Forty-two Minutes Page 2

  Our house backed up to Tunica River, and off to the side sat a small boathouse ramp and a few canoes. We lived in a tiny, two-bedroom cottage—well, maybe it was a three bedroom. There was a decent sized closet in the master bedroom, which Dad gave to me and Sidney. On the days he didn’t work, he huffed and puffed, knocking down walls and making that closet into Sidney’s bedroom. It only took him three months to build it, and when he finished, I saw him standing in the room doorway with his cup of coffee, taking in his work. He was so proud that day.

  There was a large stone chimney, and the roof was steep but flattened out in the back to an open porch. The house has been in Mom’s family for decades now, and she says when I get older, she’ll turn it over to me and show me what makes it special. We have talked no more about it since she’s been in the hospital, and I’m glad; I’m so over this place. I’ve grown up in Tunica Rivers all my life, and small-town USA is not my jam. Waking up to the sound of water nearby was a treat, but I’d trade it in for fast-paced New York City, or relaxed and sunny California. Anything but confining Tunica Rivers.

  Standing on my tiptoes, I peeked in the square window at the top of the front door. I knew dad for working ten-hour days and overnight shifts. He would come home, and he would sprawl out on the couch with his uniform and work boots still on, snoring his life away.

  Today he wasn’t there.

  “Fuck!” I whispered. Maybe he was up walking throughout the house? Or maybe he was sleeping in his room? I checked my phone. It was now 11:43 a.m. Time was flying today! Sidney would be home from her friend’s house in a couple of hours. I’d shower, wash my clothes, and figure out my next move—oh shit, I have to text back Will and Mila and see what they were doing since we were supposed to hang out today. I rubbed my temples.

  Yesterday there was nothing to do but be a teenager and graduate from high school. Today, a million decisions needed to be made. All I wanted to do was go to work and be with my friends. I had nothing to eat or drink since the night before, but I wasn’t hungry and damn sure wasn’t thirsty. I was running off fear and adrenaline today.

  Walking around to the side of the house where me and Sidney’s room was nestled, I glanced at my bedroom window but it was too high for me to climb through. Dad even drilled a window in Sidney’s room/closet, which led outside of the house. She always kept it unlocked. Her window was pretty low, just above my knees. We giggled about Dad positioning the window where it was. Today, I was silently thanking him for its accessible placement. Lifting the window quietly, I removed the screen.

  “Umph!”

  I leapt through the window with as much strength as I could muster; I felt weak. My arms shook as I hoisted myself up and tumbled, hitting all four corners of the small room. I completely missed Sidney’s bed, go figure. I struggled to stand and move my heavy bookbag. It busted me in the temple on the way in. Or way down. Whatever.

  I opened Sidney’s door and tripped into my bedroom. It sucked that she had to walk through my room to get to hers, but at least we had our own space. My area wasn’t too much bigger than Sidney’s, and there was just enough room for a full-size bed and my two dressers, since I didn’t have a closet anymore.

  A loud cough echoed from behind my door while I changed clothes in my room. Creeping into the hallway, I softly opened my dad’s door. Sure enough, he was passed out in his uniform, sprawled across his bed. At least he took his work shoes off; I eyed those tossed in the corner. Dad was working overnights these days to help pay for all the things that college entailed. Although he never complained, he was gone from home a lot more, and when he was home, he was asleep like this. I was in charge at night when he was away—I was always in charge.

  I exhaled and closed his door behind me. I texted my group chat with Will and Mila.

  Me: I can’t meet today guys, I’m not feeling good. Think I ate too much last night.

  Malachi was next; he went on break from work around two p.m. and I knew he would call to chit chat. I texted him the same.

  Me: I’m not feeling good. Think I ate too much last night.

  Malachi: You good?

  Me: Yeah, I’m okay. I’m gonna take a nap. TTYL ok?

  Malachi: Cool cool. I’ll stop by later to check on you.

  I powered my phone off and peeled my clothes from my body and let them fall to the floor. I stared at myself in my small mirror behind my bedroom door. What was I? A monster? Or maybe someone more like myself? His parents would be looking for him. That’s for sure. There were no cameras outside of Dennis and Son’s, and none on the street that I had ever seen. I wondered if my dad still had wood in the pit out back. Maybe I could burn my clothes. I didn’t want to lay eyes on them ever again.

  The shower was as hot as I could stand it, and the fog was thick as I pulled the curtain back and stepped in. I winced at the heat. My skin flushed, and I felt my hair curl in the front of my braids. I grabbed two washcloths and one loofah sponge. Sidney used a long hand brush in the shower, and I rummaged through the bathroom looking for that, too, but I couldn’t find it. I scrubbed my skin as hard as I could—even with my nails. My dad used Old Spice men’s body wash and today, that’s what I pulled for, squeezing it all over me. I lathered and fluffed, alternating between the loofahs and the rags. Next came my braids, and I squeezed the Old Spice over those too. I scratched at my scalp. Dad’s soap smelled manly and powerful. Not like the flowery smells that I use. That’s how I wanted to feel: powerful. Not this trembling mess before me. My face received the same intensity, and my eyebrows, eyelids, my cheeks. My hands moved in circles, rubbing everywhere on my face at the same time.

  There was no room to pace, and no room to scream the way I wanted. I covered my hands over my mouth, and a deep cry escaped. I was someone I didn’t know anymore; I didn’t understand anymore. I clasped my hands tighter around my mouth so Dad couldn’t hear. I screamed and screamed in the shower until my eyes burned and my throat was sore.

  Minutes later, I turned off the water, grabbed a towel and wrapped my body. Wiping the fog from the sink mirror, I studied my face; I looked the same. My skin didn’t look different, my hair didn’t look different. But my eyes—my eyes, told the real story.

  Back in my bedroom, I grabbed a t-shirt from my dresser drawer and pulled it over my head. The T-shirt said The Fat Cats. Before my mom got sick, she was in a band and they were a 90s R&B cover group. They toured the South and people loved it. The T-shirt was the last real thing I had of hers. If I tried hard enough, I could even smell her on it too. My hair dripped down my shoulder and I grabbed a hair tie and put it in a bun on the top of my head. I glanced down at my bag and noticed Jaxon’s notebook; the one with my name written on the front. I dug it out and palmed the cover.

  I paused. Let’s see…

  Part 1

  Puzzles

  CHAPTER 1

  6 MONTHS AGO…

  Sitting up in my bed, I peered out of the window. My dad was outside chopping wood in the backyard and the chippings shattered in different directions. He wiped his forehead and glanced around. Sidney slept soundly a few feet away from me in her room. She kept the door open again last night and I could see her from here. Studying her face, I hoped she didn’t have another nightmare. No, Sonia Lewis’s children didn’t want the nightmares or blank stares, but that seemed to come with the territory—we just wanted wood chopped during a chilly November morning.

  Mom was currently housed at Trochesse Asylum for the Criminally Insane… Great name, right? I thought so too. Why would you name a place that? They could’ve said for the mentally ill, for the delayed, but no—they settled on insane. Sidney stirred in her bed and her long black hair fell on top of her face; she wasn’t wearing her bonnet. Yesterday we laughed because she said every time she has a nightmare about Mom, she snatches her bonnet off her head as soon as she wakes.

  “Why?” I giggled.

  “My face ge
ts hot, and… I don’t know!” she shrieked.

  Sidney groaned while I was deep in thought. “Indy, why are you standing over me? Creep!”

  “Shut up!” I grabbed her pillow from under her and slapped her with it. Her eyes were wide with surprise when her head slammed against the bed.

  I ran out of the room, my feet smacking against the floor.

  “Whoa, whoa,” Dad says. “What’s going on here?”

  Sidney chased me into the hallway, and I darted around the kitchen laughing. The back of my Fat Cats T-shirt grabbed onto the handle of our frying pan in the drying rack. In one motion, it tumbled down and took a few more pots with it. The loud noise stopped Sidney and me—we both caught our breath and laughed.

  “What is going on here?” Dad again questioned, his eyes darting between the two of us. Benjamin Barre stood there with wood fragments and leaves all over his face. I had on a long T-shirt with pots and pans scattered around my feet. Sidney’s hair was matted to her head, and she was breathless.

  The three of us surveyed the scene and stifled a laugh together.

  “Are you guys hungry? I can make some eggs before you go to school?” he asked. Leaves collected on the kitchen floor as he moved about.

  “I’ll take some Mr. Ben,” Sidney said.

  Mr. Ben… I cringed.

  Sidney and I shared the same mom, Sonia. I’m seven years older than Sidney. She was born when our mom was touring with the Fat Cats. Sidney’s dad is King Sidney, and he and Mom were together until Mom went crazy and they had to put her away. King couldn’t take care of Sidney, so my dad swooped in and saved the day. Truth be told, Dad was always down for Mom like that. I’m not sure, but I think Mom called him when they first took her away and she asked him this one last favor: please take care of Sidney Lewis, my sister. The daughter of another man, one whom she refused to give his name. She did the same with me when I was born, Indigo Lewis, her name. Mom was adamant. The Lewis children would be just that, the Lewis children.

  Dad talked to King, and the next thing I knew Sidney was moving in and Dad was watching YouTube videos and teaching himself how to build a bedroom from a closet. Dad told Sidney, “You can call me Ben or Dad. Whichever you prefer.”

  The first time he heard her say Mr. Ben, his shoulders dropped, and his mouth fell open in surprise. I guess she had preferred to call him Mr. Ben. I think he wanted her to call him dad, and he had just realized it in that moment. It had been four months since her arrival, and she still called him Mr. Ben. Today I winced for him.

  Sidney took a seat on a stool, swinging her feet at the kitchen counter. Dad sat his version of scrambled eggs in front of Sidney. I didn’t know why she asked for eggs anyway; Dad’s strong suit was not cooking, but he would try.

  “Thank you.” She nodded at him and glared at me. I smirked.

  “What’s wrong with my eggs? I saw those eyes,” Dad grabbed at his chest, playing hurt. “Besides, you need protein for hockey.”

  “You didn’t put cheese on them or anything,” I chuckled.

  Sidney pushed the eggs around on her plate before she pierced it with a fork and stuck it in my face.

  “Ahhh, what are you doing?” I screeched.

  “You eat the struggle eggs, that’s what you get for hitting me with that pillow,” Sidney teased.

  I pushed them away from me and giggled.

  “I’ll eat at school.” Sidney eyed the eggs and shrugged at Dad.

  He put his hands on his hips and shrugged. “Don’t go tell them people at school you’re hungry when you have perfectly good food right here.”

  Sidney snorted and slinked off the stool heading back to our room, and I soon followed.

  “Somebody better eat these eggs,” Dad yelled down the hall. Sidney and I chuckled to each other.

  Tuesday was the longest day of the week for me, Sidney, and Dad. He works at the retirement home 10 a.m.-6 a.m. the next morning. Sidney plays Field Hockey and every Tuesday she had double practice and game sessions. I’m the school editor of the Tunica Rivers High School Newspaper Club, and on Tuesdays I meet with the team and we review articles and the layout for the next edition.

  My boyfriend Malachi and his friend Jaxon are planning the TRHS annual Spring Fling for the senior class in April. It was poised to be one for the books, and we were all excited to learn more information about it today.

  Checking my phone, I realized how late I was. Malachi would be here in thirty minutes with his mom’s car to take us to school. Malachi lives across town and has to pass by our high school to pick me up. I keep telling him how dumb that was. Why trek all the way across town for me? He doesn’t have to prove to me he’s some chivalrous gentleman, but he insists on making the hike every morning.

  I showered and brushed my teeth. I pressed mousse into my hands, and I spread it over my braids. My hair stayed in braids. It was quick, and I knew it looked nice on me and framed my deep brown skin. I liked my braids jet black and long. My mom taught me that—always keep your hair done. Sidney was more into press and curls these days. She was hanging out with her hockey teammates and lately, she was obsessed with straight, flat hair. I made a mental note to watch that… . Today, I opted for a long, boho dress which came to my ankles with my white leggings underneath. It flowed as I walked. I paired it with my all black chucks and my Mom’s locket around my neck.

  “Bye Dad, love you!” I shouted.

  “Love you!” he hollered back. He retired to his room where he was catching another hour or two of Z’s before he went to work.

  “Bye, Sid!” I screamed. She turned up her music, and I heard Tekashi 69 blaring from her room.

  Kids.

  Outside smelled damp. I inhaled and let the sun hit my face from over the treetops. I took a seat at the picnic table next to the boathouse. It wasn’t even a boathouse. We had three canoes Ez uses. That’s my mom’s dad, and he lives on the other side of the lake. His name is Ezra, but we call him Grandpa Ez. He doesn’t like to drive, even though he has a car. Imagine that, a grownup who doesn’t like to drive. I would kill to always have transportation ready and available to me. Grandpa Ez preferred to use the canoes, and every few days, I watched him paddle in. He made his way closer and closer, and I saw his overalls and straw hat from the boat. He wore an enormous grin, and his large arms bulged when he cut through the water towards us.

  “Gimme dat other paddle over there, girl,” he commanded. Grandpa Ez’s voice boomed and even though he stood almost seven foot and loomed over people, he was a gentle giant. My mom says he “gets a crazy check every month,” whatever that meant. She had some nerve.

  He was my Grandpa Ez.

  The familiar hum of Malachi’s mom’s car makes its way down our cul-de-sac. Gathering my things from the table, I made my way to his car. He opened the door from the inside and waited for me to get in and shut the door before he placed the wettest, sloppiest kisses on my face and cheeks. I laughed, pushing him away, and we took off for school.

  CHAPTER 2

  Malachi and I were in the editor’s room for the Newspaper Club and we were the first ones here. He sat in front of his computer, and he didn’t even bother to even log-in. The TRHS screensaver rolled around on his screen.

  I’ve been the Newspaper Club Editor for the past two years. I sort of fell into the job. Words have always been my favorite. Most people just see them as means to communicate, but I see them as full pictures. When I hear songs, I see the lyrics. Words, numbers, and symbols roll around in my head until they form sentences. It sounds weird, but it happens. I hated writing at first, it just seemed like a waste of time, and it was always something teachers wanted you to do. Who wants to do what teachers want them to do? I was a reader. I guess people think they are the same, but to me—they were totally separate. I could read the words and craft perfect stories in my mind, but to write it out was something different. When I
was twelve, I received my first piece of mail with my name on it. It was from Black Expressions mail-in book club and the postcard read, “Send us a dollar and we’ll send you six books.”

  Six books?

  I rushed to fill out the postcard, hastily marking off my book choices before taking a dollar from Dad’s dresser and sending it back. I grabbed an envelope and a stamp from Mom’s purse, and I sent that baby back. A few weeks later my six books arrived, and every two weeks after that, more and more books came. I spent long days and nights combing through those books, piecing together my thoughts about the world around me. Everything seemed so open for the taking and ready to be explored.

  I vowed then I would see it all and do as much as opportunity and money would let me. I wouldn’t be stuck in Tunica Rivers—I would see the world. One day, a bill showed up in the mail. It was addressed to me again, and that’s when Mom found out I was taking dollar bills and stamps from their room and buying books. I thought for sure Mom would lose her shit on me, but she didn’t. She called up the book company and said, “Ya’ll ain’t got no business selling no books to a twelve-year-old girl, anyway! Don’t send nothing else to this house!”

  Halima was the editor before me, and last year I was sitting in homeroom when she tapped on the door, walked right in without waiting, and asked our homeroom teacher if she could speak to me. I was shocked; I had never seen a Black girl walk right into a room, address a white man, and he obliged! Maybe that was the reason I followed her out that day. She said, “I work with Mrs. Scott, the English Department Chair. I’ve been able to read some of your papers and poetry submissions. Have you ever thought of writing as more than a hobby? I think you’re good.” From then on, I took her position as Editor of the school newspaper when my senior year started. I grew up in this editor room, and I tried to build a strong team around me. We argued here. We laughed here. We tried to make sense of the world through our eyes—all here.