Authors: Laurie Jean Cannady
Every day after that first meeting, I made the trek from Constitution to Queen Street. Sometimes, I was with one or two of my siblings, and other times I went alone. Bouncing along that street by myself, I imagined the wind could pluck me from the ground and vault me anywhere. Maybe my dance moves at Tricia's would be so slick Michael Jackson would get word of me and move me to Neverland. Or maybe one of the Jets' sisters would twist her ankle and need me to fill in for her. I practiced the dance moves from the “Crush on You” video in my mind, envisioning the smile I'd wear as I danced for thousands.
When I arrived at Tricia's, I was always ready to dance the hardest and the longest. As soon as she demonstrated the eight-count steps, I worked to master them before anyone else. I could feel the boys in the neighborhood following my breasts as they jerked up and down under my shirt like paddle balls. Their watching made me dance harder, made me stick my butt out farther, made me stay around Tricia's longer. On those summer days, I never wanted to go home. Home meant babysitting, cleaning up after myself and my siblings, listening to Mr. Tony's jokes, and having run-ins with Momma and the corner of the wall, which I often frequented. With Tricia is where I wanted to be and she wanted me there too.
One summer day, before the seventh-grade school year began, I went to visit Tricia with hopes of convincing Aunt Vonne to let me stay the night. Once I got to Queen Street, the usual kids were running, but Tricia wasn't sitting in her normal spot on the porch banister waiting for me. Aunt Vonne was working at the Econo Lodge on London Boulevard where she did laundry, so I thought she'd probably told Tricia to stay in the house until she got home. I knocked on the door and waited to hear Tricia's normally brassy “What?” traveling downstairs. I was shocked to see Jaw Baby, Aunt Vonne's boyfriend, answer the door.
Jaw Baby was a tall man with hair shorn close to his head and his sideburns linked with the goatee that framed his face. Whenever I saw him, he wore the same thing: a white tank top, knee-high tube socks, khaki shorts, and black Converse All Stars. He rarely spoke to me, and when I normally saw him, he quietly sat on the couch next to Aunt Vonne with a cigarette in his hand. He let me in the door and said, “Tricia's upstairs.” When I got to Tricia's room, the door was ajar. I peeked in and saw her on the bed with her forehead resting on the backs of her hands. I thought she might be sleeping or just playing a trick on me, so I plopped on the bed and began bouncing.
“Wake up, Tricia,” I sang.
“Not right now, Laurie.” Her voice sounded muffled pressed into the pillow.
Now, we'd been hanging all summer long and she'd already accepted the fact I was her new best friend because I made a point of reminding her of that every time I saw her, so I was shocked when she responded with anything less than a “Hey, girl.”
I stretched out next to her and stared at the side of her face as she used her hand to cover her eyes. “Are you crying, Tricia?” I whispered.
“No, Laurie,” she said as she pulled her hands closer to her eyes and wiped away tears she claimed didn't exist.
“What's wrong? Maybe, I can help.”
“You can't help, Laurie. You're just a little girl.”
“But maybe I can tell Momma or you can tell your momma.” Tricia looked straight at me then, and I could see the red lines swimming in tears. I couldn't imagine what was making her face crack and the tears flow. I feared my words were to blame. I didn't want to say anything else, afraid I would do more damage, so I held her hand and cried with her, even though I didn't know what we were crying for.
We sat on Tricia's bed until her weeping ceased. Even as both our hands grew sweaty, our fingers remained entangled into each other. “You okay, Tricia?” I asked while squeezing her hand.
“Yeah,” she said as she shook her head “no” and wiped her face with her free hand. I wanted to ask her again what was wrong, but I feared reopening the wound that had masked the smile she normally wore when we were together. “I'm gonna run away from here,” she said. “I'm going to leave and never come back.”
I couldn't understand why Tricia wanted to run away. Her house was my getaway. If anything, I should be running from my mean momma and worrisome brothers and sister. Her house was the fun house where we had soda, where there were Murry's hamburgers and pizzas to eat and once Aunt Vonne had a drink and was singing along with the radio, the real fun began. Then I could ask if I could stay the night, so Tricia and I could hang out of the window and talk to her cute next-door neighbors, Juan and Thomas, Jr. Why she'd want to leave all of that, I couldn't understand.
I chose my words carefully because I didn't want her to cry anymore. I wanted her to be who she'd always been when we were together, so I asked what I felt the only appropriate question in that moment.
“If you run away, can you take me with you?”
She looked at me and the tears covered her face again, but this time those sparkling teeth made their debut. We laughed together just as we had cried together even though I still didn't understand what was happening. Tricia then leaned close to me. This time she was squeezing my hand, “If I tell you something, you promise not to tell anybody?” I nodded in reply, bobbing my head harder and longer, hoping my sincerity would be transferred through my nods.
“I'm tired of Jaw Baby trying to mess with me,” she began. “He's always touching me and trying to make me do stuff.” I sat up in the bed, unwilling to believe that Jaw Baby was doing to Tricia what Pee Wee had done to me. I couldn't imagine anybody, other than Aunt Vonne, making Tricia do anything. She was the toughest girl I knew and I struggled to understand what power a quiet, cigarette-holding, couch-leaning Jaw Baby could have over her.
“But can't you tell your momma?” I asked.
“Ma ain't gonna do nothing. He don't do it around her and she wouldn't believe he would do that because he has a daughter my age.”
“You don't think that she will believe you?” I asked.
“I don't know, Laurie. It's just too hard,” she said.
I was again confused. Was what Tricia was going through too hard or was it too hard for Aunt Vonne to believe? Even today, with decades between that moment and the one in which I write, the confusion lingers, but a deeper understanding remains closely linked. Sometimes, you cannot know what you need to know.
Next to Momma, Aunt Vonne was the best mother I knew. Such an able caregiver, even Granddaddy called her “Mother.” Soon after Champ was born, Grandma Rachel died and Aunt Vonne was the one who taught Momma how to be a mother before she'd learned to be a teenager. Like Momma, she too had worked hard for Granddaddy, serving customers, dodging unwelcomed advances, and fighting off multiple men attempting to steal her innocence, just as Pop had stolen Momma's, as Pee Wee had stolen mine, as Jaw Baby was stealing Tricia's.
Aunt Vonne had given birth to five beautiful girls, all replicas of her with dark brown skin and hair so curly it looked like they were born with Jheri Curls. In my eyes, Aunt Vonne was a warrior, more so than most men. If Momma were in the heat of an argument with a neighbor, I'd welcome the sight of Aunt Vonne's small-frame, thin legs, and arms still plump from lugging barrels of water, with her five daughters, rushing to Momma's aid. She was a miracle-worker in my mind, one day splitting half a McDonald's Big Mac between myself and five other cousins. And when she straightened my hair, she never burned my forehead or the nape of my neck in the way Momma sometimes did.
Just as Tricia was the strongest girl I knew, Aunt Vonne was the strongest woman, and I couldn't imagine any force strong enough to stop her from killing Jaw Baby once she learned he was messing with one of her girls. But as time and experience have taught me, sometimes the shell of a person has to be tough because the middle
is soft, and if the Boone women, myself included, have just one weakness, it is our men. We believe the best in them, without evidence, while questioning what we know to be the best in ourselves.
Tricia and I could not attach that meaning to her dilemma that day. We were too intent on searching for a cure. Since I'd met her, she'd been my hero, so I'd just expected she'd be her own hero too. But I loved her so much, admired her with everything in me, that I relished the opportunity to be a hero for her until she could be one for herself.
“Tricia, you know this happened to me, too.” I said.
Her eyes widened and she drew her lips together. Except for Momma and my brothers and sister, I'd never told anybody what Pee Wee had done to me. Sitting on that bed, I cracked myself open and let her see the rotten I hid. I continued, “It happened and I'm okay, so you're gonna be okay too. We're gonna get through this together. Okay?”
My big cousin looked at me, the same girl I'd often looked to for answers, and nodded her head, as if, only twelve, I had answers for her.
“What happened to you, Laurie? Who did this to you?”
“Pee Wee,” I said, and I began my journey through a history I'd already traveled, in hopes it would make her path smoother than my own.
We concocted a plan to ensure Jaw Baby didn't get anywhere near Tricia when Aunt Vonne wasn't home. On days my aunt worked, I made my way to Tricia's, so when Jaw Baby woke, I'd already be there. When school started again, it wouldn't be as much of a problem because Tricia would be in school while Jaw Baby was at the house. We had more than a month before that happened, so there was work to be done.
We'd perfected our plan, except for days Momma had chores for me to do. I'd scrub, sweep, and make beds as quickly as I could, while envisioning Tricia locked in her bedroom, unable to use the bathroom, fearing what waited on the other side of her door. On those mornings, I'd take the corner that led to Queen Street as quickly as I could, praying I wasn't too late. On good days, my panic was all for naught and I'd find Tricia sitting on the banister of the porch waving at me. On the not-so-good days, she'd quietly lay on her bed with dried tears on her face, ready to tell what she could reveal to no one else. “He asked me to hold his legs while he did sit-ups, then he tried to pull me onto him” or “He blocked the bathroom door and tried to follow me in” began her stories. I listened quietly, held her hand and vowed to clean faster and run faster next time.
Once Tricia and I learned Jaw Baby's routine, we limited the days she'd have a story to tell. Some nights, Tricia would sneak me into the house after Aunt Vonne was sleeping and we didn't have to worry about me doing chores or not running fast enough. As soon as Jaw Baby woke up, peeked into Tricia's room and saw me in her bed, the closing door's click let us know she was safe.
I don't understand why I didn't fear Jaw Baby would try to do the same to me. Maybe it was the fact he never looked directly at
me, or I believed Tricia to be much more beautiful than me, so I resided at the bottom of the victimization hierarchy. Ironically, I'd grown so accustomed to abuse I expected all men, especially men like Jaw Baby, to take whenever they had the opportunity. At twelve, my self-esteem was as fragile as rice paper and not being abused was another indication of how useless I was. Except to Tricia. She needed me. She showed it, and when I told her my teeth were too big, my mole was too large, and my hair was too nappy, she told me how pretty I was, how my eyes were the brownest she'd ever seen, and that everybody wanted a mole like mine because Madonna had one. And she'd straighten my hair, so mine would look like hers and blow in the wind too. When I complained I'd never had a boyfriend and that guys didn't like me like Juan, Thomas, Jr., and Barry liked her, she set out to find me my very own boyfriend.
Tricia was not only the most popular among the girls on Queen Street, she was also the most popular among the boys and men. When she walked across the street, with her long coffee legs strutting beneath her shorts, they all looked, and some catcalled, “You look good, girl,” or “Can I get some of that coffee?” Tricia met their words with a “Fuck you,” or the waving of a middle finger in the air. But one boy never said anything. He just stared and studied Tricia, remaining silent while others grew louder.
“Lil' Curtis is weird,” I once said to Tricia. “He's always staring and never saying anything.”
“He likes me,” Tricia said. “He's just too scared,” and she smiled a smile I'm sure I wasn't supposed to see. Behind the curve of her lips, I could tell Tricia had her own little secret; she liked him too. One morning while I was whining over the fact that none of the boys I liked liked me, Tricia decided she would fix my problem. She'd make Lil' Curtis be my boyfriend.
I'd always thought Lil' Curtis was cute and he was the only boy that didn't outwardly salivate over Tricia's milk chocolate skin, but I didn't like him like that. He was an auburn boy, with skinny
legs and a long torso. Since El DeBarge had come out, I was into light-skinned boys with Jheri Curls, and Lil' Curtis did not fit that description. But Tricia was intent on getting me a boyfriend, so she sent him a message, instructing him to meet her at the window on the side of her house. Tricia and I positioned ourselves on the stairs inside of the house, with our heads poking out of the window. I was visibly nervous, hoping Lil' Curtis would like me even though I really didn't like him.
He quickly rounded the corner, walking like a man with a purpose. His arms swung wildly as he trotted to the window. He walked straight to Tricia with a grin on his face.
“You wanted me,” he said, as if reporting to the principal.
“Yeah,” Tricia began, “you don't have a girlfriend, right?”
“Nope,” his grin widened.
“Good, because my cousin, Laurie, wants a boyfriend and you're it.”
I smiled, hoping he'd be impressed with what he was getting. Lil' Curtis's grin quickly morphed into a frown.
“What's wrong?” Tricia asked.
“I don't want her. I want you,” he replied. I was so embarrassed I began playing with the bottom of Tricia's shirt as I waited for her to save me.
“What you mean you don't want her? Look how pretty she is. Why don't you like her?”
“She's all right,” he said, “but I want you. I don't want nobody else.”
“Oh, you're gonna date my cousin or I'm not gonna talk to you anymore,” Tricia argued.
“Then you're just not gonna talk to me.” He stood strong in his words, arms folded in front of his chest, a look of defiance covering his face. I stood quietly humiliated as she tried to force me onto him and he repeatedly denied her requests.
Finally he said what was evident to me, “I want to be your boyfriend.”
Tricia paused and a small smile crept across her face. Just as quickly as it appeared, she yelled, “Fuck you,” and slammed the
window. Tricia turned to me and said, “Don't worry, Laurie. We'll get you a boyfriend.”
Of that I was not certain, but I was certain something had happened between Tricia and Lil' Curtis in that conversation. That evening, when we played hide-and-go-get, I watched as Tricia let Lil' Curtis catch her. When we practiced our routines, she was watching him watch her instead of grilling us dancers whenever we missed a step. After that day, Tricia no longer screamed or cursed when she spoke to Lil' Curtis. Most of their conversations consisted of whispers, the exchanging of secrets even I couldn't hear.
“I told him,” Tricia said to me one day. She didn't have to say what. Waves of conflicting emotions pushed through me. What Jaw Baby was doing was our secret. If we didn't share that alone, what did we share? But in her confession there was relief. Lil' Curtis only lived two houses from Tricia, which meant he could get to her faster than I could and if necessary she had somewhere to go when Jaw Baby attacked. And I was always happy to see, on the days I feared I was too late, when I ran so quickly my chest felt as if it were being plungered, Lil' Curtis sitting on the porch or at the window, guarding Tricia in the way only I once had.
Lil' Curtis had a younger brother my age named Patrick. Everybody called him Old Folk because he looked like an old man. He was dark-skinned, lanky like Lil' Curtis, but much skinnier. His voice was devoid of bass and his words squeaked out of his mouth as if his larynx was controlled by a rubber ducky. One of his front teeth was chipped in half, and what we called little beady beads covered his head. I did not like Old Folk. Like Lil' Curtis, he was no El DeBarge, but Tricia claimed he liked me like Lil' Curtis liked her, which made me like him a little more. So when he called me one summer evening, one of the last days before school began, there was a tornado of anxiety swirling in my stomach. I was at home listening to 103 Jamz when Atlantic Starr's “Silver Shadow” began to play. Whenever the DJ played it, I sang as if the lyrics were my
autobiography, allowing the words of the song to rejuvenate my soul. The song's silver shadow was mine and I knew my name was written somewhere outside of Constitution, outside of what Pee Wee had done, outside of my father's absence. I was immersed in the song, with a sense of wonder and wanting, when the phone rang.
“Laurie,” Old Folk's voice squeaked.
“Yeah,” I replied.
“Wanna be my girlfriend?”
I'd imagined it would be more magical than that, like he would have sang or read a poem, but the question was simple, so my response was simple too: “Yeah, if you wanna.”
Our relationship was nothing like Tricia and Lil Curtis's, partly because Old Folk owned a crippling shyness that didn't allow him to look at me for more than two seconds without giggling. We didn't hold hands or have conversations that ran longer than the initial one we'd had on the phone. In fact, we seemed more like strangers after our declarations of belonging than when we used to rush past each other on Queen Street's sidewalk. Having a boyfriend wasn't fun, but I toughed it out, wearing the label of
girlfriend
without experiencing what I assumed were the perks.
I wanted someone to catch me when we played hide-and-go-get, someone to look at the stars with me those summer nights as Tricia, Lil' Curtis, and I sat on the porch. All I got was Old Folk looking at me out of the corner of his eye and snapping his head away when he saw me looking at him. I wondered if he even liked me, if he'd ever liked me. Maybe Lil' Curtis was telling him how much I liked him in the same way Tricia was telling me. Having a boyfriend that was a non-boyfriend was harder than not having a boyfriend at allâtoo much worrying with no real return. I shared my dilemma with Tricia.
“I really don't like Old Folk and I don't think he likes me. He never talks.”
“He's just shy, Laurie. He talks about you a lot. Just told Lil' Curtis he wanted to kiss you today.”
“How can he want to kiss me when he won't even talk to me?”
“He does. I can tell.”
That's all I needed to hear. If Tricia spoke, it was my gospel, even though doubts were stomping my dreams of a romantic love with any boy, especially Old Folk.
The next morning I found Tricia, Lil' Curtis, and Old Folk sitting on the porch waiting for me. Tricia, smiling too hard, met me on the sidewalk. “He wants to kiss you now,” she said.
Old Folk leaned on the banister, staring intently at his fingernails. He glanced at me, but then resumed the nail staring.
“He doesn't look like he wants to kiss me,” I said.
“Yes, he does. Look at him.” I looked, but all I saw was the curve in his back, the way his chin touched his chest, and I wasn't convinced he was wanting to be kissed. But he did look cuter. His brown skin was shiny from the sweat born out of the harsh Virginia morning. What I'd once thought were beady beads softened under the kiss of the sun.
“Well, what does he wanna do?” I asked, poking out my chest and placing my hands on my imaginary hips.
“Come on,” Tricia said as she grabbed my hand and pulled me into the house. She walked me past the living room, past Jaw Baby sitting on the couch, and through the kitchen. We ended in the middle of the backyard on a hill of dirt formed after the removal of a tree stump.
“Wait right here,” Tricia said as she ran around the side of the house. I waited, surveying the backyard, eyeing the strength of the grass that surrounded me. I envied that grass, the way rain could beat it, feet could stamp it, yet it always found strength to rise again. As I was examining the blades of green steel, I heard Old Folk coming from the side of the house.
He walked right up and stood in front of me. His chipped tooth disappeared and I marveled at how much taller he seemed standing so close to me. He looked into my eyes and smiled, took my hand into his and pulled me closer to him. I didn't know where all of the machismo was coming from, but I liked it. My hands
began to sweat, and then I was the one who looked away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tricia and Lil' Curtis together, peering out the window at us. Their giggles joined us in the backyard, but Old Folk must have been deaf to them, because he didn't turn his head their way. I looked around the yard, at Tricia, then back at the grass. Anywhere was better than looking at Old Folk, the beads of sweat perched on his lips, the way that his jaw seemed larger, stronger than I remembered.
“You ready?” he whispered. I was not, but I nodded. He leaned down to me and I feared some of his sweat would drip onto my skin, but the beads held fast to his face. Then his lips touched mine. They were warm, soft and salty like taffy. I opened my mouth and he opened his around mine. It was just like in the movies. The world spun as Old Folk rubbed my back. In my mind the kiss went on too long, but I liked being in his arms, liked his skin touching my skin.
I wonder if we're doing it right
, I thought to myself.
Maybe I should start calling him Patrick and not Old Folk
, was another notion running through my mind. Finally, he dropped his arms, stopped his lips from moving, and stepped away. I was proud of myself, proud of the womanly thing I'd done. I imagined we'd hold hands often after that and kissing would be our new pastime. But, soon after the kiss, Old Folk and I didn't talk again and I got word through Tricia he didn't want to be my boyfriend anymore. But she assured me I'd done everything right and that it looked to be one of the best kisses she'd ever seen. So, I tried to believe nothing was wrong with me and Old Folk was just a dummy, as most boys were dummies, because he couldn't see the silver shadow glowing inside of me.