Indigo Summer (14 page)

Marcus

The
walls seemed to be closing in as I lay there staring at the ceiling in my room, the ceiling fan spinning around in slow motion, the ESPN announcer on my television announcing the score from last night's Falcons game. But I was halfway listening because my chest was aching. I could've sworn I was having a heart attack, but then realized I was just grieving. Grieving for a little boy who didn't deserve to die. He was so full of life, and had so much to look forward to. Why would God allow something like this to happen to a child?

I recognized it as grief because it was similar to the feeling I had when my parents divorced, and the pain I felt when my mother took off in the middle of the night. It was even similar to the hurt I experienced when Pop married Gloria. This pain was similar, but so much stronger than any of those things. The way Beverly cried for her son made me feel helpless. I wished I had words of comfort for her. Wished I could tell her something that would give her hope…something that would change her tears to joy, but I had nothing to offer, except for the stupid look on my face when I said goodbye to her at the hospital. I had no other words for her than that, and that bothered me.

When I told Pop what happened, he and Gloria rushed over to the house to comfort her. Took some food for the family. They asked if I wanted to go, but I didn't feel much like doing anything. Needed to gather my thoughts, regain my composure. That's how I ended up in the center of my full-sized bed, staring at the ceiling fan as its blades spun around and around. At first I was angry. Angry at God for allowing this to happen to Justin. Then I was hurt. Then sad. Then angry again. My emotions seemed to be moving at full speed as if on a roller-coaster ride at Six Flags Over Georgia.

I took a nap, just to see if I could rid my thoughts of Justin and the look on Beverly's face when she discovered her baby was gone, and the way Sasha's eyes were bloodshot when I first saw her in the emergency room. I wanted to rid my thoughts of the Madden video game that still laid on the backseat in my Jeep. The game that Justin would never play. He would never laugh or pop a wheelie on his dirt bike again. That made me angry, and then hurt, then sad and then angry again. A roller coaster of emotions rushing through me, as the walls kept closing in.

It was Christmas Eve, but it felt like D-Day.

Indigo

Christmas
Eve.

My favorite day of the year next to Christmas Day. I always got to open at least one gift on Christmas Eve, and it was like a lottery trying to figure out which package held the best gift. Needless to say, I didn't hit the jackpot, because the one I opened held a pair of socks. My parents were getting to be pretty clever at this gift exchange thing. They had rolled the socks up tightly into a small box so I'd think I was really getting something special, and cracked up at the look of disappointment on my face when I discovered that I'd been had.

“You have to learn to wait, Indi.” Mama was the ringleader and her and Daddy laughed.

Daddy even had the camcorder out, getting footage of me opening the box filled with pink-and-white Nike socks, capturing the look on my face. Even Nana chuckled a little.

“Ha, ha, ha, very funny.” I frowned and set the socks aside. “Nana, I thought you were on my side.”

“I am on your side, baby. But you have to admit, it
was
funny.”

“Can I open another one?” I asked, hoping for another try.

“No,” Mama said. “That's against the rules. One gift on Christmas Eve. That's all you get.”

“I don't know, Carolyn…” Daddy smiled. “It wouldn't hurt to let her open one more.”

“But if we let her open one more, that would go against the tradition.”

“Please Mommy,” I begged. “Just one more.”

“What if you're not happy with that one either?” Mama said. “Then what?”

“Then I'll wait until Christmas morning. I promise.”

Nana sat in the corner of the room, a smile on her face, all leaned back in Daddy's recliner, enjoying every moment of the teasing.

“Okay, Indi. One more. But that's it for the night,” Mama said.

“Thank you, Mommy,” I said, and hugged my mother around the neck.

I made a beeline for the Christmas tree. Picked up a medium-sized box, shook it to see if I could tell what was inside. Observed the faces of the adults in the room, just to see if they would give away what was inside. Their faces were blank. So I slipped that gift back under the tree. I almost went for another small one, remembering that Nana always said that good things come in small packages. But I'd been tricked by a small package that held a pair of socks. So I decided to go for the gusto. Picked up the largest box under the tree that had my name on it. It was huge. And kind of heavy, too. Yes, this was the one. This was the gift of all gifts. It had to be. I didn't waste much time ripping the colorful paper off of the package; tossed it aside. The brown box was plain, no pictures or writing on the outside. I needed something to cut through the tape. This was wrapped pretty good, with the sort of tape that you needed scissors to cut through.

Before I could ask, Mama was handing me a pair of scissors. I looked at her with skeptical eyes as I reached for them. She smiled and winked, as if it was another bogus gift. I didn't care, I wanted to know what was inside, and it wasn't going to open itself. Whether it was a good gift or not, I needed that box opened, and quickly. Suddenly the tape was removed, and the tissue paper was pulled out, piece by piece. I pulled the electronic equipment out of the box, set it on the floor next to me. A stereo! And not just a little boom box like the one I already had, or the portable CD player that I had with the headphones. It was a real stereo; the kind like Daddy had in the family room that he played his jazz CDs on. This was by far, the best gift I'd ever received.

“Can you hook it up, Daddy?” I asked.

“Not tonight, Indi. It's late.”

“Please, Daddy? I want to try my CDs out on it.”

“Fine,” he said. “Let's take it upstairs and see what it sounds like.”

By the time Daddy got the stereo hooked up, Christmas Day was only an hour away. I tuned the stereo to
The Quiet Storm
on V-103 and gave in to my heavy eyelids.

 

At the crack of dawn, loud Christmas music rang through the house. Smells of smoked sausage and onions crept across my nose, and I had to go see what it was. I slid from beneath the covers, tiptoed downstairs. Nana hummed the tune of “Silent Night” as pots and pans rattled in the kitchen.

“Merry Christmas,” I said as I peeked my head in.

“Merry Christmas, baby.” She laughed. “I should've known you would be up early, before the birds.”

“The birds are already up, Nana.” I smiled. “I heard them chirping outside my window.”

“Cute,” she said and touched my nose. “You hungry?”

“A little,” I said. “But I'm more curious than hungry.”

“Go wake up your mama and daddy,” she said. “And then you can terrorize the tree.”

She already knew what I had in mind. Christmas gifts first, then food. In that order. I rushed up the stairs and to my parents' room. I heard my daddy's loud snores before I reached the top of the stairs. I slowly pushed the door opened, peeked inside. They were both knocked out. Mama would be the easiest to wake, so I started working on her first.

“Mama,” I whispered. “Mother.”

Her eyes opened slowly; she was a light sleeper, and smiled at me once she was awake.

“Is it Christmas morning?” she asked.

“Yes, ma'am,” I said, and Daddy turned over, making little grunting noises, and then farted.

I frowned and squeezed my nose. Mama didn't flinch. I guess she was used to it, although she did nudge him a bit.

“Harold. It's Christmas morning and our child is ready to open her gifts,” Mama said.

He just grunted and readjusted in his sleep.

“Daddy,” I called, giving it a shot.

“Harold.” Mama nudged Daddy again. This time he opened his eyes at least.

“Good morning, Daddy,” I said. “Merry Christmas.”

“Who's that child at the door, Carolyn?” he asked teasingly. “Is she lost?”

“It's Christmas morning, Daddy,” I said. “We have gifts to open.”

“Did she even go to sleep last night?” He eyeballed my mother and asked.

“Yes, I slept last night,” I said impatiently. “Now can we go open gifts?”

“We'll meet you downstairs,” Daddy said, and gave me a look that said, “now please go away.”

I did…go away. Shut their door behind me and went back downstairs to give my parents a chance to wash their faces and brush their teeth. But anxiety had the best of me.

After our ritual gift exchange, I rushed upstairs and showered. Ironed the outfit that I'd picked up at the mall the previous weekend, an outfit that had been carefully chosen with Quincy in mind. I'd tried it on at least six times throughout the week and couldn't wait for him to see me in it. From the moment my feet hit the floor that morning, I started counting down the hours until Quincy would arrive. I'd picked him up a jersey from one of the stores at the Underground, a mall in downtown Atlanta. It was the perfect gift, along with the Burberry for Men cologne that I picked up, too, and had them both specially gift-wrapped. After shopping for Quincy, I barely had enough left to buy those house shoes for Daddy, the sweater from Casual Corners for Mama—they were having a holiday sale—and those sterling silver earrings for Nana. They were small gifts, but hey, I'm a teenager without a job. For Jade and Tameka I would catch the after-Christmas sales. They would understand.

Quincy was supposed to visit with his family for most of Christmas day, but promised that he'd make it to my house by early afternoon. I made him commit to three o'clock. I'd barely talked to him on Christmas Eve or the day before because he had out-of-town guests—cousins, uncles and aunts from Pittsburgh. Things had sort of changed between us since Thanksgiving weekend, our second major date. A date that had landed him at my house at seven, tapping on my front door. We ended up at Steak and Shake for burgers and fries. Afterwards, he announced that he needed to drop by his house for a minute, wanted to make sure he'd locked up because his parents were out of town for the weekend.

“Come on in for a minute,” he said, once we pulled into his circular drive.

I followed him inside the huge, two-story house that smelled of fresh paint, and carpet that looked brand-new. It was almost as nice as some of the homes I'd seen on MTV
Cribs,
just not as big. Still carrying my chocolate shake, Quincy showed me around their minimansion. His parents' bedroom looked like a little house all by itself. I dreamed of owning a home like that someday, and having a husband like Quincy to share it with. We'd have two little kids, a boy and a girl, and maybe a Golden Retriever to watch the house while we traveled to the exotic places, like Tahiti, for a vacation.

“What's on your mind?” Quincy asked, after we found ourselves in the downstairs den. I'd plopped down in an oversized chair in the corner of the room. He hit the remote for the television and the surround sound made me feel as if we were at the movie theater.

“Nothing. Just thinking how pretty your house is.”

“It's alright.”

“Your parents must be rich…” I said “…with a house like this.”

“Nah, if they were rich, they wouldn't have to work as hard as they do. This is the first vacation that they have taken in two years,” he said.

“I guess you have to work hard if you want nice things, right?”

“That's what they tell me,” he said and then grabbed my hand. “Come on. Let me show you my castle.”

We trekked upstairs to Quincy's bedroom. It was a huge room, with a tall ceiling. I could put my bedroom inside of his and still have room left over. He had a bathroom right off of his bedroom, with a Jacuzzi tub and separate shower, which he shared with his younger brother, Travis. His room was decorated with a blue-and-green comforter that matched the curtains, and photos of professional football players were carefully organized all over the walls. Some of them were autographed.

“Have a seat.” He sat on his bed and invited me to sit next to him.

I knew it was a good time to suggest that we go catch that movie that we were supposed to be catching. That's where I told my parents I would be. But suddenly the plans had changed, and here I was in Quincy's bedroom, while his parents were away, swapping kisses with him on his full-sized bed.

“Just relax,” he said as his hands began to touch places on my body that I wasn't even aware existed.

His lips found the back of my neck and he planted kisses there too. Before I knew it, my Chicago Bulls sweatshirt, that Uncle Keith had sent me last winter, was over my head and thrown to the floor. Quincy had removed his shirt and thrown it on the floor, too, revealing his bare chest and a small tattoo on his right arm. I was sitting there in my pink sports bra, chill bumps running up and down my arms, my flesh being seen by another human being, other than Nana or my pediatrician, for the very first time. There were girls who would kill to be in Quincy's bedroom with him, all of their clothes thrown on the floor in a pile next to his. But here I was, desperately trying to come up with an escape plan. A way of saying “no” again, even though it would be the death of our three-and-a-half-month relationship. He was oblivious to the butterflies floating around in my stomach as he continued to leave a trail of kisses all the way down my back.

My cell phone vibrated in the pocket of my jeans. It startled me at first, but then I was grateful for the diversion. I reached for it, and Quincy held onto my hand.

“Let it ring,” he whispered and squeezed both my hands.

“I can't,” I said. “I have to see who it is. What if it's my parents?”

He shrugged.

I reached for my cell phone again. This time Quincy was patient, as I pulled it out of my pocket and tried to answer it. It was too late. The call was missed, but I pressed a few buttons and found out that it was Jade.

“Who was it?” He asked.

“My father,” I lied. “He left a message.”

I logged into my voice mail. Entering the password, I listened to Jade's message.

“Hey, big head, it's me. Where are you? You were supposed to call me the minute you got home from your date with Quincy. Are you still out with him, girl? What did you end up wearing? What did he have on? What did y'all go see at the movies? Did he take you to McDonald's to eat or what? What the heck did y'all talk about? Call me. And hurry up!” She asked a million questions, but only one stuck in my head. “Indi, did you give up the booty? Call me.”

“I have to go,” I told Quincy.

“What did he say?” he asked.

“He said that I need to get home right away,” I lied again. “He sounded mad, too.”

“For real?” He asked, rushing to pull his shirt over his head. “Did you do something wrong?”

“Who knows?” I shrugged, and quickly put my sweatshirt back on. “He gets like that sometimes.”