“I remember closing my eyes.”

“And?”

“That was it. I saw what you saw when I woke up.”

“Were you in pain? Or did you just scream out because you opened your eyes to me standing there?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“You don’t know or—?”

“No, I mean, yes, Pete, it was painful. Physically, emotionally.”

“For whom? Surely not—”

“Fuck, Peter, I don’t feel like talking about this. Let’s go dancing.”

“When? When will you talk? I mean one minute you’re crying rape, which I got to tell you, I find hard to believe. The next you say you’re confused and you blacked out.”

“I mean, come on, Jessica, give me something. It’s been two weeks since—”

“Since what? Since you found your ‘precious’ Jessi in your bed with another man? Come on, Peter-boy, lighten up. It was just an April Fool’s joke.”

“Who’s laughing? And how in the hell is this funny? How can you be so—”

“So what? Free? Sexual? Callous? So what, Prince Charming?”

“Prince Charming?

“Since when do you call me that? I—I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. It’s like you—why are you being so cruel?

“We have a daughter. A marriage. We have a lifetime together, literally.”

“Pfft.”

“You said you wanted to talk. I came. You said you need counseling. I scheduled an appointment on April 29th. It’s another two weeks awa—”

“Reschedule.”

“What? It’s the first slot— ”

“Peter, you have no clue. And, it’ll be at least two fucking years before I feel like discussing all this shit with you.”

***

It was a day that was supposed to be different than all the other days. Although the saffron sun welcomed me like she did each spring, grinning wide with missing teeth, this day was going to be special.

As the bus door glided right, a rushing Memphis wind came, swooping under my petite body, and placed me gently onto the bus steps. With the smack of the door closing behind me, my skirt fluttering from the breeze, I knew the day had started.

I ran to the middle of the bus, copping a squat amongst my crew. Their tiny heads bobbled, swaying with high, chickasaw energy. Everyone was excited about the jokes that they would tell, the stunts that they would pull on one other. While they talked, I heard a howl blow of the Wolf, walloping from Mississippi. Perhaps it was this savage gust that trotted in, hovering over the city, a spirit fever, drumming like god-fearing Indians during a ring dance.

No one seemed to care that the temperature dropped, that chills wound through the sun’s gaps. They only concentrated on the upcoming pranks, their jokes.

Jokes. That’s what they called it. Truthfully, I didn’t know what was going on, or why this day was so great. It wasn’t my birthday. Definitely not Christmas—not with all the rain that we had been having.

Sitting there, draped in a crooked smile, I listened to their giddy chatter. I was so happy to be involved that I didn’t care if this was a real holiday or a made up celebration.

When I thought about it, I had been absent a couple times this year. Maybe they made it up on a day that I hadn’t come in.

As I stepped off Bus 390—looking like Bus 39 because the zero never showed up all the way, that Overton rage having ripped it off—I saw Pete doubled over, his sides pulsating. “Oh. My. God. Jess,” he tried to speak, but the words became lost within laughter. Though interested in Pete’s story, I listened to the bus drop, the air pushing from under its massive frame like flatulence. I stood there, my lips pursed and curving, I love when the bus does that! So gross.

“Jeh—Jeh,” Pete straightened up, his mouth snatching breaths.

I stood there watching him, the excitement of the day already too much. I was thoroughly confused, but thrilled to be watching it all unfold.

Pete had been coming out of the cafeteria area. He ate breakfast at school every morning, coming out afterwards to meet me at the bus. The evidence of jellied toast tracked the rim of his mouth. I thought to be nice, to tell him, but I just really wanted to know what had happened. “Pete, what is so funny?”

“Shhh, Jessi!” He put his hand over my mouth. “Why you being so loud?”

“Why are you whispering?”

He looked over his shoulder and around us, eyeing the random students, squinting under the sun’s heated lasers. Other small children were sprinkled in front of the school, having a short recess in the warmth before the day’s start.

We didn’t see anyone we knew.

Pete said, “’Cause me and Todd were sitting at the breakfast table. And when James was ’bout to eat his cereal, I told him I saw a spider in the spoon.”

I stared at him. And? That’s it? Wow.

“He jumped up scared. Peed all over his pants! Miss April had to take him to call his mah-mee.” Pete’s eyes grew round, widening and beading like midtown opossums. He bounced a little in his stance, waiting on me to tear up as I rolled with uncontrollable laughs.

I didn’t understand.

As my thoughts fluttered, the first school bell rang and Pete grabbed my hand. His creamy fingers cocooned mine, as if he were walking me across a trafficked street.

He chuckled as we walked to class. “They have to mop the cafeteria up.”

“I don’t think it’s funny.” I shrugged. “Todd could’ve eaten a nasty bug. I’ve seen ‘em in the bathroom, but never in the cafeteria. Or on my spoon!”

“No, dummy!” Pete pushed me, then ran up to my ear, whispering, “There was no bug. That’s why it’s funny. It was my first joke!”

“Oh,” I said, reaching for his hand. I had already forgotten. It was Jokes Day.

I wanted to play a joke too. At least one, but I didn’t want to make someone pee on themselves. While I didn’t find it funny, I still thought Pete was cool for doing a “joke”. In the midst of rambling on about the etiquette of the day, Pete must have noticed my confusion. He said, “It’s not mean, Jessi. It’s ‘spose to be funny when you get someone.

“You play a joke, then you laugh when you see them scared. It’s not mean, ‘cus it’s not real.”

My eyebrows furrowed. “That don’t mean it’s not mean.”

“Yes, huh. Darrell told me about it. I saw him joke his girl. Told her she had a spider in her hair. She jumped up screaming, but when she saw there was no spider, they laughed and kissed.”

“Eh! She kissed him!”

“Yeah, but they like that kinda stuff.”

Back home, I reminisced about all the jokes Pete played on our classmates. He even went as far as to tell Miss April that he saw a ‘fat rat with big, razor teeth’ in the hall. Miss April ran to the door, closed it a little, peeking her head through to see if she could see the rodent. When she looked out, she didn’t see anything, and asked Pete if he was sure. “In the hall?” she asked, again.

“He was out there, Miss April,” Pete’s chin seemed to vibrate. “I swear.”

She closed the door, turning quickly to her desk. Miss April grabbed the large moon-shaped phone receiver. She pushed three numbers.

“Grant,” she said, “it’s April. I have a strange request.”

At first I didn’t know who “Grant” was, but then Pete leaned over to me. Giggling, he cooed. “Oh, they must be in love like us.”

I blushed.

“Miss April and Principal Grant Gully,” he sang in my ear, “sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G”.

Miss April told Grant that there was a rat in the hall near our classroom. She wanted him to send someone to get it immediately. At first she smiled, leaning against her desk. All of a sudden, her tone changed. “No. Grant, I’m serious.” Her face flushed, demeanor tensing. I remember that she stood, walking to the corner of the room.

“No, I’m saying that I would like you to take this seriously.”

Miss April began shaking her head side to side. She told Principal Gully that she needed him to get the rat because she had “Murophobia” or something.

I had never heard of that before, and clearly, neither had Principal Gully, because she teethed, “It’s a fear of rats! Jesus Christ, Grant! Just send a maintenance man to check it out!”

She gently turned back to us, placing the phone on the base. “Ok ladies and germs,” she smiled with wide, uncomfortable eyes. “Time for this week’s Vocab Quiz!”

I lay in my bed, thinking about how funny it was to see Miss April so scared. It was so thrilling to know that, in honesty, she had nothing to be afraid about.

I walked over to my window, pressed my ear against the frame, listened to the Victorian beats of downtown, how they buzzed across rich neighborhoods like the Harbor, their hums lasting until they drowned just outside of a derelict Uptown. Reflecting on the day, I thought, I probably would have laughed had I seen James pee on himself. And would have probably peed on myself if I had seen Katie scream because of an imaginary spider in her hair! I watched Pete do this all day, but I never got a chance to do one myself.

I wanted to do one.

I took my ear off the window, ran all the way across the hall to my mother’s room, busting in. The first thing I saw was Mr. Reggie climbing onto her bed. My mom lay naked, and he in boxers. What was he doing here so late?

Why was mom undressed?

Just stick to the plan!

As mom’s mouth dropped, her pupils slithering like a venomous Memphis serpent, I interjected: “Momma—Momma, someone just ran into the back of your car.”

I screeched in the best fake voice I could muster. I was still shocked by Mr. Reggie’s presence, but the scream rose from my mouth like steam from blue-collar omelets. My mother sat like a statue. Resembling a picture in our living room, she transformed into Qing Dynasty, her position frigid, Chinese, like an unexpected winter’s hush. She looked out into my direction, but didn’t seem to see me. For a moment, I thought I saw the serpents in her eyes rise off their opal floors to speak.

Before they could, Mr. Reggie leaned over, kissing my mother’s forehead temple. “Told you it’d be good havin’ me ‘round more. I’ll go see what the hell is going on.”

“Jessi,” Momma said. “You ok?” She spoke, never making eye contact, searching instead to wrap her naked self. Her long fingers found a sheet that was bunched at the bottom of the bed.

I kept in character. “There were people out front. I heard them hit the car, and then throw rocks. The windows…”

Just as I was about to make it good so that she could jump up, running outside, Mr. Reggie stormed back in. His eyes clustered like sapphire clouds over the de Soto skyline. The beat of the Indian’s drum pulsed from the bridge, through downtown, and the Village and somehow, through a zigzag drawl, found me, lingering within my spirit.

“Lora,” he snapped, “I don’t have a clue what she’s talkin’ ‘bout. The car’s in perfect damn condition. She got me ‘bout to bust my ass so that I can catch these fools, and ain’t nothing going on outside.

“The birds ain’t even chirpin’.”

What? I thought. How does he not hear that? The mockingbirds were chirping just outside this bedroom. Their song seemed to drown the scene. My ears began to hurt, my eyes blurred, and my fingers pricked from pain. The birds, they scream so sweet.

So sweet.

I looked at my mom. She didn’t seem to hear them either. Her face was flat. How could she not hear the hums of the mockingbirds, their rhythms so pure and innocent—no one could not listen and not smile. I heard them singing, even if Momma and Mr. Reggie didn’t. And if he hadn’t been there, mom would have heard them too. She would have smiled. She would have laughed at my joke, her throaty roar a baseline for our chorus within the birds’ song: ha, ha, ha-hah, hum, hum, hum.

It was a joke. A funny joke, but I didn’t want to get in trouble, so I tried to explain. “Ma.” I started, but she cut right into my words.

“Jessica, you’d better speak now, and you’d better speak up. What the hell are you talking about, somebody hit and stoned my car?”

“Momma, I was playing jokes. I-I learned—”

Before I could explain, Mr. Reggie chimed in, walking further into the room. His steps sounded like lightening and I wondered if that was how the sun lost her teeth.

He stood in between my mother and I, shaking his head. “Are you for serious? ‘Playing jokes’? Did you really just bust in here, tell us that our cars had been hit, and your story is that you were ‘playing jokes’?”

He threw his hands up in the air, allowing them to fall into a perfect niche on his hips. The walnut colored grooves were indented enough to house a family of immigrant northern carolers. Even if no one else can, I hear you all singing.

By this time, Mom had worked the sheet around herself, creating a Togo like the people on the Flintstones. As she sashayed over to me, she yelled so fast that I got lost in her words. I only caught the last bit: “So now you’re a liar. Lying to me in my face for no reason. I’m not dealing with this, Jessica. Your father is a lair. That’s who you’re getting this from.

“I’ll be damned. I’m not raising another lair. I’ve done my very best with you. Got you in one of the best schools in the city. Hell, there ain’t but so many in Memphis. We just moved to a better neighborhood. We go to church. I’m home when you get home. I help you with schoolwork. I am doing the best that I can. And now you start up with this?”

“It’s a damn shame, is what it is.” Reggie sat down on the bed, tossing his left leg up, making a small air box over his right leg. Settled into his position, he said, “She really does bust her ass for you”

I focused on a tear in the carpet. The bleach stain glistened like the russet brightness of morning. I thought about the sun, her grin, and Mr. Reggie’s lightening steps. I felt better knowing that she suffered too. I’m missing teeth, just like you, Miss Sun.

My mother said, “She’s my daughter, Reg. Don’t need you chastising her. Thanks, though, for your help.”

“Whatever, man.” He walked into the bathroom, turned on the shower.

Mom breathed deeply at the sound of the slammed door paneling. She said, “Go to your room, Jessica. I’ll figure out your punishment and tell you in the morning when I drive you to the bus stop.” She climbed back into bed, placing a gel mask over her eyes. “Close my door on your way out.”

Walking down the dark hall, I looked up into the corners of the walls, searching for birds’ nests. You don’t have to be afraid of me. I could have used a friend, someone or something to sing with. I felt so alone and the hall seemed darker than usual, a midnight cast that even Memphis hadn’t seen since my conception.

If Mr. Reggie hadn’t been here, perhaps the evening night lights would have casted shadows within our home. Friends to keep me company. Perhaps we all could have swayed together in the wind’s ring dance. If he were not here, I would have had at least one more person in my circle.

When did he start sleeping over? He was here so much that I wondered if he had a home of his own anymore. I thought Momma usually made him leave before she went to bed. Usually, she’d come in and kiss me good night. A final kiss after he had left. It was a ritual that we performed as often as the sun smiled, more than the Indians danced, more than the Wolf howled over the Mississippi.

It was ours, like a secret Mimidae song that passed onto deserving generations.

As the temperature lowered within our apartment, the sun kissing the moon before her drive home, no one seemed to noticed. I crawled into bed, pulling covers to my chin. My eyes closed, though I fought sleep.

I wondered, since Mr. Reggie was clearly sleeping over tonight, would Momma remember to come and kiss me?

The next morning, I was relieved to find her in a good mood. I watched Momma toss omelets on beat, in an out of the frying pan, singing.

“Ain’t na-thang like the reeel thang bay-baby, ain’t na-thang like the reeel thang.”

As soon as I went to put on my i-just-got-away-with-this smile, she flipped a browned and already syrupy ham and cheese omelet onto my plate.

I became dazed by the aroma of the maple sweetened mix that rose, prancing in the air. I looked up, out the window, hearing a fusion of Marvin and Tammie’s rhythm, but also a random symphony of outside jazz and blues. Music that was uncommon in the ghetto of Uptown. “Do you hear that?” I asked.
Momma continued humming her song. She never turned toward the window, never lifted her head to hear imaginary, distant cadences. I pushed the music out of my head, setting my focus on the kitchen.

For a moment, I thought Momma had forgotten about the events of last night. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw her shaking and baking in the morning. Afterwards, I decided to revisit my culinary haze, swallowing the first bite of bliss. The satisfaction hit my stomach and I leaned back in my chair, head facing the ceiling.

I felt showered with happiness and I knew it was going to be a wonderful day.

I put on my not-only-did-i-just-get-away-with-this-but-i’m-also-having-my-favorite-breakfast smile.

As my head re-erected itself on shoulders, I guess my smile forgot to wipe away. I came face to face with Momma. She had already finished her plate and sat at the other end of the table. “Jessica Parker,” she sang, “You better wipe that little cheesy smile off your face. Just because I made breakfast doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.”

I sat there, unable to tell if she was happy with me or not.

“Do you not remember?” she smiled wide and I felt the sun’s brightness stinging my skin. “I have that presentation today at work. If all goes well, Momma will finally be makin’ the big bucks!”

“We’ll be rich then?” I asked

“Yup, lendin’ poo-ding to Bill Cosby!”

I smiled.

I didn’t know how rich that was, but it sounded marvelous. Enough pudding to share! Just when I thought things had taken a turn for the better—Momma getting a raise and her not being mad at me—the scene turned left.

Mr. Reggie walked in the kitchen speaking through a tiger’s yawn. “Mornin’ Lora. Jessica. Whatchu got on the table, baby? Made breakfast?”

“Hey, good mornin’,” she turned around to face him.

“Made some omelets and pancakes. Think we have some juice in the fridge. I been working so hard that me and Jessi have been eating a lot of cereal. I’m not really sure what else is in there.”

Mr. Reggie rummaged through our fridgerator. He came out with two bottled Cokes.

When he went to open the plate cabinet, the phone rang, causing him to turn around. He eyed my mother for a second, and then picked up the phone. “Hello?”

Although I couldn’t make out the voice on the other end, I could hear words being scrambled together. Mr. Reggie looked confused, told the person, “hold on,” and gently tossed my mom the phone. She said. “Hello? …Uh huh, yeah Charlie.

“The what?!?” she stood, scrambling her things. “How in the hell did this happen? Okay, I’m on my way.”

She never hung up the phone, walking off with her tattered briefcase, eyes searching for her keys and a caramel suit jacket. “Reg, I need you to take Jessi to the bus stop, again. Presentation problems and these goddamn advertising consults won’t reschedule.”

She ran to her bedroom, yelling back into the kitchen, “They’re gonna be there in an hour. I gotta go.” As she buzzed, returning to the kitchen area, she apologized for the inconvenience.

I tried to make eye contact so that she could see that I wanted her to drop me at school. I wanted her to look at me—to see me—to know that I only wanted her.

She could drop me. It was on her way.

Mr. Reggie grabbed my mom by the shoulders as she whisked up from putting on her heels. By forcing her to have eye contact with him, he was able to get full attention. “Baby,” he said. “I can do anything you need me to. That’s why I’m here. Stop flippin’ out. Go handle your business.”

With that he pulled her to him, kissing her soft, gently rouge-colored lips. My mother was never heavy with make-up. She always told me that natural beauty was better. She took pride in being naturally beautiful. And I usually helped her “Floss-and-Gloss,” which is what she called it when she took time out to go the extra mile.

She would always say, “Hey, Jessi Bay-bay, what tie-hem is it?”

I knew she wasn’t asking me the real time, so I’d yell, wherever I was, “It’s Floss-and-Gloss time, Momma!”

I’d pick up, fleeing to the bathroom. I knew that was where I’d find her. Grinning, I had our routine down pat, having memorized the steps. First the legs, because as Momma would say, “Girl, you just gotta do those for your damned self.”

She said, “Even if you have unconditional love for yourself, Jessi, you don’t want to feel those prickles up and down your legs.”

“No?”

“Oh, hell no! Feel that.” She brought my hand to her thick legs, rubbing.

“Yikes!” I’d smile, feeling the pointed crisps of her hairs, thinking for a moment about the air gush that pooted from school buses. Just as gross, but in a different way.

“Exactly.”

After the legs, underarms, private parts, upper lip, and eyebrows, Momma moved to her bath. What she called “Lack of Hesitation for Relaxation.” According to my mom, every woman had to have this. She said, “At minimum, twice a month.”

“You have to find time to relax. To do something that you love, J-baby. If I’ve taught you nothing else. Let it go said that I believed in loving oneself.”

After the bath, Momma would spray herself with the sweetest fragrances, smelling like a bouquet of Memphis Lilies. She would apply a thin layer of Vaseline to her lips. Then, she would loosely curl her Black, Spanish, and Haitian mix of long, thick, jet-black locks.

Momma’s rough kiss broke me from my train of thought.

I nearly fell out the dining chair when she pile-drove her lips into my cheek.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry, baby. Momma’s in a rush. You be good for Mr. Reggie. I’ll see you after school, like always, Ok?”

I don’t remember if I spoke. If I did, it was cocooned within a somber tone, barely letting the vibration of the word be felt within my body or the sound heard by listeners.

I had gone from reminiscing great times with Momma, to being back in the present.

Now all I could think about was how I wanted her to drop me off at school. I hoped she heard me. Maybe she possessed fish instincts and through my silence, as bubbles escaped my mouth and I lost air to breathe, she could feel my words, my desires. I closed my eyes and tried to send her a message.

Momma busted out of the house like she was a Tennessean S.W.A.T. team busting through someone’s front door. Before I could register what to do, the car had started, poltergeisting out the driveway.

I tried not to make eye contract with Mr. Reggie. Though I did not say, my face could tell a blind man as he rippled over my brailed expression that I did not want Mr. Reggie there.

I picked at my cold omelet.

Tried to eat a little more.

I forked the pancake, watched the bread crumble apart and then soften under the syrup.

“Stop pickin’ at your plate.” Mr. Reggie spat at me. “Either eat it, or throw it away.”

I didn’t say anything.

“What? Miss Jessica can’t talk now? You sho’ was doing a lot of talking last night.”

Silence.

I continued to pick at my plate.

“Go on and go to your room. You’re done eatin’.”

I got up from the table, leaving my food where it was, rushed off to my bedroom.

Sitting on my bed, I thought of ways to keep my door closed. I didn’t want him to come in there for anything. Not to tell me to get dressed for school, not to go off about not eating breakfast, nothing. I looked around the room, but everything was either too big for me to pick up or too small to keep the door stopped. As I ran options through my head, I heard footsteps down the hall. They headed for Momma’s bedroom. Just as Mr. Reggie entered, I let out a sigh, grateful that I did not have to deal with him. He seemed to be looking for something. I heard dressers slam in and out, her bathroom door opened, closed, and then opened again.

Finally, I heard something drop, sounding like glass, but nothing shattered. Mr. Reggie cursed, though didn’t seem too angry. I was relieved he found whatever it was he wanted. Maybe that would keep him in a better mood. Maybe he would just go to sleep and forget all about me. A few minutes passed and I rejoiced, thinking I was free. I walked around my room, thinking about what I would wear. I pulled out a drawer on my nightstand, shuffling through tee shirts and socks. After retrieving some undies, I heard footsteps starting up again. I shoved the underwear back in the drawer, moved to a sitting position on my bed. The steps, instead of becoming faint, became louder, more paced.

As Mr. Reggie reached my door, he stopped, taking a sigh, eased the door open. “Sound like you about to tear the place down, girl. Whatchu doing in here?”

I hadn’t made noise. “Nothin’, Mr. Reggie.”

I didn’t even want to say that, but I feared getting into trouble for being rude. I prayed the mockingbirds would start singing again. That maybe Mr. Reggie would smile at their song. I hadn’t heard them since last night, but asked the Indian gods to send them to me. Please, sing your song.

Silence.

It appeared everyone was too afraid of our home. The gods and the birds had probably flocked downtown to entertain the rich, to answer their troubles. But soon I would hear their song. I smiled, thinking how the gods would instruct them to sing my name. Soon as we became rich, the birds would croon to a jazz ballad called Jessi. They would serenade me and Momma during our morning jaunt along the paved streets of Victorian Village. Soon, I would hear them, humming aloud to a tune that others heard as well.

“How many times,” Mr. Reggie said. “do I have to tell you to call me Reggie?

“I ain’t no mister.”

He sat down on my bed, sliding closer to me. “‘Mr. Reggie’ is reserved for ma old man. And I ain’t nowhere near as old as that bastard.”

I stared up at the corner of my room. There was a cobweb. Maybe a family a spiders lived there? I rose to get a better look, but Mr. Reggie reached out in front of me, using his forearm to gently push me back onto the bed.

“Well, I just come in here to check on you. Make sho’ everything was fine. You seem kinda down.

“Upset ‘bout something?’

I shook my head No.

”Cause Lora’s gonna be fine today. It’s normal for adults to go through thangs on their job. So you ok?”

I stared into space. I don’t remember if my eyes ever found anything specific to hold.

“Good. I’d hate for anything to be wrong with you.” Mr. Reggie nodded to his own song, sighing.

He continued talking, easing so close to me that I could smell a bunch of different fragrances on his breath. I knew the cigarettes. My dad smoked, but the other smell was raw, making my nose burn. I didn’t know what that was. While I was thinking about all the things it could be, I was interrupted. Mr. Reggie had stopped murmuring in my background, abruptly leaning in, kissing my lips. The touch shocked me. I saw the sun and her toothless smile. She had lost yet another one, her gums now burning from the direct heat of her rays. Her smile began to slide off, happiness merging into pain and the product melting into the casting light.

I wondered when the sun liquefied into the Tennessee cityscape, would the Moon kiss her on his way into the sky. I questioned if she liked kissing him, if the touch would melt her into further inexistence. Personally, I didn’t want to kiss anyone. Didn’t want anyone kissing me. No one, but Momma. Not even Pete.

“Ehh!” I said, pushing my lips off of his, “Mr. Reggie, I don’t like kisses. Please. Please, don’t kiss me.”

“Aww, girl. Shut that noise up! Everybody loves kisses.”

“But, I don’t.”

“Oh well, then,” he snapped, shoving me down. “Pretend we holding hands, then. That, or just pass out like last time.”

I hated when my mother needed Mr. Reggie to take me to school. These days, were the days that I missed. These days were the only ones I missed. Momma was typically shocked when I didn’t receive Perfect Attendance, but she always could think of a day or so that I may have missed to make up for her confusion.

I already knew that today would be another absence. Last month, there was a family emergency. Momma called Mr. Reggie to come over. She pleaded with him to take me to the bus stop, apologizing for the short notice. She left and I ended up missing that day too.

Like today, Mr. Reggie came into my bedroom, telling me that everything would be OK. “You’re grandma will be just fine. I’m sho’ of it.” He said it was natural that older people got sick often. As he spoke, I thought about Granddaddy Longlegs and the Grandmother birds and oppossums, the snakes and squirrels. I wondered if it was normal for them too, or was it just people?

“Stop asking stupid questions.” Mr. Reggie shook his head. “Don’t nobody give a damn ‘bout no road kill.”

“Nobody,” he laughed, “but the damn road kill.”

I dropped my head and prayed for the grandmother animals. I hoped it was not normal for them to be sick and in pain.

“Well,” Mr. Reggie sighed as he sat down, “I just come to check on you.”

I nodded.

“Wanted to make sure everything was OK.”

That day he leaned in, kissing my neck. At first, I thought he accidentally missed my cheek. That was normal, right? People kissing cheeks?

I moved back a little, though. Didn’t want him to try again, aiming instead for my face. When he saw me tense, he told me it was natural to be loved during times of tension. Said that that was the difference between us and dumb animals.

“Animals don’t love.

“They can’t help themselves feel better when they stressed.”

I thought about that, wondering if it was true. I felt bad for animals. What if they could never make themselves happy? What then? Before I could ask Mr. Reggie how he knew this to be true, he scooped me up, laying me on my back. I remember staring into his eyes, the emerald slits reminded me of lions at the zoo.

Once, I heard one growl and her voice merged with the howl of the city at night. She screamed like the people in our neighborhood, their night voices merging with traffic and the hum of the rich, which seemed to river everywhere, drowning those under its waves. I looked into the lion’s eyes and told her that one day she would not have to scream. One day she would be rich.

“Stop growling at me, girl.” I heard Mr. Reggie scream at me. “What the hell’s the matta with you.”

I listened to myself, howling like the wind that swoops under my dresses during morning breezes. My howl soon stopped as Mr. Reggie’s hand smacked my face. It hurt worst than a mother’s ignorance. I tensed up, afraid, begged him not to hit me again.

“Please. Please don’t.”

I remember a second of pain. At least, I think I remember pain. There must have been pain. Before I experienced the piercing, the probes and pokes—the pain that must have come—my eyes closed and I retreated to a dark, dark place.

A place so dark it was absent from any and everything.

“I don’t like kissing,” is the last thing I remember saying.

When I woke up, my clothes were folded at the end of the bed, a pair of panties rested on top. If my clothes hadn’t been touched, everything must have been just a terrible nightmare. A dream.

Unfortunately, I was not shocked, I had had this one before.

I popped up off the bed, thinking I had better hurry to get my outfit on before I miss the bus.

As I bolted up, feet finding the floor, my thighs and private place hurt.

Why? I wobbled across the carpet to my floor length mirror. There were no scratches. No bruises. Yet, I hurt badly. Too bad to walk.

I climbed back onto my bed, crouching into a position that helped the pain. Under the covers, my mind flashed back to Mr. Reggie, his kisses.

“Shut up, girl” he yelled.

“Stop all that damn yelling! This ain’t hurting you.

“You know it feels good.”

I remember his hands touching me, his fingers on my lap. I remember—darkness.

I didn’t want to hurt like that again.

I always hurt after Mr. Reggie kissed me, touched me.

Maybe, if I tell Momma, I thought, she can make Mr. Reggie not hurt me anymore.

Somewhere in between getting kissed, waking up hurting, and deciding to tell my mother about it all, I fell asleep, again. I awoke when I heard Momma burst through the front door. The frame swinging open caused a windstorm to flush through our home. I felt a brisk push under my door. The mass of air rose in front of my paneling. I could see a silhouette forming on the walls. Her shape reminded me of Miss April—small, but curvy. She glided over to me and kissed my forehead. Her lips were soft like my mother’s. She felt like buttercups brushing along my skin, gentle and warm from sunbathing.

I couldn’t remember the last time Momma had kissed me.

“Thank you,” I told the silhouette. While I thought I saw her smile, I could not tell for sure. She paused for a moment, then slipped under my closet door. I heard her lay down atop my shoes, a calm maneuvering. I would have offered her my bed, but she seemed content, melting like liquid into my soles.

Mom slammed the door shut, screaming that she was the new assistant partner with Entice Incorporated.

I didn’t know what that meant, but by the sound of her voice, I knew that she was happy. I heard her drop a number of things onto the floor—most likely purse, briefcase, caramel jacket.

After pausing for a second when she reached the kitchen, Momma sang, “Hellloooo?” Humming to her own ballad, Momma walked into my room.

She flung the door open, running.

She jumped high into the air, landing on the bed. Her head dropped neatly on my pillow, her hair draped over my petite legs. “Baby,” she said, rolling to look at me. “Guess what?”

I didn’t get a chance to answer. “We’s ‘bout to make the big bucks!”

I watched her eyes as they swung like howler monkeys from branch to branch.

“I went into work today afraid,” she confessed. “Not only had my presentation been destroyed, but I was too stupid to make a second copy! I was running through Entice like a madwoman tryna get her things together.”

I soon grew nauseous from the circus pupil show. I focused on a circular comforter pattern that I could see through my Indian-style seated position.

“As hard as I’ve been working on this presentation and they would have actually fired me if I couldn’t present. But, I sucked it up and went in there on fah-yah.”

She tickled at my stomach.

I didn’t move, nor did I laugh.

In all honesty, I was happy for her. My smile had melted though. She was probably floating somewhere throughout Memphis, bottled within an opaque-capped, April raindrop. I stared on at the comforter, picking as the circles. I thought about my smile and wished that someone would find her, twisting the cap open, freeing her into an orb of happiness. Is that possible? To be free within a world of nothing but pleasure. An existence where birds serenade you, serpents speak truths, and silhouettes sleep over like giddy schoolmates.

Despite my disinterest, Momma said, “I worked it, baby! Pinned my hair up, took a deep breath, and gave it to them the old school way.

“I was all hands and mouth.”

She rolled on her back, kicking her legs up like a toddler playing with its mother, “I made those boys see the picture! It probably helped me a little too that I was in a room full of men!

“I did do my share of ‘Flossin’and Glossin’ this morning. Enough obviously to make the white man look at me and say, ‘She, her, That one there, should be on top.’”

She muted her movement, catching her breathe. Momma closed her eyes. It all seemed to overwhelm her. When she came to, she snapped back to her monologue. “Well, speaking of such ‘Flossin’ and Glossin,’ What ty-hime it is, Jessi Baby?”

She explained that Mr. Reggie was taking her out for “a job well done”. I didn’t say anything. I looked at the closet and wondered if my silhouette was breathing Ok in there.

Momma never noticed my concern, she didn’t even wait for a response. She popped up, legs mimicking my Indian-style. “Well, since we’re moving on up to the East side, near George and Louise, I’ma get you anything you want!”

She used her index fingers to drum a soft tune on my thighs. “Well, Jessi? Name it. Anything in the world—well, not the world, but Memphis Anything in Memphis!”

Her smile grinned like that of my sun and for a moment I fell in love with her. It was beautiful déjà vu.

“Well?” she asked.

What did I want? I could have anything, she said. I didn’t know that she would ask, but I had certainly thought about it all day. I listened to the deep inhale of my silhouette and knew she had slipped deeper into my shoes. I wondered if she would stay with me forever. My chest tightened at the thought of her leaving. I needed someone who would stay forever, something that would not leave me like the songs and smiles, the beats and howls of a Memphis landscape. I will never leave you, Jessi.

She had spoken. Never? I wondered. Never.

I smiled. “You hear that?” I asked my mother.

“The thugs out front? Yes, and I’ve just about heard enough of them!”

“No, not them—the voi—”

“Forget ‘em.” She grabbed my shoulder, looking me in my eyes and I felt them change colors. I could feel the sepia brown slither down my throat and settle into my stomach. A darkness rose from the soles of my feet, rushing, passing the brown without so much as a Hello. Soon, that tent found a resting place, and my pupils readjusted to the black slits as they marked territory.

“Jessi Baby, come on, tell Momma what you want.”

From inside my intestines, I saw my mother’s face and she was so happy, so beautiful. I wanted to share this moment with her, have her gently kiss my forehead. I would have said anything for that kiss. I could see her and I cried from my cage, saying, “I want you, just you.” My sobs became echoes that beat within my core, the music sounded like the chaos of Uptown on a Saturday night.

But soon there was silence.

I opened my mouth to speak, taking hold of the muted platform. I remember my lips as they stretched to part, yet before sound traveled out, darkness came.

When my eyes opened, I saw Momma’s face take on about five different temperaments. Her affect changed from confused, to shocked, to angry, to sad, to breathless, and back to angry, all in a matter of three seconds.

She paused before answering me and I sulked within confusion. Her fury lifted her, supporting her weight on shaking ankles. She raised her right hand, rage forcing her to slap the taste of cigarettes and whatever else there was out of my mouth.

I cried once friction sent word to my brain, allowing me to know that I was in pain. Yes, I felt pain.
It all happened so fast.

No, I didn’t understand, but I felt the pain of her hit.

As tears flowed from my face, I remember Momma yelling at the top of her lungs. “That’s it! First, with the car being hit and stoned, and now you’re coming to me and saying that Reggie kissed you. Next, your lyin’ ass will say that you were touched, or raped even!”

As words flowed out of her mouth like water from a zoo fountain, I closed my eyes, retreating to that dark, dark place. I saw my lion friend. We sat together in silence, with me stroking long tracks along her sides. Our fortress, within a midnight jungle, the cicadas crooning to our tacit cries, was absent from any and everything.

***

“Jessica! Jessica! Wake up!”

“Huh?”

“It’s time to wake up.”

A voice came from the background of my abyss. I guess I had retreated to that dark place, and ended up falling asleep there.

Under the shade, my eyes roamed, searching for the lion. I hoped she had not left me.

“Jessica. Can you understand me? Do you know where you are?”

“Yeah.” I said.

My voice was soft, soaked from the exhaust of these past two days. I felt so tired. All I wanted was to go back into that abyss and never return. I thought about taking my silhouette on the next journey. Me, her, and the lion could live in happiness. Yes, that would be wonderful. I had found peace, friends, an easiness that did not exist in the real world. My next retreat should be the last. I’ll stay forever, for as long as my eyes can stay closed.

“Ok, sweetie.” The voice said. “While you focus, I’m going to talk to direct your attention.

“Jessica, you are coming out of hypnosis. We decided that this was our best way to channel your past. While I have never performed this professionally before, we needed insight into what triggered your MPD. You remember this?”

“Doctor O’Shelly.” I opened my eyes.

Yes, I knew her.

***

“I sat there powerless.”

“It must have been really hard for you, Pete. I cannot imagine listening to something like that.”

“I kept asking her to stop. I didn’t want to hear anymore. And then again, I did because I want to help you. You’ve been so—so out of control lately. I mean you cheated on me, Jessica. And Lord only knows what else you’ve—”

“She said not to dwell on that, Pete. It wasn’t me.”

“I just want to protect you. Keep you safe, you know? But how can I when—”

“You don’t have to worry about it. She gave me meds. I’m sure they’ll take care of all this madness. I mean they don’t call ‘em ‘Happy Pills’ for nothing, right?”

“Right, but ever time you do get stressed, am I to expect—”

“You should expect that I don’t want to sulk in this, you know? Many women were molested as girls. Raped. No one should have to hold a week-long discussion panel about it.”

“True. But many of them don’t—”

“Don’t what, Peter?

“They don’t have people badgering them about it all damn day. She said she didn’t want to talk about. Leave her alone.”

“Leave who alone? Who are you? Am I not talking to Jessi anymore?

“Doctor O’Shelly said—she said we should get to know one another. Said to get to know you, if you surfaced again.”

“‘Doctor O’Shelly said’—Pathetic. You think she’s going to help you tame us? Is that the plan, Prince Charming?”

“I want to talk to Jessi.”

“She’s at the Memphis Zoo. You’re welcome to leave a message.”

“What is your name? Why after all this time are you here? Jessi and I are happy. We are happy, aren’t we?”

“Happy? Pfft, Peter. No one is happy! Happiness, it’s a figment of imagination. What a dumb thing for a grown man to say!”

“What is your name? Can we at least start there?”

“How about I tell you two fucking years from now? Let’s make it a date—April 29th at our next breakthrough with Doctor O’Shelly.”