Skin I'm in, The (13 page)
The last step is the worse. It creaks the loudest. I walk right on past Momma’s room. Then the phone rings. Rings louder than I ever heard before. And here I am, standing in the hall, right next to Momma’s bedroom.
I hurry up and get in my room. I grab hold of the phone and peel off my clothes at the same time.
″Your momma up, girl?″ Miss Jackson says.
Oh my God, I think, kicking my clothes under the bed. Big-mouth Jackson seen everything.
″No, Miss Jackson, Momma’s knocked out asleep. Better call back later,″ I say.
Momma comes out of nowhere. ″How am I gonna sleep with all this racket,″ she says, scaring me so bad I almost drop the phone.
I swallow hard.
″Is that phone for me?″
Momma grabs the phone and starts fussing with Miss Jackson. Miss Jackson can’t hear too good, so Momma is yelling. It sounds like Momma promised to take her to the doctor on her day off tomorrow. Miss Jackson’s got the wrong day, and wants Momma to take her this morning. But Momma tells her she’s working today. They start to argue. Momma’s talking to me and Miss Jackson at the same time.
″Turn over and go back to sleep,″ Momma says to me, fixing my covers.
I turn over and promise God that if he gets me out of this mess I will never do anything like this again.
Momma starts to say something else to me, but she’s too busy arguing with Miss Jackson.
MOMMA FOUND OUT WHAT I DONE
. I ain’t never gonna get off punishment. That’s what Momma says. She whopped me all the way from the school security guard’s office to our house. I got suspended at school. Every time Momma thought about that, she whopped me again. I was so embarrassed.
Momma never hit me before, not till today. Momma can’t hardly talk or look at me. She’s been crying all day. She doesn’t even go to work, play the numbers, or look at the stocks. She just talks to the neighbors and cries. I stay upstairs as long as I can. When my stomach starts hurting, I head downstairs to get something to eat.
″You want some of my tea?″ Momma asks. ″I didn’t drink it yet.″ She pushes her cup over to me, and sits there a while, rubbing my hands with her warm, soft fingers. We both start crying.
″I didn’t mean for it to happen, Momma,″ I say.
″Shhh,″ she says. Then she comes over to me and holds me in her arms and rocks me like she did when I was little. ″Maleeka, I been thinking all day how to undo what you done. How to pay the school back. How to get you to tell me who put you up to this. Look at my arms,″ she says, rolling up her dress sleeves. They’re covered with tiny red bumps. So is her neck and one of her ears. Tiny bumps break out on every part of Momma’s body when her nerves get the best of her. Most times, I put lotion on them to make them stop itching.
″I been thinking all day. Trying to figure out how to raise two thousand dollars to pay for the damages. The more I thought about it, the more I broke out in bumps,″ she says, scratching. Then, she goes on. She talks so calm and peaceful. She says she realizes that I’m not gonna learn nothing from her trying to save me. ″You gotta think that you worth saving, baby. Gotta realize that who you are is all you got.″
Momma says that she believes that someone as smart as me can figure her way out of this mess, no matter how big it is. Me, I’m scared to death. I’m begging Momma not to do this to me. I’m crying, wiping snot and tears away. I’m following Momma out of the kitchen, asking her to talk to the teachers and make this thing right again. But Momma ain’t having it. She turns on the hallway light and heads upstairs.
I try not to cry, but I can’t help it. Momma ain’t being fair. I want to remind her that when Daddy died,
I
was there for
her.
How come she can’t be here for me now? But when Momma makes up her mind, there ain’t no use in trying to change it. Two thousand dollars. She knows I can’t get money like that.
I’m thinking about how I can make me some money. But before I can think on it too much, the phone rings. It’s Charlese. She wants to know if I told on her. ″No,″ I say, ″but that don’t mean I ain’t gonna.″
″Maleeka, hang up that phone. You know you on restriction,″ Momma says, from the bathroom.
″All right, Momma,″ I call, acting like I’m hanging up. I lower my voice and tell Char I got to go. But she keeps on talking.
″I can’t get in no more trouble,″ she says. ″Last time I cut the roof on that teacher’s car, they said I would be expelled from school if I did anything like that again.″
″Well, I’m already suspended,″ I say. ″Why should I get in trouble by myself? I said we should leave the school. Why didn’t you listen?″ I say. What I want to tell Char is, so what if she gets kicked out of school. She’s too old for seventh grade anyhow. But I don’t say nothing. Char’s sister JuJu is gonna pay her four hundred dollars if she gets herself through seventh grade this time. Char don’t want to lose that kind of cash. No way.
Char admits that she should have listened to me, but it’s too late now. She just wants to know if she can count on me keeping my mouth shut. If I do, she says, she will bring me even better clothes to wear.
I don’t know what to do. Ain’t no need for all of us to get in trouble. Bad enough I got caught. ″Y’all gonna help me pay this money back?″ I ask.
″Yeah. We got your back, girlfriend,″ Char says. Then, ″So you won’t tell? We in the clear? The twins and me?″ she asks before she hangs up.
Char knows me. She knows that she can trust me to keep quiet. Not to squeal. ″Yeah, y’all in the clear, as long as you help pay back the cash,″ I tell her.
Char says she will talk to the twins tomorrow at school. She’ll call me later and let me know what they say. Then Char says, ″You’re my girl, Maleeka. I knew I could count on you.″
Dear Diary:
Remember the acorn. Even when you don’t see it growing, it’s pushing past the dirt. Reaching for the sun. Growing stronger.
—Maleeka
I look at the words on that paper. They sound good all right. But are they true? I don’t feel no stronger or braver today than I did a few weeks back. This is stupid, I think, grabbing hold of the page and ripping it out the diary. Then I ball that mess up and throw it in the trash can.
MOMMA’S MAKING ME GO TO SAM’S
store around the corner, even though he ain’t never got half the stuff Momma needs or wants. I think she’s doing it on purpose, to embarrass me. She just needs some eggs and a slab of bacon for breakfast, she says. Yeah, right.
I tell her I will get Sweets to go with me. Momma says forget about it. She wants only me to go and then come right back home, and not take my own sweet time getting back.
When I go outside, everybody’s on their front stoops. Kids, mothers, fathers, cousins. And it seems like everybody’s out there to ask me what happened and why a smart girl like me didn’t know any better. When I get around the corner and see John-John’s face, I know the day can’t do nothing but get worse.
″Oooh,″ he says, strutting across the street like he’s cool. ″You did it now. They ain’t letting you back in school, are they?″
John-John’s smiling. He’s happy as can be. The worse things are for me, the better some folks like it. John-John’s one of those people.
I keep on stepping and counting cracks in the sidewalk while I walk. John-John offers me some gum. No way am I taking anything from him.
″’Least you’re keeping your mouth shut,″ he says, chewing on the gum. ″Squealing on your friends ain’t even cool.″
I stop walking and stare him down. ″Ain’t nobody to squeal on. I done it by myself.″
″You don’t have the guts,″ he says. ″They got the right person to pin it on, too. We all know you don’t have guts enough to tell.″
Me and John-John are walking to the store side by side. I ain’t talking, ain’t even looking at him. Just walking. Eyes down. Legs pumping. Brain busy thinking about all the mess I’m in. So I don’t see some boys coming. They just show up all of a sudden. Crowding in on me and John-John, blocking out the sun with their big selves.
They’re after John-John. They say his big mouth got one of them busted for shoplifting. Next thing I know, they’re whopping down on John-John. I’m screaming in my head but nothing’s coming out of my mouth. John-John’s little short arms are stretched out, and his hands are balled up, and he’s hitting back as best he can. But there’s still three against one. John-John’s losing, big time.
Nobody on the street is doing nothing to help him. They’re just watching. John-John’s already got a busted lip. His left eye is swollen and water, maybe tears, is running out of the right one. I’m standing there shaking my hands and arms like I’m fanning myself dry.
John-John falls to the ground and covers his head with his arms. Those boys are stomping John-John good. Finally, I find my voice. I yell for somebody to call the cops. But folks just stare. I yell some more. Somebody runs inside their house.
Blood. I see blood. John-John, he ain’t saying nothing. Ain’t moving either. All of a sudden I’m remembering how those other boys messed with me on that day after JuJu’s party, and all of a sudden it’s like my body’s taking orders from somebody else. I’m running across the street, and reaching into some overgrown bushes in front of the house on the corner. I’m pulling and pulling on one of them branches to make me a good switch. I break a few branches loose and run my hand up and down them to get the leaves off. Then I go back to John-John.
One of them boys is looking at me, daring me to use the branches. My heart, it’s hurting my chest. Hurting it bad. My hands are burning from yanking and peeling back them leaves. My throat is so dry it’s burning too. John-John, he’s laying there still getting beat. Next thing I know, I’m hitting them boys. The first boy that I hit yells like a baby. His arm swells up quick. He gets himself off John-John fast and comes for me. I keep swinging. Swinging and sweating and praying for the police to come. I hear their siren getting closer.
Them next two boys are off John-John now, and all of them are coming for me. Coming. I drop that switch and I close my eyes. One boy’s got his hands around my arm and squeezing it, the other ones is cursing me good. I’m praying as hard as I can them police get here now. Only I don’t hear no siren no more. They gone to somebody else’s house, I think. Gone and left me here to die.
Them boys saying they’re gonna beat me worse than they beat John-John. I ain’t saying nothing. My eyes are closed and pee is about to pour outta me like water. Then I hear some other people talking. Grown-ups. All of a sudden I hear a pop. And a slap. And them boys let me loose and start running. When I open my eyes, they’re halfway down the block. And Caleb’s standing there. Him and his momma and a whole bunch of grown-ups from the block. It seems like they come right outta thin air.
″Ain’t gonna have no girls being beat half to death, not round here,″ some old man says.
They got brooms and bats and a shovel. Caleb, he’s helping John-John up, telling him he can come in his house and get cleaned up. John-John looks a mess, but he’s gonna be all right. Caleb’s momma asks if I’m OK, if I want to come on inside. ″No,″ I say. I have to go home and let Momma know what happened. I don’t say nothing to Caleb. I just give him a weak smile. Me, I’m feeling lucky he came along like he did.
John-John’s always talking about how black I am. Well, I’m still the blackest thing in school, and it was me that saved his butt today. People are helping John-John inside Caleb’s house, like he’s some baby learning to walk. I take myself home.
I don’t have to tell Momma much, the story gets to her before I walk in the door. She says she was just about to come for me. She makes me tell her the story three times before she lets me go to my room. After I’m there a while, Momma knocks on my door.
″A letter just came for you. It’s from the library. You owe them money?″ she asks softly.
I push open the bedroom door before Momma says another word. I snatch the envelope out of her hands.
Dear Ms. Madison:
Congratulations! The third annual Young Writers Committee at the Martin Malcolm Library is pleased to announce you as the winner of this year’s contest.
I show Momma the letter. The letter goes on and on about how many people entered, and how they’re gonna put my writing on display in the library lobby for a whole month.
I stand there awhile fingering the puffed-up gold letters at the top of the page and reading the letter over and over again.
