My favorite time of day is night.
My mother used to clean some buildings downtown on the weekends and when she couldn’t get a babysitter, I used to tag along with her, collecting trash and reciting my times tables. We used to catch the late bus home and she would doze in her seat, while I stared out the window, watching the city go by, waiting for our stop to shake her awake.
When I can’t sleep, I go for a drive.
When I need to feel my mama’s presence, I go to church. But when I need to remember her as she was, I cruise around the city after midnight. This drive isn’t the same, but the peace I find in the dark car, The O’Jay’s playing on the radio, was like no other. But every now and then I lift my gaze to the rearview mirror and always seem to catch Damita’s gaze in the reflection, and my peace shudders for a second before coming back around again.
I pull into the parking lot of their apartment building and turn down the radio. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, Jimmy,” Tia says.
I nod and look at the backseat in the rearview, my gaze locking on Damita’s again.
“Anytime,” I say before looking away.
I keep my gaze ahead of me as they climb out of the car and shut the door behind them. They walk in front of me and I keep my eyes on them as they shuffle to the front door. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until the front door to their building opens, Tia slips inside, but Damita hesitates.
She turns toward me and stares.
She’s too far away and with the light behind her, I can’t see her face, but that look means something.
I don’t know what yet. But it means something, and that something puts a smile on my face.
We stare at one another for a long moment before she turns into the building.
I turn the radio up and pull away, easing into the empty street.