Keesha's House (4 page)

it's hard. Lord, give me strength to carry all

the burdens people tryin' to put on me.

CAN'T RISK TAKING ANY ACTION     
MR. HYDE (ASSISTANT PRINCIPAL)

I got a student complaint this afternoon.

A Harris Murphy claims he was harassed.

Note in his locker, incident in the lunchroom

involving Bradley Smith. We could get slapped

with a lawsuit, either way we go.

Brad's mother is a lawyer. I can't risk

taking any action until I know

the facts. This isn't drugs, where we can frisk

the suspect, search for evidence. I

gave the boy a pamphlet. My advice:

Gain some weight. Consider what you wear.

Stand up and look the bully in the eye.

I told him:
You're too young to make this choice.

Just wait. There's lots of pretty girls out there.

NOT MUCH I CAN DO     
MRS. GOLDSTEIN (KATIE'S ENGLISH TEACHER)

Katie used to be among the best

students in my sophomore honors class.

Her work was careful, A's on every test,

good writer, conscientious. For the last

few weeks, or maybe months—when did this start?—

her grades have fallen, first to C's, now D's.

She's not doing the reading; there's no heart

behind her writing. She's in class, but she's

half asleep, and when I ask her to stay

after school, she says sorry, she can't,

she has to be at work by three o'clock.

She didn't turn her paper in today.

It's half her midterm grade. I guess I'll grant

her extra time. She doesn't want to talk.

PART IV

THE DEEP END

ACROSS WHATEVER SECRET     
STEPHIE

Keesha found me crying in the doughnut shop across

the street from where she lives. I was sitting there alone

late Friday night.
Stephie, is that you?

She sat down in the booth with me. The doughnut shop

was almost empty, just one old man and me. It stays

open all night long, and it seemed safe, but I was getting kind

of nervous. Keesha's face looks hard sometimes, but she's kind-

hearted. Her eyes can look right through you. Straight across

whatever secret you might carry, she follows and stays

with you. I must have felt a little more alone

than I admitted, because when she sat down, the doughnut shop

seemed brighter. My words just simmered up. I said,
You

won't tell anyone, will you?

She looked at me and shook her head, kind

of like nothing is a secret. She told me,
There's a shop

that sells used baby stuff, two blocks down from here, across

from Pizza Hut.
I knew about it. I'd gone in there alone

the day before, thinking, if this baby stays

with me, how will I take care of it? Keesha stayed

and talked (well, listened) for two hours. When I asked,
Where do you

live?
she brought me here. She lives here alone,

I mean no parents; the kids who live here kind

of fend for themselves, I guess. A room across

from Keesha's is empty, sort of. A guy set up a shop

to make jewelry out of colored wire, and in one corner of the shop

there's a bed. Keesha said,
No one stays

here right now; you can use that bed.
Across

the street, people were fighting, a woman was yelling,
You

bastard!
I pulled down the shade, tried not to hear. That kind

of thing, these days, makes me throw up. Keesha left me alone

and I kept thinking, Can I raise a child alone?

Do my homework every night and then go out to shop

for formula and Pampers? What kind

of mother would I be? Not one that stays

home and sings lullabies, that's for sure. Not someone you

would trust to guide a child across

the kind of world I see out there. You

can't shop for what you really need: patience, strength, a man who stays

with you. Can I even get
myself
across the years ahead? Alone?

HOME COURT     
JASON

It's like I'm playing forward for one team

and guard for the other

in the final quarter of the last

game of the season. I want two things

at once—Stephie safe, back home,

trusting me like before,

and my name in the sports page headlines. Before

the game today, some of the guys on the team

helped make missing-person posters. Stephie's brother took them home

and her mom and dad and a bunch of other

people put them up. It's one of those things

where if she is okay, she'll be embarrassed, but the last

thing anyone wants is another story like the one last

year, where a girl was missing for two weeks before

anyone reported her, and then they found her body in the river. Things

like that can happen, and I'm scared. Coach said the team

could play without me if there were other

things I had to do tonight, but it's the last home

game of the season, and what could I do at home

besides wait for a call that probably won't come? In last

week's game, I messed up bad. I want another

chance to get it right before

the tournament. We've got the best team

the school's had in ten years—big things

could be ahead for us. And for me, next year. Things

I'll have to turn my back on if I stay home

with Stephie. Stay home and watch ESPN, watch the team

I could have been on, knowing I missed the last

chance I had to make it big. Sometimes before

I take a shot, all the cheering and other

sounds on the court fade out. It's like I'm in some other

place where everything

is clear and silent. When that happens, especially before

a free throw, I know I'll sink the shot. It only happens on the home

court, and the moment never lasts,

but how can I describe it? It's like the two teams

are playing
with
each other, not against, like it's home

court for everyone, and everything's okay. I used to feel (before

this baby) like Steph and I were on one team. Could that feeling last?

THE RIVER     
KEESHA

So. That's that. Stephanie runs

off; her parents search until they find her,

bring her home; everyone lives happily ever after, I guess.

So much fuss about one girl. Of course I'm glad

she has a home, a brother, parents

that want her there. Whatever.

Good for Stephie. She'll be fine, whatever

happens with the baby. If she runs

into trouble, her boyfriend or her parents

will be there to help her out. This morning, when she called her

family and they came to get her, they were all so glad

to see each other. I stood back and watched. I could've guessed

it'd be exactly like this. I'm glad she's gone. Now I guess

I can get my homework done, and whatever

else I got to do today. I should be glad

(I
am
glad) I got a bed. Not every kid that runs

off is so lucky. Like that one girl that used to roll her

blankets out under the Fourth Street Bridge. I never saw no parents

look for her. No missing-person posters. Oh well. Who needs parents?

Only—sometimes, like today I guess,

I think about that girl, how no one seemed to notice her

or come and take her someplace safe. It was like, whatever

happens, happens. The river running

under that bridge still sings its glad

and endless song, whether that girl is there or not. I'm glad

I found Stephie Friday night. Before she left today, I said,
If your parents

ask about me, just say the simple truth: I'm a girl that runs

track with you. Don't tell them how I live.
I guess

I'd rather stick with what I got than take my chances on whatever

someone else might think is good for me. Some caseworker with all her

rules and regulations. I don't need her

stickin' her nose in my business. I'd be glad,

though, if I thought my father asked, just once,
Whatever

happened to Keesha?
Tried to find out where I'm at, like parents

are supposed to! Tobias knows I'm here, and I guess

if anybody asked, he'd tell them. Now I see he runs

with older kids. They're prob'ly glad he doesn't have strict parents.

Whatever they want from him, he'll do it. If Mama was alive, I guess

her heart would break. But me, I'm strong—no tears run down my face.

LOW-KEY, KEEPIN' QUIET     
DONTAY

I thought I could chill at Carmen's house a couple

nights—her grandmama's usually cookin' up

some food. There's always kids and good times

over there. So I stopped by, but it was quiet—

just two of Carmen's little cousins playin'

while her grandmama was talkin' on the phone.

When she got off the phone,

she told me Carmen got locked up a couple

days ago. She said,
This time it's serious, they ain't playin'

with her now.
I asked when Carmen's court date was comin' up,

but she didn't say. She was bein' quiet,

the way old folks do sometimes

when they be really mad. Might be times

she blamin' me for Carmen's troubles. I wish I could phone

Carmen, but there ain't no way. I found a quiet

place in the downtown library, spent a couple

hours there, then came over here to see what's up

at Jermaine and Dan's. New CD's playin'

on the boom box; some girls come over; everybody playin'

'round, just chillin'. It's a good time

over here tonight; things lookin' up

for me. Jermaine got on the cordless,

called out for pizza. Dan has a couple

six-packs, and everybody feelin' pretty good. Just a quiet

group of friends together on a quiet

night. I'm tryin' to stay out of trouble, playin'

it safe, hopin' Mrs. Mason gonna get a couple

extra kids so they'll take up her time

and she'll forget about me. Every time I hear a phone

ring, I wonder if she's tracked me down, settin' up

another placement for me, or maybe makin' up

a mess of trouble, listin' all my problems in her quiet

voice, then gettin' on her cell phone,

callin' some authority or other. I'm through playin'

'round with all that drama. It's too many times

now she takes me out to meet some
nice couple
,

tries to cheer me up with all her talk about good family times.

Couple weeks or months go by, phone rings again,

I'm on my way. Nope. I'm playin' this low-key, keepin' quiet.

MY INSIDE SELF     
CARMEN

You wanna know, for real, what keeps me alive

in here? They try to think of everything

so you can't kill yourself—Velcro shoes

instead of laces, special bags for sleepin'

so you can't make a rope out of your sheets,

and that little camera in the corner

starin' at you, seems like into every corner

of your thoughts. They think I stay alive

just 'cause they make me. I could fill a hundred sheets

of paper if I wrote down everything

they do to keep us in control, awake or sleepin'.

But it ain't that. I wake up every day, put on the shoes

they gave me, and think about the day I'll get my own shoes

back. I get way back in a corner

while my roommate's still sleepin',

and I can just see out the window. I stay alive

by lookin' hard at one tree branch. I watch everything

that happens on that branch. One day last week, sheets

of ice covered every inch of it. Sun on those ice sheets

was shinin' like glass, and I remembered those shoes

Cinderella wore. You know how in that story, everything

turns out okay when she comes out from her corner

and that glass slipper fits her? Sometimes I stay alive

by thinkin' of those stories. Rapunzel, Sleeping

Beauty. (The tangled branches in front of Sleeping

Beauty's castle—remember those? Asleep between her sheets,

almost dead, but then the girl comes back alive.)

I know they all just stories. I sure ain't got no glass shoes,

or any prince to find me in a corner,

get me out. It's just that sometimes, everything

in here makes me feel dead, and everything

alive is someplace else. Instead of sleepin'

off the hours and days, I find some corner

of my mind to keep alive. They give us two sheets

of paper, once a week, for letters, and I treat them like new shoes

to take me where I want to go. I write things down to keep my inside self alive.

Last night I dreamed a little squirrel was sleepin' in my shoe

in a corner of my room at Grandmama's. There was sheets

of colored light on everything. Me, Grandmama, and the squirrel was all alive.

I DON'T CALL THIS STEALING     
HARRIS

I need a sleeping bag and a change of clothes.