“How you doin’, sweetheart?”
“What’s your name, baby girl?”
“You got a boyfriend?”
“Don’t look,” Tia whispers in a sharp hiss.
“I’m not,” I whine.
She sounds like mama and I sound like a baby, but still, I say this definitively even though Tia and I both know I’m lying. We both are. We’ve been walking down this alley, clutching onto one another’s hands for dear life, watching our surroundings out of the corner of our eyes on slow, unsure steps. We’re heading toward the warm arc of light at the end of the alley but the men leaning up against the brick walls on either side of us have captured my attention. They’re watching us like cats ready to pounce on the first bird that flies too low. I add this walk to the list of moments when I’m forced to realize the differences between me and Tia because I can feel her revulsion at these strange men’s attention, even as the same stares have made a gooey heat warm in my gut and my knees weak.
“We shouldn’t be here,” she says in a shivering voice.
I squeeze her hand and try to bite back my smile. “I know.”
“You filling out them jeans, gal.” I don’t know for sure that the deep baritone is meant for me, but I feel like it is. I want it to be.
Mama’s always telling me to trust my gut when it comes to men and I wonder if this is what she means. Although, I don’t know what my gut is trying to tell me besides ‘more’ and ‘yes’ and as directions go, they’re pretty useless, even if they feel good.
But that baritone made me shiver. I’m just about to turn toward that voice and see how my gut reacts to his face – assuming I can pick it out in this darkness – when Tia’s next step falters.
We turn to each other. “Let’s go home,” she whines.
We’re close enough that my eyes have pulled together what little light this alley is willing to donate and I wish it hadn’t. in the scant light I can see the look of anguish on my twin’s face, I can feel the pleading in her fingers clutching mine and the shudder running through her; I imagine it’s fear.
I wish I didn’t have to see or feel this. I wish I could wallow in ignorance and drag her deeper into the alleyway, but I can’t. I pull her forward, instead.
“Tia,” I whisper sharply. “Get it together.” I try to tell her with my face so close to hers and my dry, warm, steady hands that this alley ain’t the place to show weakness; that we’re too close to turn back now.
I hold my breath to listen. Catcalls to our left. The faint sound of bass to our right. sirens in the distance. Broken glass under feet. My sister’s soft, terrified breaths.
I’m not the praying type, no matter how many days mama drags us to church, but I pray in this moment; no words, no entries to God, just an easygoing vibe. I hope for the best.
“One hour,” Tia hisses and even though I try to keep my body in check, the joy bursts from me.
I jump onto the balls of my feet.
Tia grunts in annoyance and turns toward that warm light. we’re still holding onto each other as we begin to move forward again, inching closer to that light. together.
“We can do this,” I tell Tia and myself.
“Whatever,” she says in return.
But I can’t be mad. We’re. close enough to hear the music and my soul lifts. Heaven is calling me home.
Tia’s shaking gets closer as we approach the door, where the warm arc of light illuminates a bouncer at the door and a small line forming ahead of us.
“Are you sure about this, Damita?” she asks, and I know if she’s using my first name this question matters.
This moment matters.
But my answer couldn’t be anything but, “Sure as I’ll ever be.”
We walk a few more steps before I feel Tia's assent. She sighs heavily and her grip on me loosens. “Fine,” she whispers in a voice that’s stronger than before. Stronger for me. “But first sign of trouble…”
I nod in silent agreement, knowing that she can feel my agreement without words.
There are things no one ever tells girls like us, girls who’ve spent almost as much time in church as in school, girls whose mothers pray for their salvation and closed legs, girls whose mamas threaten to send them to Colfax if they start dressing too fast or talking back too much. Girls living in this decade, in this place, and not the Jim Crow south before the war. Girls who just want to see a little bit of the world and live a little bit of life.
As we ease up to the door to the warehouse well past our curfew, I know that this club and a night like this is the kind of thing no one has told us before and that’s exactly why I’m here.
“What the hell are you two doing here?” That question and that voice cut through the intimacy of this moment for me and Tia. That question jerks me out of this alley and across town for home. That question knows my mama and knew me when I had buck teeth and wore pants either too big or too small – no in between.
That voice is my past invading my future.