DUTIFULLY SAM WALKS ME HOME. HE’S not happy about it, mainly because my frustration with him is manifesting as a whole bunch of chatter. I like kissing Sam, but I used to like talking to him too. I want to be able to do that.
I can’t stop myself, and he’s not filling in his side of things, so I’m coming across as something of a runaway train.
“You wanna go down to the water?” It’s my last-ditch effort to have something actually happen here.
Sam turns his wrist to get a look at his watch. “I have to be home,” he says. “Dinner.”
“Oh.” I wonder what it feels like to be tied to a place and time like that. Sounds like a drag to me, but maybe it’s nice knowing someone will miss you if you don’t show up when you’re supposed to. I come and go as I please.
We say good night on my sidewalk, as usual. No kiss. No hand-holding. No lingering or last words. Just this strange new distance between us.
I climb up and up and slip inside the apartment, thinking about supper and maybe a little bit of Panther reading before bedtime. Maybe try to figure out the list Rocco gave me. But I pause in the doorway, unsettled by something out of sight. It’s quiet at home, but not the calm sort of quiet. Then I see them.
A large pair of work shoes tangled with Mama’s black pumps, just beside the door.
I ache with disappointment. It’s been a while since Mama tried on a man for size. A long enough while to make me almost forget the bad times.
No. I’ll never forget. But it’s been long enough to start me believing it might never happen again.
There have been men before. Twelve men in maybe eight years, starting from the time the main man up and walked out on us. Some stay longer than others. The ones I like never stay long enough. He wasn’t the best of them, my real dad, but he’s the only one I miss.
“He’s a good man, baby. It’s going to be different this time.” She’s usually right about things being different, but almost never right about him being good. Least not good enough for us.
It’s almost always the shoes I see first. Sometimes it’s the voices. The moment she lets them into the place, into her bed, it begins. The roughness around the house that keeps me on edge, keeps me on the street until the last possible second.
It was just the one who tried to touch me, before I learned to live on edge. One hit Raheem, and one hit Ma and that was that for each of those. Most of the rest were no-good suckers too, but least they kept their hands to themselves. Two were nice enough. One I liked, woulda had him stay forever was it up to me, but now I don’t let myself even think his name. You can’t walk back to the good past neither. Once you learn how to be putting things behind, it’s all or nothing.
Sliding back into the hall, I close the door again. Real quiet, like I hadn’t even been there.