Bombshells (11 page)

I’m so scared. Where is Mama? Why didn’t she come to the school like she said?

I don’t know what to do. Suddenly, my belly feels like it’s exploding and hot pee floods down my legs. I can’t stop the tears from running down my cheeks.

“Eww. Beatrice peed in her pants.” Debbie Robison points and laughs. “Baby Beatrice peed in her pants.”

I cry harder. “I’m not a baby! I’m not!”

The other kids all laugh and step around me as I stand in the puddle of my own pee. I can’t stand it anymore, so I start to run back to the school. Jimmy yells at me to stop, but I run across the street all by myself. I put my both of my arms, even the heavy one with the cast, straight out to stop the cars just like the safety patrol boys. A car screeches to a stop right beside me and my lunch box clunks against the front of the car. There’s no air in my chest. My heart is beating so hard I think I must be about to die. But I keep running and running.

The second safety patrol boy is in the middle of the road stopping cars. I run through the kids, the other way from them, toward the school. When I get there and see a teacher, I’ll have to say those baby words:
I’m lost.

But what if all the teachers are gone? Don’t they go home when we do? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know how to get home.

FLOSSIE

Miz Adams told me to wait for Birdie in front of the school office. Well, I’m standin’ here and there’s hardly any children around. The teachers are locking the classroom doors and heading my way, I guess to check out and head home. Should I go inside and ask about Birdie?

No.

Those teachers are lookin’ at me like I’m gonna pull out a switchblade and cut ’em up where they stand, even though I wore my apron for this walk through a white neighborhood. That should be like a badge sayin’
It’s all right, folks. I’s jess a housekeeper.
But I’m still gettin’ those looks.

Standing up straight and smilin’ at everyone who passes me by, I make sure my hands are in front me, fingers wrapped together, loose and safe.

Then I see her.

Poor little Birdie, runnin’ like a scared rabbit, pumping her arms, the white cast on her arm seeming to weigh her down. She’s headin’ straight towards the school office, her shiny new lunch box bouncing around like a live creature caught in her white-knuckle grasp. She doesn’t even see me. The tears are wet on her face and her eyes are wild with scared.

“Birdie! Birdie, sweet baby. Here. I’m here.”

She slides to a stop in front of me, gulping air into her skinny chest. I’m not sure she sees me, knows who I am.

“Birdie. Birdie. It’s Flossie. Your mama sent me.”

The girl flies into my arms like she is the veriest lost little bird. I pick her up and her little fingers dig into my shoulders like she’s never gonna let go. Her whole body is flutterin’. Poor baby.

It’s then I notice the wet and the stink. Oh, my poor baby girl. She had an accident and wet herself on top of whatever made her so scared.

“Is there something I can do for you?” a white lady dressed in a sharp lookin’ red dress and black high heels says.

“No, ma’am. I’m just here to bring Miss Birdie back home.”

The lady acts like she’s used to being in charge. She must be the principal. She touches Birdie on the shoulder, but Birdie won’t take her face from where she’s buried in my neck. “Birdie? Is that your name?”

Sweet baby girl nods into my shoulder.

“And do you know this woman?”

Again, Birdie nods.

“I work for the girl’s mama. She couldn’t come to school this afternoon because she’s expectin’ and was feelin’ poorly.”

“All right. Is the girl okay?”

“I don’t rightly know, ma’am. She seems scared, and she had a little accident. She came running toward the school from the other direction.”

“First day frights. Happens every year, I’m afraid. You can go ahead and take her home.” The lady principal opens the door to the office and walks in, leaving us standing there on the sidewalk.

“Let’s get you cleaned up a little bit, sweet baby.” I open the office door myself and walk in. The same lady is standing beside a desk, looking through some papers. The nameplate says Principal McKinney.

“Yes?” Principal McKinney asks.

“Could I clean Miss Birdie up before we go home to her mama?”

The principal wrinkles her nose and nods. “I’ll call the janitor and see if she can help you.” She picks up a microphone and speaks into it. “Jestine. Jestine. Come to the office please.”

After a few minutes, a short, round colored woman wearing blue pants and shirt with her name sewn on it comes through the door, pushing a mop bucket. “Yes’m?”

The high-heeled lady glares at us through her black-rimmed eyeglasses. “Jestine, can you help this child get cleaned up? She had an accident on the way home.”

Jestine makes eye contact with me, and we say lots with no words. “Yes’m. Y’all come on with me. We’ll get things right, quick like.”

Outside, Jestine reaches over and pats Birdie on the back. “’S okay. We’ll take care of you, honey.”

“Much obliged, Jestine. I’m Flossie and this here’s Birdie Adams.”

Jestine leads us to the janitor’s room in the rear of the cafeteria. The smells of bleach and sour milk ’bout slap me down as we walk across the still-wet tiles to the open door in the back.

Inside is a big sink and faucet for filling mop buckets. Jestine turns on the hot water and reaches up on the shelf for a big bar of Ivory soap. “Can’t use nothing but Ivory on my hands. They get burned so bad from the bleach and all. It’ll be good for this little girl’s behind.”

Birdie starts to cry again. “I didn’t mean to. I tried to get home, but I got lost. This girl, Debbie, took me the wrong way and I got lost. Where is Mama? She didn’t come.”

I untie Birdie’s oxfords and roll away the wet socks from her feet. “It’s okay, Baby. Your mama is fine. She just didn’t feel like she could make the walk. She’s fine, though. Don’t you worry.”

“Are you gonna give me a bath in that sink, Flossie?”

“We’re just gonna pretty you up afore we go see your mama. That all right with you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Birdie puts her sweaty hands on both sides of my face and makes me look at her. The edge of her cast feels rough on my cheek. “Thank you, Flossie. I tried all day to be like Mellie. I was a good girl until the very end when Mama didn’t come.” The tears well up in her eyes again.

I have to look away so she can’t see my eyes fillin’ with water. “I know you did, baby girl.”

Jestine hands me a sparklin’ white washrag and a worn towel. From a box on the shelf she tugs out a pair of white drawers. “I collects a few things for the chil’run. They’s clean, don’t worry.”

“I’m sure grateful. So’s Miss Birdie. I’ll send something back for you with her.”

“Gotta take care of the little ones. I’ll be out here ’til you get done.”

When I finish washing up Birdie, Jestine walks out of the cafeteria with us. “Again, we’re grateful to you for your help, Jestine. I’ll make sure we send some clothing items for you to keep.”

“Appreciated, I’m sure. Sorry the little girl had to come to the janitor closet. If her mama had been with her, she’d a been able to go in the clinic. But the nurse don’t keep no clean drawers in there. I don’t understand it, myself.”

“Hardly anythin’ makes sense.” I squeeze Birdie’s hand to reassure her.

Jestine walks on toward the office, pushing her mop bucket and whistling between her teeth. Birdie and me walk home. The neighborhood is noisy with kids runnin’ and playin’, workin’ off all that energy left over from a long school day.

Birdie doesn’t say a word. And she doesn’t let a-loose of my hand until we step onto her concrete driveway. Then she flies to the house.

When I walk in, Miz Adams has Birdie in her arms and they’s rockin’ back and forth. Birdie’s story spills out in jumbled words and sobs. Miz Adams looks at me with tears in her eyes.

“Thank you, Flossie. Thank you.”

A little choked up myself, I nod, then pull out my kerchief to mop the sweat off my face.

“There’s some iced tea on the counter for you. I thought you’d be hot and thirsty when you got home.”

“Why thank you, Miz Adams. I appreciate it. It was a little warm walkin’ home, wasn’t it, Miss Birdie?”

MELANIE

The walk home from the bus stop is long and hot and chatty. At least Steph is chatty. I don’t have much to say at all. Honestly, it’s a relief to tell Steph good-bye at her driveway and walk the rest of the way home by myself.

Sometimes I have to be alone. I need to be able to hear the voice in my head instead of other people talking all the time. When I’m alone, I can sort things out better, and I have a lot to sort.

How does Steph expect me to get someone to kiss me, let alone do it in three weeks? And who?

Robert? In my dreams.

Things are changing real fast. I have this feeling that nothing is going to be the same for me.

I’ve got to face this change on my own, I think. I might be completely on my own if Stephanie keeps heading the way she’s going.

Stolen make-up? Buzz is cute? We have to get a kiss whether we want one or not? I’m just not sure about Steph anymore. And that makes me not sure about
myself
anymore.

A jet roars overhead, stealing my breath and ripping the air with sound, leaving a long white scar in the sky.

When my breath comes back to me, I focus on putting on a happy face for Mama.

My house is quiet and the fan is bouncing hot air around the living room. Mama and Birdie are sitting at the dining room table while Flossie stands at the kitchen sink, washing dishes.

Birdie looks up. Her eyes are red and swollen. Her first day of school must have been even worse than mine. Poor Birdie. It must have been really awful.

Mama smiles, but it looks like she’s working really hard to do it. “How was your day, Mellie?”

“Oh, pretty good, I guess.” I hope she can’t see the little white lie I’m telling. Okay, a big fat lie, but it doesn’t look like Mama or Birdie can handle any more bad news. I put my notebook on the table. “Birdie, how was your day?”

Birdie looks away from me, and shrugs. She doesn’t say a word, while Mama wraps her arms around her.

“Birdie’s fine. She likes her teacher, and she didn’t get into trouble at all. The only problem she had was getting a bit lost on the way home, because I couldn’t meet her at the school. When Flossie got there, Birdie had already tried to find her way home and had run back to the school, scared.”

Mama hugs Birdie again, and I can tell Mama feels like it is all her fault.

Flossie comes in from the kitchen and hands me a glass of iced tea, cold and dripping. I gulp it down, like I hadn’t had a drink all day long. A carton of milk and a few sips at a water fountain aren’t a lot to drink, now that I think about it.

“I just couldn’t make it today, and the baby will be here soon, so Birdie will have to be able to go back and forth to school on her own. We’ve been working on a plan, haven’t we?” Mama gave Birdie a squeeze and special smile.

I go to pour myself some more tea. “What’s the plan?”

“We drew a map for me to carry.” Birdie holds up a piece of notebook paper with lines and names and dots.

“And I’ve got a special job for you, Mellie.” Mama grabs the empty mayonnaise jar sitting beside her on the table. “You’re going to paint some dots on the road for Birdie to follow.”

“On the road?” Birdie asks with big eyes. “Mama, are you sure that’s not against the law?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t really care. This is how I’m going to make sure you’re safe, Birdie.”

“She could just walk with the other kids who live on the street,” I say. “They’d look out for her.”

Shaking her head, Mama thumps her palm down on the table. “Birdie is not going to depend on anyone else to find her way home. These dots will help her for a few days, and then she’ll know her way around.”

I know this look of Mama’s and realize that no matter how I protest, it’s no use. Just like I got a home permanent I didn’t want, I’m going to paint dots on the road. What will my friends think when they see me painting dots on the road all the way to the elementary school? That’s five blocks away. And it’s hot. And I already feel like I’m part of the freak show at school.

Maybe there’s still a little hope. “But we don’t have any paint, do we?”

“We have some house paint in the utility closet. While you change your clothes, I’m going to fill up a jar. You don’t have to use a paintbrush, just pour out a circle of paint and let Birdie step in it to make footsteps across the street. I drew it all out for you on the map.” She hands the paper to me.

Sure enough, she’s drawn the streets and crossings, all with a big circle at the intersection and footsteps going across and pointing in the direction Birdie needs to go. While I don’t want to be out making paint circles and footsteps on the road, I have to admit it’s a good idea.