Gran is playing Hezekiah Walker in her bedroom. I have never heard this song before, but a connection happens in the soul. The beat feels like silk on my skin, in my ears, and pumps my heart. When my eyes open, I do not think about anything going on in my life. I just feel the words reach down for the aches in my heart. My shoulders start moving and my feet are on the floor. I don’t censor myself, and my hands fly in the air. My fingers snap and my neck twirls from one side to the other. I’m so wrapped up in the magic that I don’t hear Gran until she’s in the doorway.
“Every praise is to our God. He is merciful. God is your healer, your deliverer. Bathe this child in your blood, Jesus.” Gran stomps her foot and shouts, “Hallelujah!”
The power continues to move through me. Gran is all worked up and puts her hands on my back and prays over me some more. I go with the flow, with the rhythm, with the moment, and when she says “Amen,” I feel peace. Gran gives me a pat.
“That was just a prelude. Wait till you get to church. It ain’t like you remember. The young folks done took over.” She chuckles.
“I’m not going to church, Gran.”
“Baby, ain’t nothing like fellowship to lift you up and away from that devil. You see how that music moved you? You’ll really feel the presence of the Lord in the sanctuary.”
I haven’t stepped foot in Gran’s church in almost twenty years, and no matter what that song made me feel, I’m not breaking my record today.
“I can’t, Gran. I have some errands to run.”
She sighs, reaches down into her bosom, and pulls out a crumpled list. “In that case, I need you to ride up to the Acme on Red Lion Road. They have Perdue chicken breast on sale for a dollar ninety-nine a pound. Can you read my writing?” She hands me the list.
I nod.
“The money will be under the flowered place mat on the dining room table downstairs.”
“Okay.”
“Soak the chicken in some salt water to get the blood out and I’ll do the rest when I get home. Ms. Marie gon’ carry me to church.”
My mind drifts to Martin and the other night. The aftertaste of sex colors my cheeks.
Gran catches me. “What you thinking ’bout?”
“Nothing.”
She peers at me again. The corners of her lips frown and then she turns out of my room, humming to the gospel hymn coming from her bedroom. Shame seeps from my skin. I’ve broken my wedding vows, and my family is split at the seams. It’s my fault. Grief weighs down on me like mud. When I hear her lower herself into her chair, I walk down the hall and start the shower. The water runs good and hot before I pull the curtain back and step in. It’s too warm but it seems right to suffer.
As I move the cloth over my belly, I remember Martin’s touch. The way he moved against my body. That man sure knows how to make a woman feel unforgettable. I up the water even hotter and plunge my head under the stream. I’ve crossed the line, and if Preston doesn’t come to his senses soon I’ll be miserably worse.
Martin is leaving after tonight and I’ve promised to see him one last time. It’s wrong, but he said he had something important to tell me. While I’m out shopping for Gran, I’ll buy something cute to wear for our goodbye.
* * *
I spend the late morning doing Gran’s bidding and then stop at the Macy’s on Cottman Avenue in the Northeast. On the sales rack, I find a cute skirt and low-cut top. Satisfied, I drive down Roosevelt Boulevard, the same boulevard that brought me into Philadelphia a few days ago. I’m overwhelmed by an eerie feeling. What if this is it? What if Preston never lets me come back home? What if I’m banished from my family forever?
Then they’ll grow up without a mother just like you and look at how that turned out.
This has to blow over. Preston can’t keep this up much longer. My family needs me.
Of course he can. What’s so special about you? And this is what you wanted. Freedom. Remember?
I turn up the radio and drown the damn voice from my head.
* * *
When I get back to Gran’s, Crystal is asleep on the couch. The floor creaks as I walk into the dining room, and she looks up.
“Thought you was out.”
“I was and now I’m back.”
“Were you with Martin?”
I drop the bags on the floor and turn my body toward her. “No.”
“Well, when you see him, tell that fool he still owes me twenty dollars.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He was supposed to pay me fifty dollars for your number. Only gave me thirty. Tell him I want my twenty.”
“You did what?” I move back into the living room.
She yawns and scratches her nose.
“Crystal, you sold me out for fifty bucks?”
“Girl, stop your whining. I needed the money.”
I am almost stunned. Almost, but it’s Crystal, same old tired-ass, catty, jealous, stupid, stinkin’ Crystal.
“Do you know how fucked up this is?” I’m loud. “My marriage is cracked, he won’t let me see my kids, I’m stuck here with you, and—”
“Just the way it would have been if Mama ain’t choose you over me.”
The front door slides across the living room floor. My knees buckle and I glue my hip to the piano to keep me from snatching out Crystal’s weave and eyeballs.
“Praise the Lord,” Gran says. I’m not sure if she notices the tension, but she starts chatting us up about the sermon. Crystal picks up the remote and turns on the television. My chest heaves in and out.
“You do what I say?” Gran eyes me.
“Yeah, the groceries are right there. I’ll be back,” I tell her.
“You having dinner, aren’t you?”
“I need some air.”
My purse is on my shoulder and I walk out the front door. I can feel my pressure pulsing in my ear, and if I don’t keep moving away from Crystal I will do her damage. I pull away from the curb and speed down Gran’s little street. The Nissan carries me over to West River Drive, where I park and then walk. The weather is hot, but the humidity is low for a Philadelphia summer day. There is a pleasant gust of air coming off the river, making it a perfect day for outside activities. People are jogging, on Rollerblades, riding their bikes, pushing baby carriages, laughing, talking. Across the Schuylkill River, I gaze at boathouse row, which consists of about fifteen boathouses that have been there for more than a century. At night the boathouses are lit and beautiful like a Christmas tree. My father brought me down here once, for the Independence Day Regatta. I remember the cherry water ices and salted pretzels we ate. He let me take pictures with his camera. I still have the picture that a woman offered to snap of us. He had his arm around me and I looked startled by his affection.
Truth is I didn’t know my father well enough to miss him. He spent most of my life out at sea. I used to daydream about him, though. From snatches of overheard grown-up conversation, I’d picture my father on something like a slave ship. In cramped conditions, damp clothing, little to eat, showering for weeks without hot water, worrying over my mother, and writing countless letters that she’d glance at but never take with her to bed.
My parents married quickly, right before he was shipped out to sea with the navy. I was already swollen like a grapefruit in her belly. I heard her tell Aunt Shelly that she only married him for the benefits.
“In case something happened to him at least my daughter would be taken care of for life.”
Their relationship was mostly long-distance, through paper correspondence and a few months out of the year when he was home. After serving for ten years, the navy wouldn’t accept his reenlistment because his behavior had become erratic, and he had been diagnosed with stress-related paranoia. That’s when he became my mother’s problem. They had given him a low-level job at the Philadelphia Shipyard, and he worked early mornings. When he was on his medication he was fine, but when he wasn’t, that’s when the trouble would begin.
His sun rose and set on my mother’s lips, and he couldn’t get over her. He’d come to our apartment on Eighteenth and Susquehanna and throw rocks at the window in the middle of the night to get my mother’s attention, and then he’d sing his love to her in front of the whole neighborhood.
In the beginning, Gran didn’t take my father’s mental illness seriously, and said stuff like he’d come around, he’d get over it, give him some time. But time only made it worse. It wasn’t until the day of “The Incident” that she saw with her own two eyes how bad it was, and by then it was too late. Crystal got caught with his knife trying to protect my mother and I stood watching like a mute.
* * *
I twirl blades of grass between my fingers and try to be soothed by the water and the picturesque view, but that damn girl has ruined my mood. I can’t understand why Crystal has to be so selfish. She has always been envious of me. It started even before I moved in with Gran. When my mother was around she would include Crystal in most things, but it was never enough. I often wondered if Crystal was a little touched, like my father. Not a full bottle missing from the six-pack, but maybe a few sips, because her behavior has always been irrational.
One time when she was in high school, she beat up a girl so badly with a soda bottle that she had to be rushed to the emergency room. Why? Because the girl supposedly rolled her eyes at Crystal. She was expelled from more high schools in the city than I could name, and found trouble without effort. I had my one snag, but for the most part I did things right. I learned my lesson but I pay for that mistake every single day. Just because she can’t see my scars doesn’t mean I don’t have them.