Forty-two Minutes Read online

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I took it out. Another message from Jaxon Green.

  Jaxon: ???

  Me: We can talk tonight.

  I saved Jaxon Green’s phone number as a new contact and placed it back in my pocket.

  Dad was working another double, and Sidney was with her brothers this weekend. The unofficial senior class Christmas celebration was underway tonight. It’s unofficial because if any school staff find out, my name is Bennett, ’cuz I ain’t in it. We all took that stance. Rumor has it a couple years ago someone was drinking after the party and was found sprawled out naked on the principal’s front lawn. Since then, the school has been extra vigilant about shutting down senior class parties.

  Mila was in my mirror applying lip gloss over her red lipstick and I had all my drawers open, trying to figure out what to wear. Malachi told me he was going to wear his jean jacket and I should wear mine too. I wanted to do my own thing today, and so I pulled for my black leather jacket instead. It stopped just above my waist and if I turned at just the right moment, on just the right hip, it looked like I had some behind. I paired it with black sneakers and gold hoop earrings. I put my braids in a half bun at the top and let some hang down in the back. Standing next to Mila, I picked out the darkest shade of brown lipstick I had. I was in a dark mood tonight. Earlier in the day, storms poured so hard I thought they were going to call it quits on the bonfire tonight, but the skies opened up and dry clouds peeked through.

  Arriving at the party, I smelled the heavy scent of burning wood and hay. A large barn was lit with twinkling Christmas lights. Teens littered the barn with red cups. JT settled under a tree, bobbing to the music; his hood was over his head. His boys draped around him like he was the prize. I swear I saw Mila inhale when she saw him. We walked in the barn side by side, but when she saw him, she sprinted in front of me and darted in his direction. He spotted her coming and turned the other way, avoiding her eyes.

  “Hey, JT,” she waved.

  “What’s poppin,’ M?”

  “M.” She beamed at that.

  “Have you been here long?” Mila licked her lips.

  JT leaned further back, putting space between the two. “Na, me and my boy just got here a couple minutes ago. But we’re not going to stay long.” JT was tall—towering over Mila. She looked up at him the way a girl likes looking up at a guy.

  Mila stamped her foot in place, like a child, and poked her lip. I can’t believe I just saw that. I was going to tell her about her ass later, but for right now I stayed quiet in front of the bonfire, watching the embers smolder, and feeling the heat against my face, waiting for her to finish making a fool of us while she ogled JT. We stood there a full thirty seconds until the silent daggers I was throwing finally caught up with her.

  “Text me when you leave. maybe I can slide too.” Mila’s arms were open, and she leaned in closer to JT.

  JT didn’t return her body language and stayed frozen.

  “Indigo?”

  I turned around and spotted Jaxon Green.

  “Hey, Jaxon.” I gave a wave. His blond hair stood out against a sea of dreadlocks and weaves.

  He wore a small stud in his ear that sparkled when the fire caught it. He held his car keys. I could make out the JEEP symbol from here. Jaxon stood like he belonged.

  “Mila, I’ll be right over here.” I pointed to a tree, but Mila was too focused on JT’s face to notice. She was dancing to the music, but everyone else watched and cut their eyes at her. I kept an eye out while walking the short distance with Jaxon. He started first. “I’m not sure if Malachi talked to you. But your blog. It’s good, I guess.”

  He guessed? Something in me countered.

  Jaxon’s hair moved every time he shook his head. He brushed it out of his face as he talked. My teen blog wasn’t a big deal—at least not to me, but enough people said to me, “Ain’t you that brown girl in the paper?” That made Dad puff his chest out a little further each time. I just shook my head and said yes. Now that Mom is gone, she and I write to each other. Every week one letter arrives from her. She tells stories when she writes; she can set a scene with characters and an entire act. I just reported the facts, but what I did learn came from her. When her letters come, it’s our time.

  What could he want with my blog? I wondered. I mostly wrote about girl stuff and the occasional ‘I am Black, please don’t ignore me’ rant. Old people seemed to love those the most, I noticed. They loved to read them and share with their friends, but never enough to actually make a change. And the most important item of business—only once a month. I tried to write two articles back to back, and the paper rejected them back and said, “Only one BLM piece every thirty days.” BLM? I never mentioned that. My article that month was about Historically Black Colleges and Universities. Anything associated with being Black in America was only tolerable once per month, so it seemed.

  “Thanks,” I replied.

  “My mom is on the school board. Our family goes to UGA—my uncles and dad. We’re legacy members.”

  “Okay?” I eyed him.

  “She really likes your blog, and well, she was the one who said, ‘get that writer girl from your school to help.’”

  “Help what?”

  “Instead of an essay for the admission application, I was thinking I could send a video—nothing big. Maybe a few pictures and voice overs to tie it all together.”

  “But I write. I’m not a videographer or anything,” I shook my head.

  “You still take your notes and whatever you do, but you make it into a video blog. If you can write it, I’m sure you could probably speak it, right? Sort of like a ‘Day in the Life of Jaxon Green.’ That would make me stand out.” His eyes studied mine.

  I glimpsed JT talking to Trina, another girl in our class. Mila stood beside him, but behind him—playing on her cell phone.

  “I’m not sure if the school would approve that. I’d have to run it by them.”

  “Well,” Jaxon cleared his throat. “We weren’t thinking about the school newspaper; we were thinking about your blog through Tunica Rivers Times, since it’s semi well known. My dad knows the editor there. Sheila, right? He knows her. She said it was okay.”

  “We? Who is we?”

  “My mom and me. Well, more her than me. She really thinks this will be a good opportunity to get our name out there.”

  “And what’s in this for me?” I crossed my arms.

  Kneeling in front of me, Jaxon said, “I, too, have a heart. One, my mom has agreed to write you a letter of recommendation to any college of your choice. And two, my parents have agreed to rent us the Bordeaux Mansion for Spring Fling—if you do this article for me. Also, I can pay you, that’s not a problem.”

  “Really?” Now my eyes were wide. A letter of recommendation from Jaxon’s mom would really make my application stand out. Not that I needed a boost, but shit, it couldn’t hurt. I also quickly ran the numbers in my mind about all the things I wouldn’t have to pay for that month if I had money from Jaxon.

  “Uh-huh.” He shook his head. He brushed the hair from his face once more. I glanced down and noticed his man flops.

  “They think it’s a good idea to do the video. It’s kind of my last option or else I have to —”

  “My Lady, what it do!” Malachi grabbed my waist from behind and placed a wine cooler in my hand. “Ya’ll talking business?”

  Will walked over with a beer in his hand, and I noticed Trina noticing him.

  “Finally here,” I kissed Malachi on the cheek.

  “What you trying to do, girl?” He closed the space between us and nuzzled my face.

  I giggled and pushed him back.

  “Come on!” He punched his chest.

  Looking for Mila, I found her standing in a circle around the bonfire. It was hazy through the smoke, but I saw JT inside the
circle, freestyling. “JT wanna be the one ya need, she won’t leave me be, can I get a 1, 2, 3!” he yelled. Mila danced too hard to his mediocre flow and beats.

  His shit was trash. If he could rap, I could rap—and I cannot rap. And she was drinking.

  “I was telling Indigo that my parents have agreed to pay for the Bordeaux Mansion if she helps me with a project for college.” Jaxon said.

  He didn’t mention the money.

  “Bordeaux Mansion?” Will blurted.

  “Uh-huh,” Jaxon repeated. This time with a sly grin. The boys slapped and congratulated Jaxon like he accomplished something. No one thought to ask me anything. I’ve been writing this blog for two years now, and Jaxon and his family came in and volun-told me what I needed to do. He clearly came up with this whole thing first and told me last. I didn’t like that, but I said nothing. I still fixed my eyes on Mila. She took another sip of her wine cooler, and she was tapping on JT’s shoulder. JT and his friends were pointing at her and laughing.

  “I’ll be back.” I left the guys and marched towards her.

  “Let’s go,” I grabbed Mila’s arm. My eyes burned from being so close to the bonfire. Leaning in, I sniffed Mila. Not only was she buzzed, but her deodorant clearly wore off because she smelled like an Italian sub. No wonder JT and his friends were laughing at her.

  “Where we going?” Mila stumbled. “No, me and JT going to the Waffle House in a lil bit right, JT?”

  JT and his friends giggled at Mila and imitated her dancing. Thinking they were laughing with her and not at her, Mila laughed too, her white cheeks now rosy red. They chuckled even harder at that. A vein in my temple tapped at my head and I balled my fists. Pulling my arm back, I was ready to attack. I fantasized about knocking JT’s head into the tree over where Malachi and Jaxon stood talking. I could push him into the fire.

  Just do it… a voice somewhere far inside of me said.… You know you want to.

  The anger came from somewhere in me, so foreign but so familiar. I hushed away the thought even though my anger got the best of me anyway and I swung at JT. I missed, and embarrassment had me in its clutches as my right arm reared back to try it again. This time I aimed directly for his nose. I lined those Jay-Z nostrils up right between my knuckles and a hard glare. Before I could make the connection, Will grabbed me.

  “Indigo!” Will screamed. He grabbed me by the shoulders and had to duck as my fist whizzed by his head.

  “Oh, um, yeah-yeah?” I blinked back to reality. I dropped my aggressive stance and immediately relaxed under Will’s gaze.

  “It’s not that serious. I got her,” he fussed. He released his grip on my shoulders and he took hold of Mila, hoisting her up before she collapsed in his arms. He walked her towards her car before shooting daggers at JT and his friends. I glanced at my phone; we had been at the party two hours, but it seemed like we just got there. Breath escaped my body and the little voice telling me to end JT went away. Blinking back the red, I un-balled my fists and my body trembled as I tried to calm down. Now three steps back, JT and his friends stood gawking at me.

  “Do you have her keys?” Will said it like he was tired of asking. Mila was slumped in his arms talking about going to Waffle House. Her eyes were low. My chest felt like someone or something was sitting on it; I felt the pressure right in the center and heat found my face. We just discussed this earlier, and it was like she purposely tried to get tipsy. As if she was more comfortable this way—being cared for and gawked at. It did something for her, but what did it do, and why?

  I dug in my pocket and retrieved Mila’s key. Thank God she didn’t carry a purse and needed me to carry them. I didn’t want to argue with her tonight about driving.

  “You stay, I’ll take her home.” Will grabbed the keys.

  “I’ll come too.”

  “No. Go with Malachi, I got her.”

  The way Will said he had Mila, stung a little—just a little. I swallowed the feeling down and turned towards Malachi.

  Malachi and Jaxon were still standing under the tree, noticing nothing. They laughed and drank, in their own world, while Will—a tipsy Mila—and I cast glances at each other.

  “Go, Indy.” Will barked. He hoisted Mila up and walked in the direction of her car. I watched as they walked away.

  JT grabbed another beer and was now by himself. Stomping towards him, I blurted, “God calls the wrong people home. Asshole!”

  Before he could respond, I turned on my heel back to Malachi and Jaxon; someone would have to give me a ride home, and I hated being on their time.

  CHAPTER 5

  January 2nd.

  My Indy-Lindy. Happy New Year! I pray this letter reaches you well, my oldest girl. We are halfway through your senior year of high school! Has Daddy taken you prom dress shopping yet? When he came to see me in the summer he fussed at me and said, “Don’t worry Sun, we have time to worry about all that.” Him fussing at me about prom, but he makes you learn to fix a car at ten. Imagine that? I remember my prom. I wore this white, slinky, lace dress. The split was high up my left leg and I made sure to kick it out whenever a camera snapped. It looked like a wedding dress, but I didn’t care. I had these hips that almost look like yours—yours are better than mine, but you hide yours. But I was killing them bitches. They didn’t stand a chance. I bet Ez even has the dress still at the house. How are the birds outside? I think of them often. Do you think birds come and go from Trochesse? Or do they stay in the trees, never making their escape?

  Anyway, I need a favor, honey. Remember Ms. Montague from the pottery studio? She’s holding an art auction, and she is displaying some of my pieces—I read about it in the newspaper. Can you go down there and check it out for me? Take some pictures, actually take brain pictures and real pictures so you can come back and describe it to me at our visits, and we can act it out. I’m rubbing my hands together like Birdman, hahaha Indy. Now I’m going to give you pottery, insider tips. I want you to check out the person who buys it too. What do they look like? Why would they want this piece out of the rest? How will it fit into their life? Ask yourself those questions and then take the brain picture and report back to me. Okay? Break!

  Make sure you go see Mama Jackie’s grave. It’s her birthday, January 17th.

  Did I tell you I started a singing group? Ruth-Ann, Cordelia, Minister, and Gordy. We call ourselves the Band-Aids. It was the only name we could agree on and the only thing we have tons of in here. Minister wanted us to be Minister and the Minnies, but Ruth-Ann shut that shit down baby! She was in here screaming and she told him, “Ain’t nobody bout to be your flunkie bitch Minister,” and she grabbed his ice cup and tossed it in his face, and honey, we got that good ice here! That shit you get straight from the hospital. So, he had to go ask Nurse Blister, with the glasses, for more (that’s what we call her because she always has a blister by her lip. You know one of THOSE blisters), and he had to wait and wait because she was busy. He dropped the Minnies after that. Cordelia told her she didn’t have to go off on him, but Ruth-Ann just shook her head. She said, “You let em’ slide once and next thing you know they think they ice skating!” Gordy said nothing, Indy. He doesn’t talk much anyway—he just sings and can hold a note like that heavy-set boy from Dru Hill? Did I mention I’m the group manager? I figured my singing days is over. It’s time I raise some young pups. I think you and your sister turned out pretty good. A singing group can’t hurt.

  Speaking of your sister, make sure she is spending time with her daddy and brothers. She has to spend time with them, so she learns she can’t depend on them. You’re her big sister, and I’m counting on you to teach her the ropes. She still has hope, which is a good thing. Sheeitt, maybe even it’s a noble thing. She needs to know though, don’t be depending on no man.

  Tell your Dad I said Hi and why he ain’t come to see me in a couple months? It’s almost my birthday? But I bet he’s at work all t
he time ain’t he? Indy, if there’s a woman there sweet on him, go down there and take brain pictures of her, too, for me, okay? Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. I feel things and see it in my dreams. You’ll see it in your dreams too. It’s a family trait.

  Love you lots and can’t wait to see you guys,

  Mommy Dearest (Not like the movie though)

  I hate when shedid this. She was bat shit crazy when we visited her. Shouting and dancing, putting on performances for us. After our last visit, Ez said he wasn’t coming anymore. He claimed it was because his car couldn’t make the trek any longer, but I knew it was because he couldn’t stand to see Mom this way. Ez didn’t have words for Mom’s behavior. He just knew she could be better and wanted her to stop. If anyone read her letters, they would think she was the best mom. They didn’t know the mom who saw things that weren’t there or heard things that weren’t there. Who sang to no one and everyone all at once?

  I read Mom’s letter three times, and I lingered on the spots where the ink from her pen pooled on the paper. What made her pause there? What was on her mind?

  Writing letters to her became my homework. I tried writing to her every two weeks, but she outnumbered me and wrote at least three to my one. She had a list of things for me to do or people to go talk to on her behalf. I told her about Dad, Sid, and Ez, although she never asked.

  This was our new normal. I was her sometimes daughter, sometimes friend, all the time secretary.