord, yes, child.”  She put her hand on my back and take me inside.  Walls in her house covered in frame painting of all kind strange places, jungle and big grass field and snow-top mountain.  Television on in another room, sound like one of them boring kind show where people talk and folks clap when they done.  Her kitchen got yellow wallpaper and two big bright window that look out the street.  Mrs. Johnson set the bucket in the sink and turn on the tap.  Her water pipe don't squeal.  On the fridge all kind photograph taped up.  One of Shandreeka.  She in a black dress with red lace and silver earring with red stone that make her look like she high-school age.  Mrs. Johnson see me looking. 

            “That my grandbaby.  She should be bout your age.  Shandreeka.  You know her from over there at Promise-Upper?” 

            I look at my feet, think how nice ‘Dreeka always look, what she say this morning bout how me and Willie stink.  I hope Mrs. Johnson don't notice how I smell, and I hug my arms to my chest and step away.  “Yes, Ma'am.  She in Mrs. Mason fourth grade class, and I in Mr. Kato fourth grade class.”

            “Mr. Kato?” she say, watching the bucket fill.  “Oh, I heard bout him.  He the new China-man teacher.”

            “Yes, ma'am.”

            Mrs. Johnson shut off the tap, grunt as she lift the bucket out the sink by the sides and lower it to me.  I get ahold of the handle and take it with both my hand.

            “Well, there you go, child.”  She wipe her hand on the front of her dress and push her glasses back up her nose.

            “Thank you, Ma'am.” 

            She pause, then she reach her hand out and rest it on my shoulder.  “Nothing else you need, now, Serenity?”  Her voice gentle, but something bout the way she ask make me angry, how she so sure she got more anything I need.

            “No Ma'am,” I say, turning and starting for the door real slow and careful so I don't spill no water on Mrs. Johnson floor.  I pause at the door, look her square in the eye.  “This all I come for.” 

 

            Wake with a start to loud voices, and my book slide off my lap to the floor.  I wipe the sleep from my eye, glance at Willie on the couch behind me.  He still out, ain't stirred at all.  On the TV screen the Cartoon Network gone to some red-hair comic-book girl dancing all over without no clothes on.  Glad Willie asleep now there nasty thing on here, too.  Must be real late, cause them crickets crying loud and ain't no car noises on the street.  Voices get louder, then I hear feet on the porch and I can tell it C-Dog and Mama.  The key grate in the lock the wrong way and then the right til it click, and the door bang open against the wall.  Willie still don't move, even when Mama weave in and C-Dog stagger after her, his big paw on her hip.  Mama look at me and smile, say, “Hi Baby.  Sorry I's so late.”

            C-Dog glance at me.  “You Mama found me after all,” he say, letting go her hip to slap her butt, acting like he prove some point that suppose impress me.  He glance at the book on the floor.  “Look at this little Serenity-girl,” he say, walking over and bending down.  He lay his heavy hand on my neck, run his fingers through my hair.  His hand dry and rough and it scratch me.  I try not to move, but when he touch my ear I flinch, and he straighten up and move away.  “She stay up all night reading the dictionary, that what this bookworm girl do.”  

            Mama watching close and she frowning.  She look tired, deep black bag under each eye.  She step past the counter, glance at Willie pants laying on the countertop to dry.  She go to the fridge, open it, see it empty and close it.  “Ain't nothing here but what you got in your pocket, baby,” she say to C-dog. 

            His eyes narrow.  “You gone earn what you get, woman,” he say, shaking he big head.  “Everybody trying take from me.  I told you bout that business today with that boy Pipe.  Don't you start with me like that, woman.” 

“Baby,” Mama say.  “I wouldn't do you like that.”

C-Dog start pacing circles round the room like he waiting for something, stop over by Willie.  “This boy running his fat mouth when I come by.”  He glance down at Willie sleeping, shake his head.  “Boy ain't even got the sense to wear no pants.” 

            Mama look at me, turn away and make like she doing something at the counter, and suddenly I know Willie and me out on the porch, middle of the night or not.  So I turn, reach for the blanket on the floor.  When I stand C-Dog come up behind me again, and he too close.  Mama not looking.  He meet my eye, run his tongue over his lips.  Can feel the heat of his body and smell his greasy sweat.  I try to step away and he step closer, so I stomp the ground to make a noise and Mama look over.  C-Dog raise his eyebrows, shake his head and reach down, pick my book up by one cover, the pages all loose, and wave it over Willie head.

“Get up, boy,” he say, leaning down so his mouth right next to Willie ear, and when Willie start to stir he bellow, “Rock, boy, falling rock!” and raise the book over his head and drop it right on Willie face.  Willie scream and hold his head and start dancing all over hollering without he pants, and C-Dog double over laughing.

“Cedric, that not funny,” Mama say, hurrying over. 

C-Dog go silent and stand, step toward Mama.  Set of his jaw dangerous.  “Don't never call me Cedric,” he say. 

Mama shrink back, look so tiny and small that for a moment she seem a little girl. 

“Sorry, baby, I forgot,” she say softly. 

“Don't forget again, woman.  My name C-Dog.  That clear?”

“Never, baby.”  Willie still howling, and Mama slink past C-Dog, take Willie by one arm and pull his hand from his head and peck where he got hit.  “It fine, Willie.  Be a big boy, now, and hush.”  Her eye on C-Dog. 

Willie try, but he sobbing so he can't get no air. 

“Told you be quiet, boy,” she say, raising her voice and watching C-Dog.  “You ain't hurt.  Shut you cry-baby mouth.”      

I stare at Mama.  C-Dog step toward her, and she give him a scared look and put her hands to Willie shoulders and shake him.  He holler louder, and Mama yell for him to shut up, mouth wide open and her eyes all whites.  C-Dog looking angry and Mama shake Willie harder.  He choke-sobbing now, his head snapping side to side and spit shaking out his mouth.  His eyes gone back in his head and his tongue hanging loose.  And suddenly I can't take no more. 

I run to Willie, grab him from Mama so quick she still shaking her arms.  I yank him out the door onto the porch, slam the door close after us, wrap the cover and both my arm round Willie and sit him on the step.  Check his head and there no bleeding, though there red marks and they gone be a bad bruise for sure.  He don't hardly know what going on, is still crying and mumbling bout bad things fall on his head.  I cradle him between my knees and hold him tight, tell him he safe, he fine. That everything gone be alright. 

I hear C-Dog loud footstep and the lock click in the door.  Willie breathing calm, then he go quiet and I can hear the cricket-song rise and fall like folks singing in church.  The night dark and sweat-warm and there still something too-ripe to the air.  The road a long black river and the moon hanging a yellow half-hoop out the railroad tracks.  A woman holler something way down the block and go quiet.  Inside I hear the first noises, the swick of lighter and snap-pop of the pipe, mama moaning and C-Dog talking low, and I wonder how long they gone be, if Mama gone unlock that door at all.  I wonder is Willie pants dry so he can put them back on, wonder if the book all messed up now that it been dropped.  Then I hear the first mosquito whine, and I know they gone get me bad and ain't nothing I can do but let them cause both my arm bare, and I got the cover round Willie.