caramia's
concert

Her rich voice enveloped Marvin's words. Her thick lips framed the anguish in his voice. She closed her eyes and for that moment, she was in another place. Swaying back and forth, she wrapped her arms around herself, looking amazingly like a small child on the verge of tears.

When she opened her eyes, she saw me sitting on her bed, watching. Suddenly self-conscious, she began to talk while applying lip-liner. The more she talked, the more she relaxed. Soon, her laughter filled the room, and I felt happy. She kissed me on the nose and left.

I waited up for her because I wanted to hear how her concert was. When I heard the door open, I rushed to the top of the stairs to meet her. As I listened to her footsteps across the floor, something sounded different. As she came into view at the bottom of the steps, she looked different, too.

“Hey, little bit,” she said. With her speech slurred, her words sounded like “little bitch.” Instinctively, I recoiled, thinking of my mother.

She stumbled up the stairs, clutching her four-inch heels to her bosom. I wanted to talk to her, but when I saw her face, something stopped me. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her lipstick was gone. When she passed me, I smelled the same pungent odor that seeped from her room when my mother was not at home.

I crept back toward my bedroom door, watching her stumble down the hall and into her room.

“Goodnight, Caramia,” I said to the darkness. Two weeks later, she moved out.