I STICK THE key in the lock and turn but don’t go in. I stand outside with my hand on the knob and my eyes closed and remember what I told myself before I got to the bus station. “People don’t know you, Char. You smarter than they think.”
I leave the suitcase in the hall by the door. Flip the switch that work the ceiling light and see it don’t work. But the lamps do, so that’s something. They sitting on end tables next to the double bed I can’t sit on or lay in till I strip it down and wash the bedding. I could catch something from other people if I don’t.
I think of all the things I can do here. How much fun Cricket and me gonna have. Then I open the refrigerator and see ants taking a walk in the vegetable bin. I squish ’em with my thumb, wash my hands in cold water. In the bathroom, I start a list in my head of the things I need. Cleanser, ammonia, Pine-Sol, soap powder, bleach—’cause if that man think I’m leaving, he wrong.
Looking in the medicine cabinet, it hits me. I got my own place. I’m a boss. In charge of my own self for once. The twins, John-John, and Maleeka at home taking orders from their mommas. I’m done with that. Finished with people telling me what to do.
I got a lit cigarette in my hand when I pull back the drapes and lift the blinds in the bedroom. “Wow. A daycare center.” I wonder how much it gonna cost to put her in there. Sometimes it’s based on income. Taking another hit, I laugh. “Guess I need me a income.”
Shapes and letters is painted on the building in crayon colors: Chicken Little Blue, Cherry Tomato Red, Sweet Pea Green, and plain old purple. I’ma use those to teach Cricket her alphabets and colors. A Child’s World is the name of the place. Two doors up there’s a laundromat—good. It’s open twenty-four hours. From the laundromat to the corner there’s plenty of stores—a Chinese takeout, a pawnshop, the one-dollar store, a liquor store with kids out front, a grocery store, two boarded-up stores, and a junk store lit up like Christmas with old furniture for sale on the sidewalk.
I watch them girls on the corner across the street. Cars pull up. They walk over, jump inside. After a man smoking weed look up at me, I lower the blinds, pull the curtains tight, and stay where I am, smoking till my cigarette is done. I ain’t grown, but I feel like it.
By the time I unzip my suitcase, it’s three thirty. I take out six pairs of my jeans and lay ’em in the middle dresser drawer I just cleaned. Cricket’s thick pink blanket goes in next. Then her.
A baby should be washed before bedtime. But I ain’t want to wake her ’cause I might not be able to get her back to sleep. So, I put her to bed in her street clothes, hoping her diaper ain’t wet. I’ll sleep sitting up in the chair at the desk in the middle of the room. In the morning, I’ll see if the one-dollar store got sheet sets, Similac, and other things we need. Standing over her, I watch her sleep on her back with her itty-bitty fists balled. For a minute, I wonder what she dream about. Her mother? Milk? Playing in a crib? I hope she dream about nice things.
I won’t go to sleep for a long time. I got money to count. Moves to make. Sitting at my desk, I empty my purse and wallet. All this change make it look like I got a lot of money. When all I got is too many pennies and dimes, not enough dollar, dollar bills. I count everything twice. “Two hundred and …” I put down the last bill. “… ten dollars.” I count once more, just to be sure. Then I walk over to the window and stare out. “Milk costs what?” I look at the sign in the store window again. “And that’s a sale?” My eyes find other things the grocery store advertising, like baby food. She don’t eat food yet, but maybe she ready. I need her to be ready anyhow. For her belly to stay full longer—for her not to want to drink Similac all the time ’cause it cost too much.