A Day Late and a Dollar Short (41 page)

"Siblings?" I reach for the glass of water I had last night and swallow some. It's warm. This much I do know.

"Yes. I'm positive Mrs. Susskind's calling the litde girl's mother, but will you be able to call the others?"

"Me? Did I tell you I'm in London?"

"No. My gosh. Look, I can call them if you're not up to it."

Before 1 can even think about how I'm going to do it, I simply say, "I'll call them."

"Okay, then. And, Miss Price, you might want to start making arrangements."

"Arrangements? Arrangements for what?"

"Funeral services. If that was your mother's wish."

Arrangements? Funeral services? Wish? Funeral services for who? Who died? I mean, nobody's dead here. Is this the Make a Wish Foundation call? Is that what this is about? Because, if not, this has got to be some kind of huge, I mean huniongous mistake. I know it is, because somebody has just called here and played a dirty rotten trick on me and told me that my mama has died.

The next thing I know, I hear myself say, "Goodbye," and I hang up. Did I say thank you? I don't know. And what exactly would I thank him for? I bite my tongue to see if I can feel it, and it hurts. I look down at the phone again. Didn't I just have it up to my ear? And didn't Miss Loretta call and tell me to call the hospital? Did I actually do that? Did I really talk to a Dr. Glover and he said that my mother has passed on? That my mother is dead?

I think he did. Didn't he? I sit on the edge of the bed and lick my lips until the salty taste of blood and tears are gone. I look over at the clock. It's ten after eleven. I look down at my feet. Why am I wearing my mama's shoes? I take them off and begin to put them back in the box. She's going to love these babies. I just know it. I know what she likes. I know her taste in things. But as soon as I lift the lid to the box, I look at my hands and realize that I'm still holding the phone. I blink five or six times to make sure I'm still in this hotel room, and then I pinch my arm to make sure I'm still alive. I am. And I'm surprised.

I take the phone with me over to the window and look out at that park. The grass is glistening green. The leaves on the trees are, too. I'm so cold I'm trembling. But all I can do is stand here and watch drops of clear water roll down this window until I'm blind. Unril I'm frozen. When I do move, I collapse against the wall, grab the drape, and wrap it around me until I begin to feel warm. I hold it like this until it feels like I'm in my mama's arms again. I squeeze so hard that, when the drape comes off the rod and drops to the floor, I do, too. Once I get here, I look around this room again. I stare until all the flowers on these walls, these chairs, and the sofa begin to wilt and die and I cry dry tears because I feel vacant inside, like a thief has stolen something from me that no one can ever replace, like the best part of me has just evaporated.

Chapter 27

Sorry

"Ma, what's all this stuff about?" Tiffany's sitting at the kitchen table, where I got all the information I sent away for from the International Correspondence Schools spread out.

"It's career information."

"What kinda career? Look like a whole lotta different ones here. They look like stamps!" And she starts laughing. But ain't nothing funny about it to me.

"Just don't mess it up. Where's Trevor? I wanna know where he put my lottery ticket. The drawing'll be on in fifteen minutes."

"Which one of these do you like, Ma? You gotta have some idea."

"I'm thinking about catering or learning how to be a gourmet chef. I don't know."

"You mean like what Auntie Paris do in California?"

"No! I would do my business different. I definitely wouldn't do it like her. Monique! Please close that door while you practicing that flute tonight, 'cause I got a headache and can't even hear myself think."

"Why not? She make a lotta money."

I hear the upstairs door slam. "Because I got ideas of my own."

"Like what?"

"Why don't you stop bugging me, Tiffany?"

"Ma, I just asked you a simple question. Dag."

She's right. But, hell, I ain't got no answers right now. Kids is so nosy. Ask too many questions at the wrong rime. But. What I ain't told none of 'em is, I bought a book on mail-order businesses and read it cover to cover and I'm having a consultation with this lady tomorrow who'll listen to my ideas and sign a piece of paper to make sure she don't steal none of 'em and she'l l t ell me if she think any of 'em can work. But one of my ideas is in her book, so how could I go wrong? "Okay, let me ask you a question, Miss Grown-Ass?"

"Ma, please don't call me that."

"Okay. You right. Sorry. What do you think you wanna be when you grow up?"

"I don't know."

"Think about it for one whole minute."

"Dag, Ma. How'm I supposed to know? I'm only thirteen."

"So what? You write that poetry all the time."

"Yeah, but it ain't that good."

"It is good."

"Yeah, but you can't get no job being no poet, Ma."

"Maya Angelou seem to be doing all right."

"That's true."

"Then look into it. Read some books about poetry or something. That's the only way you gon' find out."

"Okay, Ma!"

She still flipping through the career stamps, but now I can tell she ain't really looking at 'em. She got exacdy ten seconds to get her behind over there in that kitchen. One. Two. Thr-

"Ma, we miss Daddy and want him to come home."

Shit. "I know y'all do, but sometimes married people have problems that kids don't understand."

"We do understand, and we think it's stupid that you put Daddy out and wanna divorce him for something he did centuries ago. It's kinda like crying over spilt milk."

"Who the hell is we?"

"Me, Trevor, and Monique."

"Is that so?"

"Yep. Ma, you don't know how many kids at school's parents is divorced. And I been so happy all these years that I could say my parents ain't even thinking about getting no divorce, and that I got a very cool dad. I mean, come on, Ma, Daddy does everything around here, and he takes us places, and not every father will wash and braid his daughters' hair."

"Girl, that was so long ago."

"Me and Monique ain't forgot it. And even Aunt Suzie Mae think you way off base."

"Is that so?" I say, even though what I really feel like saying is, "FUCK ALL Y'ALL," at the top of my lungs, but I know that would be wrong. I bought this book a couple of weeks ago about feeling good, and one part of it was about controlling your anger, and it said people need to learn how not to say the first thing that comes into their mind, 'cause sometimes it can be more hurtful than you think. This is some hard shit to do. The book even said you can control your thinking, which is news to me, but according to this stupid test I took, a lot of my thoughts is negative, which means sometimes I may not be seeing things the way they really are. I don't quite buy that. But some of it do make sense. And some of it don't. Do I always think I'm right? Yeah, 'cause most of the time I am. I don't say nothing if I can't back it up. I had to stop reading that book, 'cause it was getting on my nerves, just like Tiffany is now. But it did get me to thinking that maybe I might need more than a book. Maybe I might need a real person to talk to.

"Hi, Ma," Trevor says, coming into the family room and handing me my ticket. "Here you go. And as we always say: Lotto Love!"

"Would you get me a drink, please?"

"Certainly. What might I make for you this evening?"

"I don't care. Just as long as it bite."

"Okay, Ma, what was it you was saying about Daddy?"

"Nothing. Y'all just gon' have to wait and see what happen. Just like me."

"Wait and see?" Trevor says.

"That's what I said."

"Where's Daddy staying anyway?"

"With one of his buddies." I turn the TV to Channel 9.1 been doing this every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for I don't know how many years. One day I'ma win. I just know it. And when I do, me and Mama been had a deal going for so long that whoever hit first split it. I'd be so happy to have a little bit of money to share with her. It wouldn't even matter if we ain't speaking. A deal is a deal. Plus, it would be one thing I could give her on my own.

"Which buddy?" he asks.

"Why y'all so worried about your daddy? I'm the one that got the raw end of the deal here."

"No you didn't," Trevor says. "From what I gather, you're charging him for a crime he committed a long time ago. Haven't you heard of the statute of limitations?"

"The what?"

"Even I know that," Tiffany says. "It means after so much time passes you can't be found guilty of the crime. And this was way over ten years ago, wasn't it?"

"Look, after me and your daddy talk next time, I'll let everybody know what the verdict is, but until then could we skip the subject, please?" My jawbone is jumping, I'm getting so mad. I hate being put on the spot like this. I don't know why they taking his side, especially when they don't know the whole story.

"Okay, then, Ma?" Tiffany says, finally running some dishwater. "How come you ain't said nothing about my report card?"

"Where is it?"

"Right next to you, by that Ebony."

I pick it up and lift up the top part. I can't believe my eyes. Is them B's I'm seeing? And an A? "Tiff! Baby! When did you get so smart? I mean, I'm so proud of you! How'd you do this?"

"I listened harder," she says, smiling. "My tutor said that whenever I didn't understand something, instead of pretending like I did, to raise my hand and ask the teacher to explain it till I did. And guess what, Ma?"

"What?"

"A whole lotta kids in my classes was glad I asked, 'cause they didn't get a lot of that stuff either."

I give my daughter the thumbs-up. "Right on, Tiffany. I told you not to be scared to speak up, didn't I? I'm going down to Kinko's first thing in the morning and make a copy of this and mail it to your granny." She nods her head up and down like she hearing music all of a sudden. I know she smart. She just been acting stupid. I hope this is the beginning of a trend. If it is, this make two down and one to go. Monique tries harder than anybody I know, and maybe one day it'll pay off for her, too, especially when she grow up and don't need no medicine to think. But, come to think of it, seem like her grades was better before they put her on this mess. She slowed down like them doctors said she would, but, shit, maybe too much. She don't like taking it, that's for damn sure. And maybe I might take her off this stuff and see how she do. White folks got us believing everything they tell us just because it might be true about them, but it ain't necessarily true about us.

"Okay, Ma, I thought you was fixing to ask me a question a while back."

"I already did. About college. And do me a favor? Work on your English, would you? You sound downright uncouth half the rime. If you can write the shit right, try speaking it right."

"Okay. I thought we was, were, talking about food or something."

"Oh, yeah, what do I cook best?"

"Pies," Trevor says, handing me a glass of something light yellow. Probably Squirt and Tanqueray.

"Yeah, all your pies are the bomb, Ma, but you make good cakes, too. And some of them cookies be jamming. Why, you think you might wanna cook this kinda stuff?"

"I don't know. Maybe. We'll see."

"But what would people eat to go with it?"

"You can specialize," I say.

"I know that," Trevor says. "That's what Felix and I plan to do."

"Felix is a fag," Monique says, standing in the doorway in her pajamas. She's laughing, and then Tiffany starts in, too.

"So what, so am I," Trevor says, and I almost choke on my drink.

"We been knew that," Tiffany says. "Everybody know it, so what's the big deal?"

I don't say a word. As a matter of fact, I pretend like I didn't even hear him say it. 1 just stare at the TV and drink my drink until it's gone.

"No comment from you, Ma?" he says, looking up at me.

I swallow hard. I'm trying to figure out the right thing to say, but I don't know what that is. My daughters don't seem to be having no problems with this news, which apparently ain't news to them. Shit, he's their only brother and he act like a damn girl.

"It's okay. Ma," he says.

"No, wait a minute. All I can say right now is this. First of all, I thought the correct word was 'homosexual.' "

He looks shocked. So do Tiffany and Monique. I almost feel a grin coming across my face, but I don't wanna push it.

"That's the technical term," he says.

"Well, whatever you think you are, or whatever you wanna be, is up to you. I can't stop you from doing or being whatever is in you, just as long as you ain't going through these antics to get attention."

"Why would I wanna do that?" he asks.

"I don't know. But pour me another drink, would you, Trevor? Y'all getting on my nerves. And, Tiffany, there's a stain on the back of your shorts."

She twists her neck around and looks down at her behind, but she can't see it like that. "Never mind, Trevor. I'll get it myself." I take my empty glass over to our little bar. "Tiffany, let me ask you a question, since we all in a confessing mood. When was you gon' tell me you got your period?"

"Ma, you should get over here," Trevor's saying.

"Wait a minute! I asked you a question, missy."

"I did tell you, Ma."

"No you didn't."

"Ma, I'm serious!" Trevor screams.

"Goddamnit, I said just a minute!"

"Yes I did. Three months ago."

"Then how come I don't remember it?"

" 'Cause you had been drinking a litde bit that night, I guess."

"Ma, you've got all five of the Litde Lotto numbers!"

"I don't drink that. . . What did you say, boy?"

"You got all five of the numbers! I kid you not! You hit the jackpot! It's like two hundred fucking thousand dollars, Ma!"

"No shit," Tiffany says.

"Damn," Monique says. "It's about fucking time."

I thought I heard 'em all cuss. I know I just heard 'em all cuss, but I can't believe this shit either until I walk over and grab that ticket outta Trevor's hands and compare it to the numbers on the screen. He's abso-fucking- lutely right! While everybody's jumping up and down I flop down on the couch. "Y'all, relax, and let's not get too excited till I find out how many people I might have to split it with."