Bernice’s Beauty Nest was packed with women and girls, all apparently trying to get their hair hooked up before they left town. Reesie sighed, realizing that she had forfeited her appointment. She slipped into a chair near the door anyway, and picked up a copy of Black Hairstyles magazine.
The four hair dryers ran constantly, and even with a window air conditioner plus two floor fans, the heat was almost unbearable. Within a few minutes Reesie heard so much gossip about the storm that she felt her head might explode. Luckily, Bernice’s sister, Clarice, pointed to a free shampoo sink and waved Reesie over.
“Well, I’m not leavin’ my livelihood!” Bernice announced to the room. She clicked her curling iron. Reesie watched it sizzle over a teenager’s waxed-stiff hair.
Reesie slouched in her chair as Clarice freed her hair from the scrunchie and let a loud rush of warm water pour over her head.
“What’s your daddy sayin’, Reesie?” Bernice called across the red linoleum floor.
“Aw, Bernice! The child can’t hear you over this water!” Clarice shouted back. Reesie didn’t let on that she could. And by the time her hair was washed and the rollers were in, no one seemed to be talking about the hurricane anymore. Bernice was waving a jumbo curling iron at a loud blond woman and talking her down that no New Jersey casino could beat a New Orleans riverboat casino.
“They don’t have the mighty Mississippi up there, no!” Bernice made her point by clattering the curler into the heating unit. Everyone laughed. No one seemed to be upset, or even anxious.
Reesie hurried to sit under a hair dryer and pulled out her drawing pad and pencil so no one would ask her opinion again. She had been to New Jersey visiting family so many times that it wasn’t any big deal. It was an okay place—mainly because it was close to New York—but Bernice was right: no place was like New Orleans.
Reesie busied herself by sketching outfits: the runway dress from her dream, a short wrap skirt with wide stripes, a jacket with a hood and backpack attached. Once her hair was dry, Clarice took out the rollers and trimmed a little off her ends, then combed Reesie’s hair out carefully.
It was nearly six o’clock in the evening when Reesie stepped out of the salon with beautiful bouncing hair. As humid as it was, the air outside was a welcome change from the heavy perfume of hair oils and sprays floating inside the salon.
She texted Ayanna: WRU? and noticed a steady stream of traffic on the street. She’d never seen so many people from the neighborhood leaving when a storm was headed to town.
When she turned onto her block, she saw the Kerrys’ van pulled crazily across their front yard next door, its back wide open. They were all out there loudly discussing what they should or shouldn’t take, but they didn’t speak to Reesie or even notice her. For a moment she wondered what would happen if everybody left.
She fumbled at her front door lock.
Inside her house the familiar smell of sweet cut roses mingling with the faint whiff of onions relaxed her the way it always did. As she tossed her keys onto a table, she saw that the red light of the answering machine was strobing. She turned it on, dropped into her favorite chair, and ran her hand around the cushion for the TV remote while she listened.
“Reesie!” The first message was from her parraine. “Hey, it’s Unc. Lloyd is all over my case ’bout takin’ you back tomorrow. What time we havin’ this birthday thing? ’Cause the Saints are playin’!” Click.
Reesie laughed. She guessed that Tee Charmaine had cut him off. But Parraine didn’t sound worried or hurried. She turned on the TV. The meteorologist was waving frantically as a giant orange-and-white swirl rolled toward the boot-shaped state of Louisiana on her map. Reesie muted the sound while the next message played.
“Reesie! It’s Ayanna. I tried to get you on your cell. We’re on the road! Mama decided to drive all the way over to her cousin Pam in Atlanta. Remember you met her and her son, Dante, last summer? Let me give you their number. It’s—” Her voice was drowned out by a long loud beep. Reesie sat at the edge of the chair. Ayanna’s voice came back.
“Dang! Oh! Yes, Mama, I know it’s two steps away from cussing. I’m sorry. Where’s the number? Here, Reesie. It’s 404-555-1083. Put it in your contact list right now, okay? My battery’s dying. Gotta go.”
Ayanna’s message had barely ended when the landline rang, and the suddenness made Reesie jump. She leaned to look at the caller ID. It was her mother.
“Hello?” she answered breathlessly.
“Reesie! We’re getting ready to move some of the patients out of the hospital, so—”
“What?” Reesie shouted, and then dropped her voice. “What’s going on?”
“We’re evacuating patients. I’m not sure where I’ll end up, so I’m overruling your daddy and canceling the party. I’m sorry, honey. But I want you to go to Pete’s first thing in the morning. I’ve tried to reach him, but the line is constantly busy. You text him and ask him to come early. Let me know when you speak to him, all right?”
“Okay.” Reesie shivered a little.
“Good, good. I’ll call again as soon as I can,” her mother said. “Love you.” Then she hung up.
“Love you too,” Reesie said to the silence. She picked up her phone and wandered into her bedroom, trying to make sense of all the calls and conversations. Absentmindedly, she turned on the TV there, too, forgetting the house rule about saving electricity. She plopped onto her bed.
Somebody was talking about Katrina on every channel she scrolled past: either people were running away from her, or they were nailing plywood over their windows and doors, daring her to keep out. Reesie dialed Parraine’s number and was surprised when he picked up right away.
“Hey, girl, why’ve you been burnin’ up your phone minutes trying to call me?” he asked.
Reesie struggled to keep her answer calm and casual. “Change of plans for tomorrow. Mama’s stuck at work. She says can you come by for me in the morning?”
“Yeah, for sure,” he said. “But what about your birthday?”
She sighed, glancing at her new skirt hanging on the closet door. “I’ll celebrate next weekend, I guess.”
“We’ll be down there ’round noon. Tell your mama.”
“Okay, Parraine. Bye.” Reesie sent her mother a text: GOT UNC.
Then all of her energy drained away. She curled up on her bed and picked up her remote, flicking until she found one of her old favorite cartoon channels. She zoned out, watching one show, then another and another—anything to keep herself from wondering what tomorrow would bring.