Pieces of Why (8 page)

A
F
TER LESSONS
I'm supposed to go straight home. Ma is back from work by then and if I'm even five minutes late, she's got the phone in her hand ready to dial 911. But today I'd gotten out early.

I thought about the bread Ma had promised to drop off and decided I'd be brave and write a note to go with it. I wasn't sure what I'd say. Maybe just something plain, like you'd find in a card.
Sorry for yo
ur loss.
I guessed it didn't really matter. What could words say, anyway? The point was that you wrote them.

I wondered if the bread would still be in the metal mailbox outside the front door. Ma would've had to leave it there. Wasn't any place else suitable. We'd wrapped it in layer upon layer of tin foil, so I supposed she could have left it by the front door, but I didn't guess Ma would do that. I just hoped no one had come by to collect it already.

When I arrived, there was an old lady at the top of the
steps. She wore a long black dress, and her wrinkled face sagged.

I stopped short.

She was pulling things out of the mailbox: slim white envelopes, square colored cards, and small packages. When it was empty, she bent to pick up a basket someone had left on the stoop. It was filled with cookies and flowers, and for a moment I thought maybe Ma had put our bread in there, but I could see there wasn't a loaf inside. I opened the wroughtiron gate and stepped into the yard as the old lady watched me from the top step.

“Excuse me,” I said, real polite, “my mother left a loaf of homemade bread here, and I wanted to write a note to go with it, if that's okay.”

The woman looked confused, and I began to feel prickly.

“Did you find some bread?” I asked, more slowly. “Here on the step or in the mailbox?”

The old woman shrugged and said a stream of words I didn't recognize.

“Bread,” I said again, making the size and shape of the bread loaf with my hands. I pretended to eat and then felt foolish.

The old woman tilted her head, gesturing to her full arms. “No bread.”

My forehead crinkled. “But it must be there. Did you come by earlier today?”

I knew she might not understand, but I couldn't help saying the words.

“This . . . everything,” the old woman said, nodding as if she was certain she'd made her point. She stepped gingerly down the first step, her arms full to overflowing, and at first I just stared at her, stunned.

The old woman stumbled, and finally I remembered my manners and offered her my arm. She handed me the basket and smiled when I took it. When she'd made it all the way down the steps, we walked together to her car. She opened the front door, and as I set the basket inside, I looked up and saw the baby's picture on the dashboard next to a small wooden cross. He was posed against one of those fake backdrops, smiling with two tiny teeth poking out of his bottom gum. He had beautiful blue eyes, pudgy cheeks, and little baby hands.

I pulled away quick.

“Sorry,” I said. “I'm so sorry.”

She nodded as she buckled her seat belt, and then I watched the old woman drive off before turning and walking away. This time, I didn't bother staying in the sunlight. I walked straight through the shadows without ever looking up.

Why had we bothered to bake the bread if Ma had never meant to give it away?

When I got back, Ma looked surprised to see me. She had her nightgown on, and I knew she was waiting for me to get home before she went to bed. She was always tired after working all night, but today I didn't care. I was boiling mad and there wasn't a single speck of room left for pity.

“You're home early,” she said, looking up from her magazine.

I thrust the envelope from Ms. Marion at her. “Ms. Marion says we'll be taking a break.”

Ma took the money, cocking her head to one side. “Did she say why she—”

“Did you drop off the bread?”

Ma paused. “Are you all right?”

She reached for my arm, but I pulled away.

“I'm fine. I've just been . . . running, that's all. Did you drop the bread off at the house?”

Ma laughed, but it wasn't her normal laugh. She refused to meet my eyes, and I knew for certain that our bread had ended up in the snack room at Winn-Dixie.

“Of course I did,” Ma scoffed. “I said I would, didn't I?”

A thousand thoughts tumbled in my mind. I saw that little baby's innocent face. Was there something so wrong with us that we weren't even worthy of giving bread to his family?

Ma was waiting for my response, but I brushed past her and ran down the hall to my room, slamming the door behind
me. I heard Ma's footsteps, and then there was a hard rapping sound on my door.

“Tia, are you going to explain yourself?”

I lay down on my bed and curled into a ball.

“Tia?” Ma knocked again. There was a pause, and then Ma said, “You'd better tell me what's the matter or—”

“I started my period.”

The lie came out before I'd had time to think about it. I just wanted her to leave me alone and quit asking questions. Even through the door I could hear Ma's relief. I could hear her thinking,
Ah, that explain
s everything.

Her voice softened. “Oh honey, do you want to talk about it?”

“Not now,” I said, forcing out the words. “Maybe later.”

Ma laughed softly.

“Definitely later,” she said. “Do you need anything?”

“No.”

“Well, you lay down and rest for a while, and trust me, it will get better.”

Liar,
I thought.
Liar. Liar. Li
ar.

I might not have my period yet, but Keisha had told me all about it. “Everyone wants to make out like this is something beautiful and great,” she'd said, “but really, it's annoying. I get pimples before and cramps during, but of course you've got to keep doing everything just like always, even gym class. And we're going to go through this every single month until we're
old, but guys don't have to feel a single cramp
ever
? That's just plain wrong.”

Even though she'd said that, I'd still wanted to start mine since it seemed like every other girl our age already had, and I'd secretly imagined the way I'd talk to Ma about it. Like we'd have some deep, shared understanding of womanhood. Now some part of me knew I'd ruined that future moment, but I didn't care.

F
OR THE REST
of that week, I stayed holed up in my bedroom.

I lied to Keisha and told her I had a head cold, and I kept up my lie with Ma, telling her I had cramps and wanted to rest. She'd sat on the edge of my bed, giving me the lecture about what to do now that I was a woman, and I'd pretended to care, but as soon as she was gone, I'd shut my door again.

One night I heard her on the phone with Ms. Evette.

I su
ppose it's natural f
or her to be hormona
l right now.

Was Kei
sha like this when s
he . . .

I suspect y
ou're right, it's ju
st sometimes I think
there's something e
lse.

If Ma knew that all I was really doing in here was dwelling, she would've kicked me out of bed so fast, I would've broken the sound barrier. The truth was, I didn't even know why Ma not delivering the bread hurt so bad. Why did I feel such
deep-down shame that I couldn't even tell my best friend in the entire world what had happened?

Keisha called on Monday morning, and I could hear in her voice that she wasn't messing around. “Why'd you tell me you had a head cold when really you started your period?”

She hadn't said hello or anything.

“And you know you missed choir on Thursday, hanging out all weekend, and you haven't called me in a whole week—not even to see how it's going with Khalil. I've had bad cramps before, but you better be expelling a kidney, the way you're acting.”

I groaned. “Sorry.”

“Sorry? That's all you've got to say for yourself?”

“I didn't start my period,” I blurted.

“What?” Keisha said. “But I heard my mom talking to your mom, and she said—”

“I lied.”

There was a long pause.

“Why would you lie about something like that?”

“I don't know,” I said miserably. “It just came out, and then I had to keep pretending, except I didn't want to lie to
you
about that, so I came up with another lie. And then . . .”

I heard Keisha breathing on the other end.

“And then,” she repeated, like it was a statement.

“I'm really sorry.”

There was no sound for a long time.

“You lied to your mother about getting your period?” Keisha repeated at last. “That's rough. Why would you
do
that?”

I wasn't sure I could explain.

“I just . . . I don't know.”

Keisha huffed.

“You better hope you really do start up soon or you're going to be pretending an awful lot. You're gonna have to mark it on the calendar and everything, so you won't forget.”

I sighed. “I know,” I said. “It was stupid, but—”

Keisha cut me off. “Honestly?” she said. “I knew you were lying about both things. The head cold was easy because you didn't sound even a little stuffed up, but the rest of it . . . I don't know. I just knew you would've told me.”

We were both quiet, and then Keisha said, “You're lucky I'm not a drama queen like Tyresha. If you had that girl for a best friend, she'd be texting up the entire choir to tell them all your secrets, and then she wouldn't speak to you for, like, six months, only later she'd finally forgive you and you'd be best friends again. Me, I just cut to the chase.”

For the first time in a week, I smiled. “Keisha,” I said, “no one else could ever be my best friend.”

Keisha laughed. “Don't you know it,” she said. “Now get your butt over here. Auntie Loretta's been visiting all weekend and you haven't even seen her yet. Mama wants us all to head out to the French Quarter together.”

I'd been about to ask how things were going with Khalil, but instead I cringed. Ms. Evette's sister came down from Mississippi twice a year, all lipstick and high heels, and I dreaded every visit. When it came to Keisha's aunt, I always felt like a cockroach: small, ugly, and uninvited.

I couldn't tell Keisha that, though. She adored her aunt Loretta, and seeing as she'd just given me a pass when she could have pitched a fit, I wasn't going to mess things up now.

“Great,” I said. “Just give me a minute to grab my stuff.”

“I can't believe Ms. Marion didn't say a word about you giving up the lead at June Fest,” Keisha said, leaning back in her beanbag chair. “I mean, really, not one word?”

I shrugged. “She didn't seem angry. Just said I needed time to work through things.”

Keisha rolled her eyes. “That's not very helpful.” She sighed, but then she straightened. “Oh, Ma said you should let her know when you got here, so we can head out.”

“Okay,” I said, trying not to frown. “Guess I'll say hello to Loretta too.”

I headed downstairs, but stopped on the final step, listening to the hushed voices coming from the kitchen. The tone of them made my skin tingle.

“I just don't see why you're still taking care of her as if she's your own kid. Does her mother even pay you?”

That was Loretta's voice, clipped and annoyed.

A wave of fear washed over me as I heard Ms. Evette cluck her tongue.

“She's Keisha's best friend. I don't
a
sk
for payment.”

“Oh right,” Loretta snorted. “Because you have all the money in the world to feed an extra mouth, what with your husband having been out of work for two years.”

“We're doing fine,” Ms. Evette snapped. “Just because you feel the need to put on airs every time you visit, making my daughter think you're some kind of fashion mogul . . .”

Loretta laughed. “Oh Ettie, she does not think that. Why can't I buy Keisha something pretty? That's not putting on airs. Besides, I buy things for little Ms. White Girl too. I'd think you'd be happy about that.”

“She has a name,” Ms. Evette said. “And this isn't about color.”

“Oh come
on,
” Loretta said, snapping the words apart like each one was a separate sentence. “You're really going to tell me that a black woman taking care of a poor little white child, practically raising her while her incompetent mama refuses to pull herself together and her worthless father rots in prison, isn't about color?”

“Don't you dare!” Ms. Evette said. “Tia is a great kid.”

“I'm not saying she isn't,” Loretta said. “At least so far.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You haven't thought it?” I could hear the click of Loretta's heels. “Her father's in prison for
murder
. You know when a child's brain forms the most neural connections? During the first three years of life. What do you think a man like that taught his kid during those years? A person has to be wrong in the head to pull the trigger on a twelve-year-old girl.”

Ms. Evette was trying to talk over her sister. “Tia's a child, for goodness' sake. She's not some evil spawn.”

“I'm not saying you shouldn't be kind to her,” Loretta answered, “I'm just saying that if I were you, I wouldn't want to keep taking care of her once she's a teenager. One way or another, that girl is going to be disturbed.”

I clapped my hand over my mouth.
Was this what peop
le thought of me?

That's when Dwayne came around the corner. As he passed, I dashed up the stairs, hoping he hadn't seen me hovering there. I heard the low, angry thrum of his voice, but couldn't concentrate on the words. Not anymore. I darted into Keisha's room, shutting the door tight behind me.

“What's wrong?” Keisha asked. “Did you find Ma and Aunt Loretta?”

My mind raced. Should I tell Keisha what I'd heard?
Make some excuse to go home? Go downstairs and stand up for myself? My heart was
p
ounding, pounding, p
ounding
.

A second later Dwayne opened Keisha's door.

“Are you girls ready to go?”

“Don't we look ready?” Keisha asked, twirling in front of the mirror.

Dwayne frowned. “You know we're going for beignets, right? You're going to get powdered sugar all over that nice shirt.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “You all right?”

I nodded, trying to breathe normally, but Dwayne's face fell, and he gave me a look so pained I wanted to shrivel up into a tiny ball. “Oh kiddo,” he said. “You didn't hear that, did you?”

I looked away.

Finally, he laid one hand gently on my arm. “No matter what anyone says, you're a part of this family and we love you. Hold your chin up high, understand?” He said it real stern, searching out my gaze, and I nodded, but nothing felt real anymore. Keisha turned around and gave Dwayne a strange look, but he just squeezed my arm tight. Then he walked out, pulling the door shut behind him.

“What was that all about?” Keisha asked.

“Guess he can tell I've been upset lately.”

Keisha nodded. “Forget about your stupid father,” she
said. “It's not your fault he did something terrible. No one blames
y
ou
for it.”

But Keisha was completely and utterly wrong. For the first time, I understood why my mother had kept the truth from me for all these years.

And I hated her and loved her for it all at once.