By the time my one-week debt in the laundry had been paid, my hands were stiff, the skin flaky from the constant contact with hot water and bleach. I couldn’t wait to see Aunt Marie. On the day of my release, Mrs. Shapiro did not drive to Washington, D.C., to pick me up. She had gotten what she wanted, and now that the papers were signed, I had been left to fend for myself. Thank God Aunt Marie wired me bus fare. One of the lifers hadn’t heard from her family in months, and although her sentence was over, she stayed on and worked because she had no place else to go.
An hour before my bus was due to depart, Kitchen Sister Kathleen thrust a packed lunch into my arms for my travels, and I thanked her before walking out the side door for the last time. Little Sister Bethany had told me the day before that she would drive me to the bus depot, but when I reached the back door, it was Mother Margaret who held the keys to the van.
We drove in silence. When we arrived at the Greyhound Line bus station on New York Avenue, I thanked her for the ride and then stepped down, clutching the same two muslin bags that I had arrived with in August. The contents of the bags were exactly the same. I was the one who had changed.
I could hear the window of the van being let down, and then Mother Margaret called out. “The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. Safe travels, Ruby.”
My head didn’t even turn back to acknowledge her, but my lips mouthed, “Fuck off, Your Excellency.”
The tires screeched as she pulled away from the curb. I had been set free, but freedom didn’t feel like I’d hoped it would.
When I arrived in North Philadelphia, at the corner of 29th and Diamond Street, it felt strange to be back home. My fingers were stiff and cold from gripping my bags against the early evening wind that whipped at newspapers and snatched cans and wrappers up and down the street. As I climbed the steps to the second floor, a stench drifted down from Mr. Leroy’s apartment, and I wondered if Shimmy’s father was up there drinking under the guise of collecting rent. This thought led me to Shimmy, but I shoved him to the back of my mind as I pressed open the door.
Aunt Marie’s old floors moaned beneath my feet, and I was greeted by slips of paper folded around dimes. I scooped the numbers up off the floor and placed them on the coffee table for her to sort, before I fell back into the couch. It felt good to be home among Aunt Marie’s mismatched furniture, with the sound of water dripping from her leaky faucet. I wasn’t even bothered by the gassy smell of the old furnace that was only slightly masked by the boiled cinnamon potpourri. Instead, these familiarities comforted me.
Eventually, I peeled myself off the couch and made my way to the tiny bathroom. I turned on the faucet to the shower and it spit, then sputtered, while the pipes rattled. The water warmed, and I stripped off my bra and panties and stepped into the narrow tub. The steam unraveled the wall I had constructed, and as I scrubbed my skin, the pain I had suffered coagulated around my feet, refusing to go down the drain.
I cried. I wept for my baby, Grace, who would never know my name or recall my touch. Who wouldn’t grow up with my voice at her ear, knowing that I had loved her. My chest heaved for my body that would forever be changed, for all the girls who had been forced to surrender their babies.
I cried for all the girls—for the ones who had been in love with the boys who had knocked them up, for the ones who were forced into the back seats of cars by boys they didn’t know how to push away. One girl had even whispered about being raped by her older brother. I cried for her, too.
I cried for Clara, for Loretta, for Georgia Mae. I cried for Bubbles, who I hoped was doing okay, and I cried because I knew that hope was not enough.
When I had exhausted myself, I wrapped a towel around my puffy body, dragged my feet to the living room and went to bed. I slept fitfully, my arms cradled in front of me. Hugging the memory of Grace.
Aunt Marie was there when I woke in the morning. I opened my swollen eyes to the sight of her dressed in overalls and a baggy T-shirt.
“Welcome back, sweetness.” She had a cup of coffee in front of her at the kitchen table, and her yellow numbers pad open.
“Morning.”
“How’d you sleep?”
“Okay.” It was cold. The furnace must have gone out again.
“Your mother asked about you. Nene too. I told them you were in D.C. at an internship. So you better come up with something good. Nene might be blind, but ain’t nothing wrong with that old mind of hers.” Aunt Marie chuckled, but it lacked the heartiness I was used to. Like she was trying to take my mind off all that had happened.
Aunt Marie had always been good at reading my feelings, and she crossed the room in seconds and wrapped me up in her girth. It felt good to be held and I crumpled against her.
“It’s going to be all right, sweetness. You did the right thing.”
We sat like that for a while, with Aunt Marie rubbing my back and letting me cry it out.
“I’m okay,” I said.
“You sure?” She held me at arm’s length.
Then she rose and poured herself another cup of coffee from the percolator on the stovetop. With her back to me, she pushed aside the makeshift curtain and reached under the sink. I could see her hands rattle as she tipped her flask of liquor into her coffee and then brought the cup to her lips.
Aunt Marie had picked up a second gig working at a new club on South Street, and between her work there and her job at Kiki’s, she was gone every night of the week. I drifted through the halls of my high school feeling alienated, numb and disconnected. Senior pictures, class rings, basketball rivalries and plans for prom didn’t excite me, and I mostly kept to myself. On Saturday I returned to We Rise, to a smaller cohort. We had been winnowed down to the six brightest of the bunch, and when I walked into the classroom for the first time in months, all the students turned and gawked at me. I stood frozen, clutching my books in my arm, blocking the small pudge that still hung around my stomach.
Mrs. Thomas’s face opened. “Welcome back, Miss Pearsall. I trust your prestigious internship in Washington, D.C., went well?”
I swallowed. “Yes, it was an amazing experience. I learned a lot about… government.”
“Wonderful, I will give you a chance in the next couple of weeks to fill us in on your experience. For now, we are working on narrative essay writing. Please sit down and get yourself acclimated.”
I moved to an empty seat next to the window, wondering if Mrs. Thomas had been privy to my charade. If she was, she gave no indication. After class, I hung back and handed her an accordion folder containing every assignment that I had missed.
That evening, I sat at the kitchen table with a slice of peanut butter toast, alternating between a physics assignment and reading Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston. Filling my mind with literature and tough mathematical equations was a good distraction, at least for a few hours.
I was hunkered over the kitchen table, reading about Janie complaining to Nanny about wanting to want her new husband, Logan, when there was a knock at the door. Guessing that it was one of Aunt Marie’s numbers clients, I kept on reading, but the knocking continued. I got up and opened it.
It was Shimmy.
My breathing shallowed at the sight of him standing in the hallway, his hair swept off his face.
“Ruby.” He made my name sound like a prayer that had been answered. “Are you all right?”
Before I could get my bearings, he grabbed my face and kissed me hard and with deep affection. I was so famished for his attention that even though I knew it was best to shoo him away, I sank deeper into his strong arms. He smelled of the candy store and felt like heaven.
“God, I missed you,” he said, pressing his lips on my cheeks, my eyelids, and then resting them again against my mouth. His tongue tasted like peppermint, and I allowed him to devour me and my sadness.
As I felt my longing threaten to take me to a place of no return, I shook myself free. That was foolish. I looked around the hall. Someone could have been watching me, and my deal with Mrs. Shapiro would have been over. I stepped back away from him, and an awkward silence passed between us. It was drafty, and I would be in a world of trouble if Aunt Marie caught me letting her heat out. But I didn’t close the door on him.
“Are you doing all right?”
“I’m fine.” I wrapped my arms around my waist to keep from reaching out for him again.
“I came to see if you wanted to go for a ride, so that we could catch up properly.”
“I can’t, Shimmy.” I looked down at my bare feet.
It was part of the deal. I had to leave him alone completely or the scholarship was off. I had come this far, made the ultimate sacrifice, and I couldn’t let up now. I had to see this through to the end.
“I think you better leave.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Your mother said—”
“Forget about her for one moment. Please. I need to know.”
All of a sudden, the wailing from the girls who had surrendered their babies echoed in my ears. I could see Grace being ripped from my arms.
“Go home, Shimmy.”
“What did you have?” he pleaded. “At least tell me that much.”
“A girl,” I whispered.
“Can I at least come in? We should talk about this.”
“Shimmy, I’m sorry. It’s over.” The last thing I saw before I shut the door was the hurt in his brilliant green eyes.
I stood with my back to the door, shaking uncontrollably. But I knew I had done the right thing. I had to move on. Even if it meant I would do so with only half my heart intact. I had lost the two people I loved most, Grace and Shimmy. I didn’t need to be happy, but I could not be poor. All I could do was believe that the future I was moving toward would be worth it.