Forty-two Minutes Read online

  I peered at Sidney in her room. She was pacing in the small area and the way she moved halted me to a stop. She was folding and refolding the same blanket. Two and three times she did this. Picking it up and placing it back down.

  “Sid?” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat.

  She jumped in place.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing, I-I was folding my blanket.” She touched the fabric one last time before shutting her light off behind her. “Ez here?”

  “Yes, he just pulled up.” I eyed her, “You okay?”

  “I’m fine, just worried about the visit.”

  “It’ll be fine. She knows we’re coming this time,” My voice was soft and I tried to shield Sidney from the hurt that parents sometimes caused in the ways only a big sister could understand.

  “You’re right, Ez is with us.” Sidney whispered.

  The last time we visited Mom, we took a bus and Sidney and I went alone. Mom cursed us. She was loud and showing off her musical chops as she rapped through the room. Sidney cried, and I didn’t know what to do, so I called Dad from work and asked him to pick us up. He took the highway and was there in less than thirty minutes. After that, Dad made us vow we would never go there alone anymore.

  “Oh wait, I have to grab Ez’s shirt.” Sid dashed to the dryer in the pantry and returned with a checkered button-up shirt.

  “His?” I pointed.

  “I figured he would need one, you know, like last time.”

  Sid was right. Our last visit almost didn’t happen. Ez wore a wife-beater white T-shirt, and they refused to let him into Trochesse. We had to leave, run to a store, and buy him a shirt so we could see Mom that day. Ez fussed the entire time and said he didn’t like the way the material felt on his skin. He picked at it the whole time we were there and practically ripped it off himself when we left the visit. Ez could be funny about stuff like that.

  “Good thinking, I think he has on dirty clothes” I admitted. Sidney shook her head and seemed so much older than her ten years.

  “I figured,” she nodded and walked out of the room.

  I heard the back-door creak as Sidney walked out and Ez screamed, “Siddrocckkk!”

  Sitting on my bed, I chuckled to myself and grabbed my phone. Malachi picked up my video call after one ring.

  “Don’t be giving my phone number to strangers; they could sweep me off my feet.” I batted my eyes.

  “Huh?” He chewed. He was eating a bowl of cereal.

  “Jaxon Green?”

  “Oh yeah. He asked for your number after flaking on the meeting. Just see what he has to say—could be good for both of you. He mentioned something about your blog with the Tunica Rivers Times.”

  “Oh? I thought he wanted something school related?”

  “I don’t know, just repeating what he said,” Malachi shoved a large spoon into his mouth.

  “Did you pour the entire box of cereal?” I asked with wide eyes. Malachi was eating from a large serving bowl and spoon.

  “Mom just went food shopping.”

  I snorted, “that’s not an answer.”

  He shrugged.

  “What time are you leaving?” His head was crouched in the bowl as he asked.

  “In about twenty minutes. Ez just got here.”

  “Ol’ Smoky Jo made his way across the great Mississippi River?”

  “Shut up!” I giggled.

  “The first time I saw him racing through the water on that little tugboat, I said, now there is a man whose granddaughter I’d like to date.”

  Malachi and I fell into a fit of cackles. Hearing wood being chopped, I squinted from my window and saw Ez using Dad’s ax to finish hacking at a tree. His shirt was now off, and he was bare-chested and sweating.

  “I got to go,” I rushed.

  “I love you; look at me. Don’t be too hard on her. Okay?”

  “Love you too.” I pressed end and Malachi’s face disappeared. I wasn’t too hard on my mom. At least I didn’t think so.

  Outside, Sid slid into the front seat of Ez’s car while he stopped to tinker with the tires. Grandpa Ez’s car was as old as he was. It was a goldish brown color with sunspots splattered across the top and roof. It was funny, his yard was filled with junk cars but the car that actually worked he kept at our house. “We’ll make it today. Not a coola in sight.” He nodded at us.

  “When have we not made it?” Sid giggled.

  Ez has these random one liners. It’s like he thinks about something, but he just has to say it out loud. Just has to. ‘Coola’ is code for problem. Mom told me when she was younger, Mama Jackie and Ez couldn’t afford a refrigerator, so they used large coolers. When the ice inside the cooler melted, Ez would groan, ‘The coola is gone, the coola is gone.’ Now, if anything was a coola, it’s his version of a problem.

  Sliding in the backseat, I popped in my headphones. My phone buzzed again. It was a text from Will.

  Will: Have a good visit

  Me: Thanx

  Chris Brown sang in my ear, and I closed my eyes. Grandpa Ez pumped the brakes and his old Cutlass roared to life. The car was old and loud—I called it The Bus whenever we drove; it was just as noisy. Sid fumbled with the radio and turned the dial louder.

  “Jackie!” Grandpa Ez yelped. When he was angry, we became Jackie to Ez. “Turn that noise down, you trying to scramble the rest of my brains?” He covered his ears. He didn’t like loud noises either. I think this was partly the reason he kept his car at our house and used the canoe. When the bus and its missing muffler clamored down the road, the noise couldn’t be missed. He said the water was quiet and everything else seemed to scream at him. Sidney lowered the music and Grandpa Ez slowly pulled from the driveway. He used his blinker to reverse. Why, I don’t know.

  The trip to see Mom usually takes forty-five minutes, but Ez drives below the speed limit. People beeped around us, honked their horns, and a few even gave the middle finger. A few tense visits back we discovered driving on the highway was not his favorite, and he jumped and screeched at cars honking and large semi-trucks. It was a sight to see; my grandfather was afraid of loud noises. After that, Dad suggested we take the long way to Trochesse and bypass the highway. The scenic route proved to be a hit for Ez, and he was calm, driving us at his own pace. I’ve offered to drive time and time again, but Ez always declines and says he’ll figure it out on his own. With Grandpa Ez and the scenic route, the drive became an hour and twenty minutes.

  Ez swatted Sidney’s hands from the radio and he popped in a cassette tape. “Ya’ll don’t know nothing about this,” he crooned.

  Ez’s loud baritone voice echoed through the car, and he sang at the top of his lungs. Ez could carry a note! It surprised me even though it shouldn’t since Mom could sing too. Ez’s voice was so full of life. Sidney and I shared a glance and grinned.

  About an hour later, we arrived at Trochesse Asylum. Wiping sleep from the corner of my eyes, I adjusted to my surroundings. Scores of people lined up to get inside. I saw children and families, some appeared happy to be here and others looked guilted; their presence required by their needy, inpatient families. Some days I understood that feeling. Trochesse brought me sunshine and happiness when I needed to see my mom. To touch her and reach out, look into her eyes and see my own staring back at me. I was the highlight of her week and for that reason—I had to go. It was a cycle I hated.

  Sidney was out of the car first and slammed the door behind her. She wore a black baseball cap, red checkered flannel shirt, and jeans. I opted for a TRHS hoodie, sneakers, and jeans. My braids hung down my back to my waistline. Ez moaned, exited the car, and placed his gigantic hands on the hood to steady himself. The car sank under his weight. Ez adjusted his pants, pulling them even higher around his broad waist. He straightened his new shirt that Sidney gave him, and he fumbled with
the buttons under his neck. He was sweating at his brow line as he fussed with the collar, tugging it from his neck. “Ya’ll ladies reckon’ you ready, Freddy?” he said.

  I shook my head at him and walked towards the end of the line. “Insane asylum for the colored.” That’s what the sign read. I hated this part. Sometimes when we got in line, we made it early enough to the front and I didn’t have to see it. Sometimes we got here late and stood at the end where the large cinder block glimmered back at us and got larger and larger as we made our way closer.

  Back in the day, Trochesse Asylum had two wings; the right wing was the white side, and the left side was the colored side. I eyed this sign whenever we got in line. I wondered what it meant to be a Black woman in an “insane asylum,” during a time when no one cared you were actually insane; they categorized you by your skin. As if your skin was the crime, not the act which got you there. The asylum integrated sometime in the 70s, but the sign remained. You think the first thing they’d remove is the symbols reminding people they were not the same and not equal. But no—they kept them up. Every two weeks I stood in line and bore witness to this sign. And to make matters worse, my mom—a Black woman with medium skin and maximum character was housed on the left side. Poetic justice.

  Ez placed his hand on my head. He stared at me. “Don’t be taking on nothin’ that ain’t yours.” He motioned to the sign. The line moved and Ez and I brandished our IDs to the security guards, while Sidney flashed her school ID. They checked us for weapons and drugs but did a poor job. The female guards brushed over my clothes while talking amongst themselves. They never glanced in my direction or made eye contact. The male security stood with hands on their wide hips, showing us how much they loved the sweets in the break room. A few visits ago, a family next to our table had a full feast complete with rice, beans, and biscuits. How and where they snuck food in; I don’t want to know. Clearly security was lax.

  The inside of Trochesse Asylum opened into a large foyer area with cathedral ceilings and a second-floor balcony overlooking the entrance. The floor was checkered with black-and-white tiles, and on the walls were erect, naked white people. Strange décor I thought, for an insane asylum. Built-in wall bookshelves and carved wood balusters lined the great room. A wide, spiral staircase spilled into the room at the foot of the nurses’ station in the center of it all. There were three nurses, all of them standing on their feet in their bubble fielding questions, phone calls, med requests, or general cuss-outs. This morning my mom was the one giving the cuss out.

  “Whherreee is my phone call? This ain’t no damn jail and I need to call my peoples.” Mom glared, slammed her hands on the nurse’s station and pointed at the nurse. “Is you gon’ let me use the phone? I got to call my man. It’s Saturday morning and he better be home from getting his haircut. It’s 11:10! He’s late again. I know where he at… Ohhh yeah, I know where he at.” Mom’s shrill voice echoed through the room.

  I swallowed.

  Looking up at Ez, he watched Mom. His face was hard, and he didn’t move.

  “Ma?” Sidney’s soft voice cut through us.

  Mom’s eyes widened, turning towards Sidney. She glanced at her, then me and Ez.

  “I’ll be back, Hoe,” she pointed to the nurse.

  “Bye, Ms. Lewis.” The nurse shooed Mom away from the station and nodded at me.

  “My children, my lifelines, hellooo hellooo,” Mom sang. She now talked in an English accent. Mom wore a long blue housecoat, tights, and white crocs. Her hair was short and tapered to one side. The last time we saw her it was long, but this shorter cut framed her chubby face better and elongated her neck. Mom was heavy set with soft brown skin.

  Sidney latched onto Mom and hugged her. Mom stopped moving and held Sidney’s head to her chest. “Come here Indy-Lindy.” Mom pulled me in, and I held on to her and Sidney. Mom’s hair smelled like soap. Not the good kind of soap Malachi’s mom keeps in her shower. The kind of soap that’s free and you can ask for extras. Whenever I saw her she gained weight, and today I used two hands to hug her large waist. Her skin was still the smoothest I ever felt; almost like silk. Or like Ez’s. Hugging Mom felt like climbing out of a nice, long shower into clean sheets and rubbing your legs together. For a second, everything is still and peaceful.

  Shoving us, Mom eyed Ez and sang, “Who loves you like ya Daddy girl, who loves you like your Pappy girl, never leave your side, you’re his worlddd… ” She bellowed her last note into Ez’s face as he stood in front of her. Soon, he cracked a smile.

  Everyone else sat with their families while Mom stood singing in front of Ez. The room was cold, and all the families sat close together at long metal tables attached to the floors, savoring every moment. Her voice was beautiful and obnoxious, all at the same time. Mom’s nurse cleared her throat in our direction and motioned with her eyes for Mom to quiet down. Mom sauntered to the last empty table off to the corner of the room. When we settled, she said, “So would anyone like any tea, darlings?” in her English voice.

  “Cut it out.” Ez was curt. He was never fond of Mom’s voice changes and the dramatics of it all.

  “Why my loving Dadddyyy?” She pouted in her English voice. Mom pronounced every syllable.

  Ez’s jaw tightened.

  Dad said Mom began saying she was a different person in her teens, and Ez and Mama Jackie didn’t understand it. They yelled at her for things she couldn’t control. They thought she was too animated, too loud, and called too much attention to them. They didn’t understand that she couldn’t help it. And if they understood it, she still troubled them with her antics. Sonia stole the car. Sonia ran away to Tennessee and got married. Sonia freed all the frogs in the chemistry lab. Sonia Sonia Sonia.

  Sidney and I gazed at Mom, taking in each moment, while Ez glared at her.

  “Fine, Dad, you win,” Mom said in her regular voice.

  “I don’t like all that nonsense.” Ez’s voice was gruff.

  “Sidney, how is your Father?” Mom’s eyes remained on Ez.

  “He’s okay. The boys keep him running around.” Sidney has two older brothers: Prince and Trent. They’re both excellent dancers and last I heard; they were touring with Mary J. Blige. The musical gene was in their family, and King traveled the world with them, managing their careers. When he realized Sidney didn’t have any musical talents and she required a full-time dad, King didn’t hesitate and may have breathed a sigh of relief when Dad offered our home. He sent money once in a blue moon, but Dad held it down for us girls. Mom never asked about Dad. Only King.

  “I dreamt of Mama Jackie last night… She was sitting by the lake and she said, ‘Sunnie, what’s that you got over there?’ I had a cigarette I was hiding from Mama. She came down there and found me puffing from it. I knew for sure she’d kick my ass. But she came to me and took the cigarette out of my mouth. She puffed it two times and said, “These things will kill ya,” and she stomped it out before sending me back upstairs… did she ever tell you that, Dad?”

  Grandpa Ez took his cap off and palmed his face in his hand.

  “The memories too much for you, Daddy?” Mom sneered.

  “Enough, Mom,” I warned.

  She turned to me and her eyes softened.

  “My firstttt loveeee,” she sang louder this time.

  Mom’s nurse eyed us again above her glasses.

  “I know you just love coming to see your Dear Mother in Versailles,” Mom rose from her chair and danced around us.

  Ez remained silent in his chair, arms folded.

  Sidney followed Mom around the room and her eyes danced with wonder. She held onto Mom’s every word. She was nervous earlier, but now she was in awe.

  “I’m okay. This is senior year,” I reminded her.

  “Senior year, huh; I hope ain’t no one seen ya’ cooty cat,” she tee-heed and slapped her knees.

  Ez pushed his cha
ir back on the linoleum, and it made a loud screech. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt from his neck. “I’m going for a walk,” he scowled.

  “Cooty cat,” Sidney repeated. She placed her hands to her mouth, stifling a giggle.

  “My Bellas, come close, let’s have girl talk.” Mom shimmied in her seat. Sidney and I moved closer and closed the gap between us.

  “I have a secret to tell you.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know if I can tell you though.”

  “You can tell me, Mom,” Sidney promised. Her eyes were wide.

  Please don’t say something crazy in front of Sidney, my eyes pleaded.

  Mom’s eyes didn’t catch mine. Or maybe they did. She leaned in close, and said, “I had another dream too.” She smiled crazily, her mouth open.

  “You kill someone, Indigo… you did what you had to do… I liked that dream.” She threw her head back and cackled to herself.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Girl, look at them bright red lips,” I teased.

  Mila’s eyes were wide. “Do you think it’s too much?”

  “I’m just joking— it looks good on you,” I rolled my eyes.

  “JT is supposed to be at the party.” Mila glanced at me from the dresser mirror.

  “Is that right? Do I need to watch you tonight?”

  Mila and JT dated for a few months in the tenth grade. It didn’t last long; JT accused Mila of being too clingy, and Mila accused JT of cheating. They argued, accused, and came back together. It was that toxic shit I wanted no part of. Malachi had his faults, but at least I knew he cared about me and only me.

  “Just don’t let me drink too much.” Mila didn’t make eye contact as she blotted her lipstick. She giggled, but I knew she wasn’t joking.

  We went to a party last summer on a boat chartered by one of Malachi’s friend’s parents right on Tunica River. I’ve lived here my entire life and I’ve never seen a boat chartered on the lake. Mila, Will, and I hopped on, and we oohed and ahhed at damn near everything. I saw Mila drink before and I knew she could throw them back, but this night was different. Drinking wasn’t really my thing; I hated the way it tasted going down. Maybe I did it wrong because it sat in the base of my throat, threatening to come back up. You know, now that I think about it, I don’t think that I’ve ever been drunk. I don’t think I’ve ever drunk enough alcohol to consider myself drunk. But Mila—Mila couldn’t stop. She took in more and more. It was one thing to drink for senior year with your friends, but Mila liked to get blackout drunk. Especially when she wasn’t the one footing the bill.