Keesha's House (5 page)

I need some food.

I know where my parents hide the house key

and where they keep $100, in case

of an emergency. I know when they're at work.

And I know my rights.

They don't have the right

to throw me out with just the clothes

I'm wearing. I might not start work

for a couple weeks, and I need food

till I get paid. In this case,

I think two wrongs do make a right. Still, this key

feels wrong somehow.
Calm down. Put the key

in the lock; turn it to the right.

I don't call this stealing, but I have a bad case

of nerves all the same. I'm only taking my own clothes

plus some cereal and cans of food

that my parents should've given me. If Dad came home from work

and caught me here, would he say,
Look, I'm sorry, let's work

this out
, or would he take my car keys

too, so I wouldn't have a place to keep the food

I “steal” from him? I don't know. Right

now, I think I better grab my clothes

and get out fast. King wants me to play. Sorry, boy, it's not a case

of me not having time for you. It's a case

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