Keesha's House Page 4

  where I’d like to take you with me, but it just wouldn’t work.

  It’s hard enough to sleep and change clothes

  in my car; I couldn’t keep a dog. The key

  to making it from one day to the next right

  now is: Keep it simple. Food.

  A sleeping bag. A place to park at night. The food

  has to be easy to eat. I keep it covered, in case

  anyone looks in my car. If I do everything just right

  I can make this work.

  (I hope I get a job.) Okay, where did I put the key?

  I’m out of here. Clothes,

  food, sleeping bag. Pillow, shampoo, towel. Close

  and lock the door. Key right back where I found it.

  Case closed. Go somewhere warm and do my homework.

  THE DEEP END KATIE

  It snowed last night, eight inches deep.

  Keesha knocked and said, No school today,

  so I wrapped my blankets close around me

  and I slept and slept. Every time

  I tried to make myself wake up, something pulled

  me back into the deepest sleep I’ve had for months.

  It was noon when I woke up. I read last month’s

  Teen People, drank some coffee, took a long, deep

  breath, and looked out at the snow. A memory pulled

  me back ten years: it was snowing like today,

  but colder and no wind. When’s the last time

  I felt that safe? Dad bundled me

  up in my purple snowsuit and took me

  sledding on the hill behind our house. It had been months

  since he’d taken any time

  off work, but that day the snow was too deep

  for anyone to drive, deeper than today.

  He sat behind me on our yellow sled and pulled

  me close to his warm chest. We flew together down that hill, pulled

  the sled back to the top. Over and over. To me,

  that memory is like a clear glass marble I can hold today.

  It was that same year, maybe that same month,

  that, as Mom puts it, Dad went off the deep

  end. I didn’t know what she meant the first time

  I heard that. All I could picture was the time

  I jumped in a swimming pool and the lifeguard had to pull

  me out. Mom said, No, Katie, this is the deep

  end! But all that made no sense to me—

  Dad was a good swimmer. Why was he gone for months?

  Why didn’t someone pull him out? Days like today

  when I have time to remember, I understand. Today

  I know what the deep end is, and there are times

  I’m scared I could go off it too. Last month

  when Mom’s husband came in my room and pulled

  me toward him, tried to put his hands all over me,

  I fought back hard. I made four deep

  scratches on his shoulder. I guess I went off the deep end that time,

  and as of today, no one’s pulled

  me out. Sometimes I just want to sleep for months.

  PART V

  WE PASS EACH OTHER

  WE PASS EACH OTHER STEPHIE

  I first met Keesha in seventh grade

  at a citywide field day where we

  competed in long jump and hurdles.

  I thought she could fly! I watched

  her take the hurdles, one at a time,

  like her life depended on clearing each one without touching.

  Or was it that she refused to let anything touch

  her? She won everything in eighth grade

  too, and then in ninth I found out she went to Marshall. When the time

  came to try out for the track team, we

  both made it. She is so determined! I watch

  her practice harder than everyone else and take first in hurdles

  at every meet. Lately, I’ve been thinking about the hurdles

  people face in their lives. It’s like us kids are just touching

  the starting line, with everybody watching

  where we stand in sports and in our grades.

  They measure us against each other, but no one knows what we

  go through to get where we start from. The time

  I spent last month at Keesha’s house, and the time

  talking to Mom since then, make me think about those hurdles—

  those private things that no one knows about. We

  judge people by certain standards that don’t touch

  who they really are. I know I’ll get bad grades

  this term, but what do they say about me? Is anyone watching

  what I’m going through inside? Or are they only watching

  how my body changes, talking about me all the time

  as if they knew me: Terrible, a girl in tenth grade

  having a baby she can’t support. I wonder what hurdles

  they’ve faced. Most of the time, we pass each other without touching.

  I look at people in the halls, kids we

  think are losers, and I think: We

  don’t know them. Everyone is watching

  Jason now to see what he’ll decide about next year. I can’t touch

  whatever is going on with him, no matter how much time

  we spend talking. Is he the one I want to face life’s hurdles

  with? I don’t even know. He gets good grades.

  He’s good at sports. Good-looking. Most of the time, that’s all we

  watch. But how does someone face an unexpected hurdle?

  That touches on what counts. And there’s no grade for that.

  MAKING SURE JASON

  When Stephie’s number showed up on my pager last night

  in the locker room, I was confused.

  It was the first game of the tournament, I was sure

  she’d be there early, and the game was starting

  in less than half an hour. I’d suited up already,

  but I got to a phone and called. Her brother answered.

  Dad took her to the hospital. He couldn’t answer

  any of my questions. That was the beginning of the longest night

  of my life. Three reporters had already

  interviewed me about the big game. I bet they were confused

  when our team came out and I wasn’t in the starting

  lineup. Coach was furious, but I was sure

  I had to be with Stephie—I surprised myself, how sure

  I was. I got there in record time—What’s wrong? She didn’t answer.

  She was crying. Finally she told me, I’m starting

  to bleed. I might lose the baby. I stayed all night,

  holding her hand, not talking much. I’m still a little confused

  by what I learned about myself: I already

  think of myself as a father. The doctor had already

  examined Stephie. He came back in. Are you sure

  you want this child? She was confused

  by that. She couldn’t say. I answered

  to myself, Yes, I do. I want this child. All night

  the bleeding kept stopping and then starting

  again. At 4:20, just when we were starting

  to think she was okay, the doctor came back in. I wasn’t ready

  to hear what he said: The fetus is no longer living. The rest of the night

  everyone was in and out, just making sure

  Stephie was all right. She looked at me and said, I have my answer,

  and then she fell asleep. I was confused

  by that. What answer? Today she told me, I’ve been confused

  about my feelings for you. I was starting

  to wonder if you’re right for me. The answer

  she meant was Yes, you are. She’s home already

  and neither of us is sure

  how we feel about what happened last night.

  Starting last
November, things have gone too fast. Tonight

  we’re both confused by this relief and love and sadness, sure

  of some answers, already facing other questions.

  BURNING KEESHA

  I don’t know what to do.

  Tobias came over here last night with a burn

  on his arm, under his sleeve where it won’t show.

  I thought it was something Dad

  did, and I was about to say, Stay

  here awhile till things cool off at home.

  But, turns out, it didn’t happen at home,

  at least not like I thought. He says all he was trying to do

  was make a little money, and he meant to stay

  away from drugs and gangs. But this burn

  says to me, That won’t be so easy for Tobias. Dad’s

  no help. I wish there was someone to show

  my brother there’s better ways to earn a living. I could show

  him my little paycheck, but I can’t make a home

  for him. People like Jermaine and Dan step in where Dad

  should be. Look, all you gotta do …

  Sounds so easy. You don’t see them getting burned

  when these big guys get greedy. I told Tobias he could stay

  here for a couple days, but he said they’d find out where he stays,

  and before too long they’d show

  up here. Tobias says they told him, Next time, we burn

  your pretty li’l face. They think he’s hiding drugs at home,

  and he says it’s not true. I’ve heard about these guys. They’d do

  what they say, and they’d make sure to come around when Dad’s

  not there. Should I try to talk to Dad?

  Tobias says he’s drinking worse than ever. Just stay

  outta this, Keesha. You don’t hafta do

  nothin’ for me. I’ll be okay. When he tries to show

  that brave face, I see how scared he really is. This home

  I have is nice enough, but it’s not really mine. I bandaged up the burn,

  and Tobias left, looking small and lonely. Now I’m burning

  up inside about his so-called friends, our so-called dad,

  and how my brother doesn’t have the kind of home

  he needs. Say I let him come and stay

  here. Say those guys—or the cops—show

  up. Then what would me and Katie do?

  Not to mention Joe. I’d feel like I burned down the home

  he’s giving us. Joe’s no dad, but he stays steady.

  God, I miss Mama. She’d show us what to do.

  RUNNIN’ OUTTA COUCHES DONTAY

  I’m runnin’ outta couches. Been

  to six places in four weeks. Now

  I’m startin’ over at Jermaine and Dan’s.

  Only trouble is, Dan think I owe

  him somethin’ if I stay here,

  so I been thinkin’ hard.

  I’m hungry and it’s hard

  to say no to the money he talkin’ ’bout. They been

  feedin’ me whenever I come over here.

  Only—I know what I decide now

  I gotta live with. I could end up owin’

  somethin’ I ain’t got, or one of Dan’s

  friends could tell a lie about me. Dan

  won’t stop ’em if they come down on me hard

  like I seen ’em do Tobias, sayin’ he owe

  ’em $300 ’cause they don’t like what he delivered. Tobias ain’t been

  ’round here much since then. Now

  Dan need someone new, and here

  I am. Look, all you gotta do is take this bag from here

  to Seventh Street and bring me back the money. Dan

  make it sound easy, and it look that way now,

  but somethin’ bound to go wrong. It’s harder

  to get outta this than in. I been

  thinkin’ ’bout Dad and Mama, wonderin’ what I owe

  them. One time Dad told me, All you owe

  anyone is, do the best you know how. If he was here,

  what would he say? Him and Mama been

  locked up two years now. If I start helpin’ Dan,

  I could end up inside before they get out. Hard

  to say what I should do. I need money now,

  but somethin’ tells me, run. Right now,

  I’m hungry, but I don’t owe

  nobody nothin’. Tobias told me it gets harder

  once you start that stuff. He gave me an address: Here’s

  a place my sister Keesha stays. Let Dan

  get some other underage to do what I been

  doin’. He’s right. I don’t feel right no more here at Dan

  and Jermaine’s. It’s hard to go somewhere I never been,

  but I’m goin’. I owe Tobias a big favor now.

  SOMETIMES I WONDER CARMEN

  Sometimes it seems like it don’t matter

  if you lie or tell the truth.

  People pick out what they want to believe—

  all you can do is hope they pick

  the things that count. Tomorrow, I finally got my court

  date. So much dependin’ on which judge

  I get and what he’s feelin’ like when I come in. One judge

  knows Grandmama, and that ain’t s’posed to matter,

  but I can tell you, I’ll be glad if he has court

  tomorrow. Grandmama’s been comin’ to see me. She says, Truth

  is easy. You don’t got so much to remember. She picked

  out a nice dress for me to wear: Believe

  me, Carmen, it’s important how you look. I do believe

  that, but there’s a lot about my looks that I can’t change. Judge

  me by my character, like Dr. King said. Well, I can’t pick

  my judge, and I can’t change the facts, or for that matter

  what they think is facts. Truth

  is, I’m part guilty, part innocent, and the court

  decides how to put that together. Last time I had court

  I said I wasn’t drinkin’—only with some kids that was. They believed

  me, and I just got probation. Now this time, truth

  is I did have one beer. I can hear that judge

  already, all stern, sayin’, Young lady, this matter

  before us is serious. I know I gotta start pickin’

  better friends. Anytime someone say, We’ll pick

  you up for a party, I just go along. It shouldn’t take the court

  to make me use more sense. What’s the matter

  with me, anyhow, that I don’t make my own mind up? I believe

  most of the things the judge

  says, but sometimes I wonder, what is the whole truth?

  I know I’m the only one that can tell myself the truth

  and make me listen. If I go home, will I just pick

  up where I left off, or can I change? That’s for the judge

  to decide, I guess. I’m hopin’ I can go home after court

  tomorrow and stay out of trouble. Grandmama believes

  me, that I want to try. She says, Girl, no matter

  what you do, I keep on believin’ in you. She should be a judge

  herself, the way she picks through lies and truth

  and court talk, and comes up with that one thing that matters.

  DO NOT LEAVE CHILDREN UNATTENDED HARRIS

  After school and on weekends I go to the library

  and do my homework or listen

  to music. I brush my teeth, wash my hair,

  and, a couple times a week, I shave. They have

  a private sink in one of the handicap stalls.

  Sometimes I go in the youth section and sign

  up to play computer games. There’s a sign

  in there: DO NOT LEAVE CHILDREN UNATTENDED IN THE LIBRARY.

  I know there’s younger kids than me who use the sink in that stall

  like
I do. I keep my eye on them. I try to listen

  to adults that talk to them, especially in the rest room. Last week, I had

  something creepy happen when I was combing my hair.

  A guy made a comment about my gorgeous red hair,

  which is nothing new. But right after that—the first sign

  of something weird—he asked if he could have

  a picture of me. I got out of there fast. When the library

  was about to close, he left the same time I did. Hey, listen,

  he said, you need a ride somewhere? I said, No, thanks, stalled

  for time until he left. The next day, I came out of the stall

  and he was in the rest room combing his hair.

  He said something to me, but I didn’t stay to listen.

  Now I watch every move he makes. If I ever see a sign

  that he’s messing with one of the kids that hang out in the library,

  I’ll—well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but I know I’d have

  to help. I guess I’d act casual, like I had

  some reason to be there—but I’d stall

  around and eavesdrop till he left the kid alone. The library

  should be a safe place, and if a kid needs a place to comb his hair,

  just let him be. Hey! I finally got a job. I’m going in to sign

  the paperwork this afternoon. I have to listen

  to a tape about dishwashing safety. That’s funny! I’ve listened

  to my mother harp on that stuff all my life. Like—you have

  to scrub the cutting board. Use bleach or boiling water. There’s a sign

  in the rest room—in fact, there’s one in every stall—

  reminding us employees to wash our hands. We have to use hair

  nets if we get anywhere near food. The librarians

  won’t be seeing so much of me now. That’s a good sign. I’ll have

  a bathroom I can use at work, and I’ll just use the library stall

  to wash my hair. I’ll listen to music while it dries.

  WE CAN BOTH SEE KATIE

  1.

  Once in a while, something good happens, and things fall

  into place. I was getting to the point

  where I thought I’d have to quit

  school. I couldn’t afford a car,

  and I didn’t have the time for that long bus ride.

  Then this new guy, Harris, shows up at work.

  I know him a little from school. Freshman year, we worked