Street Love (4 page)

Miss Ruby has probably always been

Bigger than she needed to be

Square shouldered, skin dark and dry

As the black field dirt she came from

Wide hipped, wide lipped

Dried hard in the bitter Georgia sun

Somewhere along the hardscrabble road

Somewhere between the Left Alone

Blues and the One Room

Bathroom down the hall

The almost saved daughter

Of Sunrise Baptist Tabernacle

Hardened. One day the music

Was loud enough and the

Rhythm strong enough to

Push her too far into the Night

To ever turn back.

She is my flesh and blood,

Big boned as I am big boned

Uncomfortable in

Her skin.

Now she lives in shadow and memory

Her mind a cluttered shelf

In a narrow hallway closet

Her life is a tattered volume of fading

Photos, brown edged and crumbling

Some hopelessly stuck together

In her quiet times, between the pain

Of her newfound wilderness and the

Rage of not knowing who she is

She sorts the pictures, putting faces

With times, times with places

Sometimes, away from the girls who

People her life, she cries in the darkness

Thin shoulders, no longer straining

Against the twisted bra straps

Hunch forward. Dark hands twist

Her half-empty cup

Nervously as she waits for the silence

To stop its threats

For the talking to start the day.

“Morning, Miss Ruby.”

“Go on, child.”

“How you feeling today?”

“You know, there ain’t no need complaining.”

“You want some eggs?”

“They were all right.”

“You didn’t have any eggs yet, Miss Ruby. I’ll make

you some.”

“You’re so sweet, Kitty.”

“Junice, Miss Ruby. I’m Junice.”

“Roxanne, where you headed?” Damien asks.

“To the Computer Lab to see

If any He-males are sending

E-mails my way. Where are you going?”

“To the office to check out the yearbook

Pictures.”

“Well, aren’t you the busy one,” Roxanne says,

“And by the way—Colson asked me to

The Charity Jam—something about

Homeless Asians, or Hurricanes—is there

A war in Angola? Or is that a prison?

Anyway, you’ve been so busy

Too busy for dances, I’m sure. Mother was

Surprised because she took it

For granted that you and I would be—

Well, you know how mothers are,

Taking things for granted and Cynthia

Said she saw you talking to that girl

Hummis, or Loomis, something like

That and don’t they have such

Interesting names and did I hear her

Mother was a drug dealer—Oh, I guess that’s

What you do when you get hot

Or is it ghe-tto. If you’re not too busy

You should take her to

The Charity Jam. I’m sure she’d fit

Right in. Don’t you think so?”

Hello, Junice?

No, Damien Battle, Kevin’s friend

We spoke just the other day, remember

In the principal’s office. Yeah. Yeah.

Wondering if you were busy Friday

There’s this dance at a club downtown, not hip

But good for a laugh, something new to do

Could you? Could we? I don’t know. Are you free?

It could be fun. Something to do. You and me.

Damien, it’s good to hear from you

Friday, no, I can’t.

I have to babysit. You called so late

Perhaps some other time. It sounds all right.

But I thought you and Roxanne were tight

She seems more your type. Nothing personal.

And I’m glad you called and everything

But right now I’m a bit unglued

I love to dance, but not right now

I’m not really in the mood

Roxanne and I are friends, there’s nothing more

Our folks go back, you know how that thing goes

But, hey, you want to stop at the coffee shop

I’m thinking of taking over the world, and I can

Use some advice.

Why am I holding my breath?

She’s said “yes,” why am I nervous?

How are things with you, He asked

You don’t know? She responded

I’ve heard, He said

What? She asked.

That you are bruised, that there are tender spots in

Your life

There are no tender spots, She said, No bruises,

She protested

(She put two teaspoons of sugar

Into her coffee, slowly stirring

Only the top)

The coffee used to be 50 cents here

Now it is a dollar, He said.

It’s cleaner now, She said

The coffee is better

There used to be flies, She said

The flies liked the old coffee

He said

Her face flashed with smiling

(She looked away and then back at him

Delighted with his joke

He wanted to delight her again.)

Things change, She said

Her face darkening with her mood

Bruises happen.

Sometimes, He said, it’s hard to know

How to handle things

(Melissa was quiet, but she was thinking

That sometimes words

Danced instead of talked

They bowed and touched

And moved away

Making spaces in the air

Between them

It was hard to know what

Damien and Junice were talking about

Unless you could read the shape

Of the air between

Them. Melissa looked, and guessed

That they liked each other.)

When will I see you again? He asked, reaching for

The bill.

When would you like? She replied

Looking toward the far counter

Friday? He asked.

Okay, She said, with a shrug of one

Shoulder.

I’ll give you my address, she said.

You can come by. I’m

Babysitting you-know-who.

Fine, He said.

(Melissa smiled)

But my crib is just a crib, Junice said No

Home & Garden
stuff, just “do get by”

But if you still want to come,

Then ring the bell

(What am I doing? He’ll take one quick look

And wish he was anywhere else but here

I’m already ashamed of what I think

He will think of me, of the life I lead)

I’ll see you Friday

What sweet surprise have I found in her

That makes me high with gladness?

That makes me want to babble to my lost saints

And count the ways to celebrate her wonder?

I see Melissa softly touch her arm

And I long to speak the language of that touch

The hum and thrum of crosstown traffic sings to her

And I long to scat and jazz that ode of joy

Her smile lifts and lightens me, and I want to fly

My newfound wings slanting to a sky

Ablaze with shimmering brilliance

As I am ablaze and silly and rapt

Why does her look startle me?

I have seen eyes sparkling in a sideways glance

Why do her lips, pouting in a gentle curve

Make my brain reel and my heart dance?

With Junice I am not merely Damien

But something new, a me invented

Each atom of my being alive with feelings

And oh what sweet sensations

The crowded station rattles and shakes

But I am alone on the mountaintop

Naming the creatures of the earth

And this sweet creature, this Junice, I will call Love

He might not show at all, but if he does

I will take his jacket, and ask him to sit

Where will he sit? On the sofa, of course

He’ll look right at me, too polite to stare

At the peeling walls or the faded rug

He’ll ask how I’ve been and I’ll say “Quite well,

Thank you.” Then I will have to sit, but where?

Next to him on the sofa seems too bold

But the window seat is too far away

As if I’m afraid to be close to him

Or being too respectful. That’s not good, either.

Miss Ruby hardly touched her food

And she doesn’t eat at all if I

Put out the good plates. It’s as

If her mind is back to some party

From a hundred years ago.

If Damien brings food I’ll have to sit near him

Melissa will be watching television

And Miss Ruby will be asleep.

I hope she doesn’t snore

I’ll make small talk, something about school

Look at me, telling myself I don’t care

What he thinks yet planning every move

He’ll sit there and I’ll sit here with nothing

Between us except our good intentions.

And he had best bring his good intentions

If this boy thinks I’m easy, some chump chick—

I’ll start my good-byes at the end of hello

Maybe I’ll just meet him at the door

And tell him I’ve changed my mind

And asking him here was just

A mistake, a stumble of the mind

Like when the wrong word comes

From the lips, or a face looks

For a moment familiar but then,

Up close it’s clearly strange.

In a way I resent him,

Sweeping across the desert of my life

With his cooling waters

Letting the blazing whiteness of his

Sails fill the horizon as my arms grow

Weary of the tide. Damien looks at

Me as if he is thirsty

And I want to be a river

He looks at me as if he is hungry

And I want to leap upon his tongue.

He makes me want to write

His name across the lines

On my yellow pad. I write

“Damien loves…” and leave

A space for another name.

Hey girl

You were in bed

And we did have a talk

Or don’t you remember little

Sweetheart?

I know

We talked and all

But can’t I take a peek

He ain’t made of gold or nothing Is he?

No, but

He is special

He does the kind of things

That I wish that he were doing

With me

Junice

That boy has got

All up inside your head

You’re going to be in luv tonight

Big-time

Away!

Back to your bed

You’re talking like a child

It’s Junice I have to handle

Not him

Junice moves uneasily through the room

Her stops punctuated by a soft smile

That sends shivers of delight up my spine

My smile doesn’t fit my face anymore

Clumsily I try to hold the space

She gives me between the yellowed curtains

And the darkly stained table where my legs

Cross and uncross searching out casual

The smell of food cooking in some other

Kitchen reminds me that we share the world

Junice moves uneasily through the room

I speak, and her quick mind catches the thought

And tosses it playfully at my feet

I am eager to laugh and she knows it

I talk nonsense and she nods, I babble

And she babbles back. I am excited

Yes, and afraid to be in her presence

In the faraway next room there are sounds

“Melissa’s watching some kiddie program,”

Junice says. “I bribed her to waste her mind.”

We are dancers, she with bare feet

And dangling bracelets, the native child

Burned by the copper sun

I am the explorer

Discovering that there are two

Sides to the ocean

“Damien, what are you thinking?” she asked.

“I am thinking that I am not thinking.

What are you thinking?”

“I am thinking that I am thinking too much,”

she said.

“Is that good or bad?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, freezing the thought

I stood and put my arms around her

She put her head against my chest

In the long moment that followed

It was impossible to breathe

Too difficult to speak

We were rapt in each other

For a handful of heartbeats

Until, embarrassed, she pushed me away

We had shared more

Than we knew possible

Then I was standing, jacket in hand, at the door

Awkwardly we faced and wondered if Could

Would turn to Yes, her fingertips kissed

My face. My lips barely parted and quickly

Closed.

Down the stairs, and into the cool night

A half-moon floated

High above the jutting chimneys

Perhaps there were two moons

Perhaps a dozen