Forty-two Minutes Page 9

  Love,

  Mommy is the Bomby and I’m eating Pastrami. Not really, only white people eat Pastrami. Hahahaha I crack myself up in here, up in here… I’ve been practicing my rap skills and I think if I get good enough, I can replace Ruth-Ann. I mean, eventually we still must get another singer, but I can rap some of her parts. Ugh, there’s so much to do.

  PS: Please tell your Dad hello and did you see about that woman? Is she light skinned? And your Dad still hasn’t come to see me.

  I read Mom’s letterwith Malachi by my side on the couch. Her words were a bright spot in my day. Coming home from school and knowing there may be one waiting for me in the mailbox was enough to make me race home and Sidney to squeal with excitement. Other people had their mom every day, but Sidney and I had these letters. Malachi watched TV, and I rewrote a few articles. Dad was in his room and Sidney was sleeping. Shantiel penned an article about what teachers did on the weekends, and it had potential. I made a mental note to talk to her after the club met this week about the editor position next year. I mulled over my mom’s words about Will… Mila’s words too… she said Will was ranting about Malachi and me. What was that about? Work was endless these days. I left school early a couple more times to get to the funeral home, but I didn’t tell Dad, and Mr. Dennis didn’t ask. I made the money I needed for Mila’s and my application fees, but was I missing something? In my absence, had Will’s and my friendship changed, and I was the last to know it?

  Nah, we were still best friends, I concluded.

  “Do you want some Skittles?” Malachi interrupted my thoughts. He shot them into his mouth a handful at a time.

  “No, thank you,” I feigned disgust. He was truly always eating. “Do you have to work tomorrow?”

  “What you need baby—I can be off?” He leaned close to me.

  Giggling, I said, “No, I’m serious. We have to work on your applications.”

  Malachi backed away from me and straightened his face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t think I want to go to college.”

  “Since when? Did something happen?”

  “Nothing happened. We’ve been in school the past twelve years, I’m ready for a break.”

  I searched Malachi’s eyes. “How long have you felt like this?”

  “Not long; don’t act like that. I just don’t think college is for me. I don’t know what is for me, but I know I won’t find it sitting in class again. At least not right now.”

  “Okay… Okay… ” I mumbled. I tried to wrap my mind around this, but it made little sense.

  Malachi and I always discussed going to school together. If we didn’t go to the same school, we would at least stay within two hours of each other. A two-hour, long distance relationship was manageable, but three hours was a recipe for disaster. Now, he was potentially putting much more than hours between us.

  “When were you going to tell me?”

  “Tonight actually, you just brought it up before I did.” He popped another Skittle in his mouth and I wanted to snatch them out of his hand and mush him in his head.

  Stunned, I stared at the TV, letting it watch me as my thoughts ran wild. Were we breaking up? Was this the end? For over a year we had been comfortable. I thought we agreed, but here he was—rewriting the chapter. I didn’t want a long-distance relationship, and I didn’t want to be persuaded into one either.

  The window was ajar, and I heard splashing sounds moving closer. I rose and peered to the lake. Illuminated by the moon, Ez was treading through the water, and I saw the gleam of his shotgun. He was paddling fast and hard. Glancing at my phone, it was 11 p. m.

  “Dad!” I yelped. I charged down the hallway and burst into his bedroom. He was on his cellphone and I noticed the look on his face; he was grinning and laying on top of his bed rubbing his feet together. The stench from his work boots wafted through the room and I scrunched my nose and almost coughed. Who was making him grin like that on the phone? Even I knew the answer to that.

  A woman. Had to be.

  “Ez is on the water with a gun,” I screeched.

  In a flash, Dad jumped out of his bed and slid into his housecoat and his man flops. Jaxon’s man flops looked expensive; shiny, with tight leather. Dad’s man flops were dogged, shaped to his feet from years of wear and tear.

  Malachi jumped up, and his Skittles spilled. He and I ran behind Dad out of the house and to the water’s edge.

  “Now what are you doing, Ez?” Dad approached him from the boat ramp outside.

  “Be nice to him, Mr. Ben!” Sidney called out, watching from her window. I guess she was up now. I stood behind Dad as he inched forward to Ez. Malachi stood behind me.

  “Nothing is wrong with me!” Ez roared back. “Y’all made me go to that doctor this morning, and I didn’t get a chance to paddle the lake, so I’m doing it now, Nosy-like-his-daughter, Man.”

  Dad’s jaw tightened at that last comment. Sidney and I took Ez to a neurologist this morning per a request from the city. They sent a letter and asked that he be evaluated due to the condition of his home. It was scheduled for months and it took that long to convince him to go. We had to be there at 7 a.m., and the appointment lasted three hours! I dropped Sidney off at school and thanked her for coming.

  “Anything for Ez,” she shrugged.

  Ez sat in the backseat and patted her head.

  “Go on to school, girl. Big Ez will be fine.”

  Sidney had made him wear a cotton sweater, which he complained about the entire time. He took it off and scratched his neck until it was red and as soon as the appointment was over, the sweater was in a crumpled mess next to him in the car. Sidney got out of the car and hesitated in the doorway.

  “Love you guys,” she blurted. She had slammed the door shut before we could respond and walked towards her school.

  “Now why she go and do that? When someone says I love you, you can’t leave them hanging, you have to say it back. How will we say it back?” He sucked his teeth.

  He rolled down his window, “Love you too, SidRock!” he screamed. His loud voice echoed outside. That was hours ago and a different Ez.

  “Why do you need a gun, Ez?” Dad asked.

  “Because I thought it might like to come out and play. It’s been cooped up in the attic for two weeks now. Is that Eat a Lot? Heyyy Eat a Lot!”

  “Hi Mr. Ez,” Malachi yelled back with a wave.

  “Don’t mister me boy—only make the white man call you mister.”

  My shoulders softened.

  I glanced at Sidney peering from her tiny window. She and Ez were partners in crime. If Dad wanted a better relationship with Sidney, he would have to go through Ez. I don’t think Dad realized it yet.

  “Ez, do you need anything?” Dad yelled.

  He paddled fast and cut through the water at lightning speed. His large gun gleamed under his arm against the moonlight. Dad stood in his housecoat, watching Ez.

  “I said I’m fine, boy; don’t have soft knees.”

  Dad flinched under Ez’s barrage of word assaults. This was our routine: Ez insulted Dad with every word he could think of. Trying to talk to Ez about his voice and his tone was pointless; he didn’t understand it, nor did he try. He didn’t try to purposely hurt anyone, but he truly had no filter. Sidney and I knew how he was, and we didn’t take it personally.

  Dad took it all personally.

  Dad put up with him because of his love for Mom, but Ez made it difficult. He blasted Dad for working too much, not chopping down wood fast enough. He even told him he should go find a “candy girl,” when Mom got sick and went away. That was the only time I saw Dad raise his voice towards Ez. He slammed his hands on the table that day and said, “Dammit Ezra! Don’t tell me to get a new woman when you haven’t let Mama Jackie go this whole time!” Ez said nothing to Dad that day. He st
arted up The Bus hard and peeled out of our driveway kicking up dust home. Not canoed home—he hopped in his car and drove home.

  A roar escaped Ez’s body, and he guffawed with laughter. “I’m going home now—my stories is about to come on.” Ez paddled toward his home and as he cut through water, he laughed the entire way.

  The four of us sighed and watched Ez paddle in the opposite direction.

  “What stories come on at this time of night?” Malachi asked.

  “Who knows,” I whispered, watching Ez paddle away as he disappeared into the night.

  When he got out of view, Dad flopped back towards the house, a scowl in tow.

  “Go home Malachi,” Dad slammed the door shut.

  Part 2

  Mind-ful

  CHAPTER 10

  Glancing Mrs. Green up and down, I repeated, “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, honey, it’s just that the cleaning ladies will come, and they must pull up right out front. It’s not a big deal, we have plenty of parking in the back.”

  Giving Jaxon’s mom, a blank stare—I retreated the way I came.

  I arrived at the Greens’ residence this morning at seven o’clock, per Jaxon’s instructions. He was still asleep, and when I turned into their long driveway, the house loomed in front of me. It was like one of those houses you saw on HGTV. The grass was green, and baskets of flowers sat on the front porch. Mrs. Green asked me to move The Bus. Ez let me use his car, and it clambered down the street, the timing belt squealing along the way. Mrs. Green wanted me to park it in the back. I called bullshit already.

  “Sure, Mrs. Green,” I lied. “Not a problem.”

  The car fired back to life with thunderous noise, and it backfired as I pulled out. Mrs. Green’s eyes widened while she squinted around the neighborhood.

  “Come on in here, chile,” a Hispanic woman ushered me from the back door. She wore a maid’s outfit, and she waved me inside.

  “You the girl making that video for Mr. Jaxon?” Her eyes were roaming me.

  “Yes.” My camera bag dug into my shoulder and I switched arms, carrying the load. I was careful with it, the library acted as if it were a bomb they were loaning me. “When will you return it? What are you doing again? Are you planning for personal use?” The tech department’s questions were endless. It would be safe with me—I did not want to lug it around either.

  “You know what you doing?” she gave me quizzical eyes. Her Spanish accent was heavy, and her gaze held mine.

  I nodded.

  “Okay Mrs. Green wake up early, but she know you coming so you see her already. Mr. Green wake up next, and Jaxon last. Maybe Mr. Dylan here, I go see.”

  Dylan was Jaxon’s older brother. I hoped they were all up so I could get shots of them together. “Is there somewhere for me to set up my camera?”

  “Come with me,” she pointed.

  “I didn’t catch your name?”

  “I’m Ivette, and I cook three times a week.”

  “Three times a week,” I repeated. “And what is that like, cooking for the family?”

  Ivette shrugged her shoulders and pursed her lips together.

  “It’s a job, and it puts my daughter through school… don’t put that in your little video,” she muttered, her accent becoming more pronounced.

  A tall, heavyset man with bright blue eyes walked in and he looked exactly like Jaxon except his hair was salt and pepper and he had deep laugh lines all over his face. “Are you the new housekeeper? Hold on, I have my dry cleaning,” he disappeared into another room.

  “No, Mr. Green,” Ivette interrupted. “She no housekeeper. She write the article for Mr. Jaxon.”

  I nervously smiled at Mr. Green and turned slightly to show the bulky camera on my shoulder.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” He gave a sheepish simper.

  Ivette squinted at me and stood in the kitchen’s corner.

  “Is there anything you need from us?” Mrs. Green walked into the kitchen at the perfect opportunity. Too perfect. Maybe she heard him accuse me of being the help.

  “N-no,” I sputtered. “Is Jaxon awake?”

  “I don’t believe so. You can go in his room—it’s time for him to get up. You can see how he really lives in that cave of his he calls a room. It’s the third door on the left at the end of the hallway,” Mrs. Green pointed. Mrs. Green didn’t say hello and didn’t mention making me move my car. It was already forgotten in her eyes.

  “I’m up, Mom,” Jaxon strolled into the kitchen. He greeted me with a hug and looked me in my eyes for the first time. His smile was natural, and his hair was tossed and disheveled. He wore a crumpled T-shirt and basketball shorts. He still wore his man flops.

  “This is Indigo, Dad, she’s writing my piece for the Tunica Rivers Times like we discussed.”

  “Indigo, what an interesting name,” he commented. He scrolled through his phone and he said interesting, like it was a curse word. I didn’t like the way it rolled off his tongue. I gave another pensive smile. “I hope you don’t mind. I contacted your supervisor at the Times about the project. She and I used to golf together, and it seemed like the obvious thing to do.”

  The obvious thing to do, I mulled.

  “It’s fine,” I nodded. What else could I say?

  “You know I just love that blog of yours, it’s so refreshing to read from someone your age. When UGA wouldn’t admit Jaxon without an essay, and his SAT scores were so poor, we knew we had to pull some strings. Since he’s majoring in broadcast journalism we thought instead of an essay, we could do a video blog. Who wants to read a stuffy essay anyway? You were my first choice to help put something like this together. Right, Jaxon? Our boy wants to be an ESPN reporter!” Mrs. Green babbled and exposed her son in more ways than one.

  When Jaxon and I met the week prior, I asked him if there was anything I needed to know about his article and video, and he had said no. Meeting his mom for the first time, she told it all. UGA declined to admit him? Why? Majoring in broadcast journalism? That was news to me. It made more sense now, why they chose me for the piece. I was the hometown, around the way girl. If they ever needed to pull their ‘I have Black friends spiel,’ they could point to this moment and detail how they hired a Black girl to help their dear son. And did Jaxon’s parents really like my writing? Or did they think it was good enough for a Black girl?

  “That’s our boy,” Mr. Green beamed.

  “There’s your boy late already,” Mrs. Green scolded. “Do you want breakfast?”

  “No, I’m going to grab something at school,” Jaxon said.

  My hands felt clammy watching the dynamics within Jaxon’s family. I stood off to the side next to Ivette, invisible.

  I need to keep my hands busy or else they would shake. “Do you guys mind if I get some family shots for the video?” I suggested.

  Mr. Green perused the newspaper, still in his pajamas. Mrs. Green wore a long black business suit with high heels that clicked and clacked with every step.

  “I guess that’s okay,” Mrs. Green never glanced up from her phone.

  “Mr. Green, what do you do?”

  “I’m a Construction Inspector,”

  “And I’m the lead attending doctor at Ochsner in NOLA.” Mrs. Green added.

  Wow, a doctor.

  “And what school are you attending in the fall?” Mrs. Green skimmed me up and down.

  “I will be applying to a few schools, but I haven’t finalized my plans just yet.” I had at least four colleges I narrowed it down to. I hated to admit it, but it seemed like it may come down to price and location for me. I wanted to stay within three hours of home, for Sidney and Dad, but I also didn’t want to spend an arm and a leg—we just didn’t have it like that.

  “You won’t have any issues getting in as the schools are big on cultural diversity this year.” She no
dded her head and leaned in as if she shared an insider tip with me.

  “Woman!” Mr. Green proclaimed and shook his head.

  My stomach churned, and heat rushed to my body. Instinct told me to ball up my fist, and I did.

  Did she just say what I think she said?

  “Ma, come on, we have to get to school,” Jaxon cut his mom short in mid-sentence.

  “Well, you let Jaxon know what school you’re interested in so I can write your letter of recommendation. If you need anything else, please let me know—I love to see another girl taking on the world,” she smiled.

  “Thank you, I will keep that in mind,” I pursed my lips together and waited for Jaxon. This was going to be a long day.

  “I can drive myself,” I said, walking towards The Bus.

  “No, you’ll drive with me,” Jaxon ordered.

  He glanced at The Bus just like his mom did.

  I gritted my teeth.

  “Jaxon, will you be able to bring me back tonight to pick up my car?” I clenched my teeth.

  “Of course, why would I leave you?”

  Not saying anything, I walked to the passenger side and hopped in. I would’ve preferred to meet him at the school anyway, but I thought it would look more authentic if we opened the video with shots from his house and family. The inside of Jaxon’s JEEP looked different from when I peered at it zooming down the street. Under my feet, his floor mats were embroidered with “JG.” The letters were bright red with orange flames shooting from the bottom. This symbol was also in the headrests. His massive dashboard resembled a motherboard of some sort with social media icons on the touch screen. The inside had that new car smell. Jaxon hopped in, touching a few of the icons on the screen, and pulled off. He didn’t buckle up.

  CHAPTER 11

  Driving in the car with Jaxon was a crash course in why safety belts were invented. He didn’t use blinkers—like, at all. He took the four-way stops first, regardless if it was his turn.