This Side of Providence (9 page)

“Is Celie back yet?”

I shake my head.

“How much more time she got?”

When I don't answer him right away he shuts the driver's door and walks around the car. He takes the steps two at a time. He has a tattoo on his neck of a dotted line and the words
CUT HERE
. The one on his arm is a big S like the Superman symbol.

“You're her daughter, right?” he asks with a real sweet voice. I nod, taking a few steps back as he gets close to me. I hold Trini's hand tight in mine. “I knew it,” he says. “You look just like your mom. Real pretty.”

Now I know he's full of it. I don't look anything like my mother. He pulls on Trini's braid and smiles down at her.

“She leave anything for me? Maybe an envelope with my name on it?” He cups his hands around his eyes and looks in through the windows.

“Who are you?”

“Name's Jimmy. We're old friends, me and your mom.” He
sticks out his hand, but I don't shake it.

“She never said anything about you.”

“Damn.” He rubs the stubble on his head. “It was real important, too.”

“Sorry. We don't have it.”

He walks toward the opened door. “You mind if I look around?” he asks, but he's inside the apartment before I can say anything. Adults always ask a lot of questions, but I never see them stick around to listen to the answers. We follow him into the house and watch him look in the dressers and under the beds. When he doesn't find anything we get bored and go back to the porch to wait for Scottie.

Scottie always honks three times when he pulls into the driveway, announcing his arrival to the whole neighborhood. He drives an old Cadillac, white-gray like pigeon shit. I guess it can go fast but he drives it like he's in a parade. Babies it, like it's the most valuable thing he's got. Scottie thinks he's a big deal because when he was boxing he once knocked out Vinnie Pazienza in the third round. He acts like Muhammad Ali, but really he's just another punk from the streets with quick hands and an even quicker mouth. My father lives in Puerto Rico, but I'm guessing he could live down the block and he still wouldn't come get Cristo and me. My mother says he still loves us, but if that was true, wouldn't he show up himself and say it to my face?

Scottie's a few minutes late, and as usual, he doesn't get out of the car. I stand Trini on the sidewalk while I fix the car seat, fastening the seat belts as tight as I can. Then I buckle her in and smooth out her dress under the straps.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says.

I turn around to say thank you, but he's looking at Trini in the rearview mirror. Then he reaches back to tickle her toes. She laughs and kicks her legs, trying to get away from him. I smile at her and kiss her forehead, harder than I should.

“Have fun,” I whisper into her ear.

She smiles back at me. “Have fun,” she says, her little feet still kicking.

Scottie finally looks over at me.

“Why you all dressed up?”

“It's my birthday,” I say. “I'm ten years old today.”

“Ten years old?” He lifts his eyebrows like he's impressed. “That's pretty goddamn old. You better watch out, you're almost over the hill.”

“Cut it out, Scottie. I'm not
that
old.”

“Yeah, I guess you got a few good years left.”

I get out of the car and close the door behind me. He rolls down his window.

“Hey, what's the word from your mother?”

I twist one of my braids around my finger. “She called a few times before the phone got cut off. She hates the food.”

“How long they keeping her?”

“Lucho says a while. Till Christmas at least.”

His face hardens. “She still around?” He bites his fingernail and spits it onto the ground.

“Yeah, she's living with us. Officially.”

He shakes his head. “Christ, that's fucked up. I only get my kid on Saturdays but that dyke gets to move right in? She's not even family.” He punches the steering wheel and accidentally honks the horn. Through the window I see Trini's whole body jump. I make myself smile when her eyes find mine.

“At least she's got a job,” I say, tapping my finger on the glass to make Trini laugh.

“Fuck that. I work.”

“I didn't mean you. I just meant…she takes care of things.”

“I can take care of things, too. My family and shit. I can do that.” He scratches the stubble on his face. “If she gave me a chance I could do that.”

I wonder who he means—my mother, Lucho, or the judge that only gave him weekly visitations.

“This ain't right,” Scottie says. “I'm gonna have to do something about this.” The muscles in his cheek twitch like a firecracker before it pops. He grabs the steering wheel with both hands, squeezing it till his knuckles turn white and start to swell. When he lets it go I watch his hands turn back to normal.

Just then Jimmy comes down the steps, taking three at a time.

“Who the hell is that?” Scottie asks, leaning out the window.

“A friend of Mami's.”

Scottie gets out of the car and slams the door behind him. He walks over to Jimmy. “What the fuck do you think you're doing?”

“Who the hell are you?” Jimmy asks.

“I'm a royal pain in your ass.” Scottie backs Jimmy into his car. “Who are you?”

“Name's Jimmy.” Jimmy sticks out his hand to shake, but Scottie knocks it away. “Hey man, chill. I'm not looking for trouble. I'm just looking for what's mine.”

Scottie looks toward the house. “And just what in there you think is yours?”

“Arcelia owes me some money.” Jimmy looks at me, then back to Scottie. “She was supposed to leave it for me before she got nabbed.”

“How much?”

“A couple Gs,” Jimmy says.

“Bullshit.” Scottie points a finger in Jimmy's face. “I can see in your face you're a fucking liar.”

“I'm not lying, man. She owes me two Gs. But right now I'm just looking for one.”

Scottie points to his car. “You see that little girl over there? That's my daughter. She lives here.” He points to the house. “And I don't ever want to see you over here again, you got that? I don't want you ever talking to those girls, or looking at them, or asking them any questions.” He opens the door to Jimmy's car and waits while Jimmy climbs in.

“You know Sandro's Gym on Valley?”

Jimmy shrugs.

“Come by and see me. I'll get you your money.” Scottie slams the door shut, locking Jimmy in. “Do yourself a favor and forget this street even exists.”

Jimmy nods and turns on his car, blasting a rap song. Scottie shakes his head as he watches the car drive away. He brushes my shoulder as he walks by me, his anger burning my skin.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, “what is the world coming to?” He checks the time on a digital watch. “Ah, fuck, I gotta go.” He
starts his car with a pop and looks over at me. “Take it easy, kid.”

He turns the AC on full blast, but doesn't put his seat belt on. I hold onto the car door to keep him from backing up.

“Hey, where you guys going anyway?”

“My sister's making gumbo for dinner. Then to Waterfire if she's good.” He smiles at Trini in the rearview mirror before looking back at me. “What about you?”

I look toward the empty house. “They're taking me out. Dinner. A movie. Cake. You know, regular birthday stuff.” I shrug, hoping he can't tell that I'm lying.

“Sounds fun,” he says. “Too bad you can't come with us.”

“Well…” I straighten my dress, trying to iron out a wrinkle with my hand. “Maybe I could ask. If you want me to.”

He scratches the stubble on his face and pretends to think about it. “Maybe next time, okay?” He puts the car in reverse and rolls out of the driveway.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” He's been saying next time for over a year now.

I walk up the driveway, careful to lift the bottom of my dress so it won't drag on the pavement. I'm not used to walking in pumps and I trip over a box of Dunkin' Donut Munchkins someone left on the ground. I feel my face get hot as I rush to stand up quickly. I try to walk as if my knees don't throb from where I hit the sidewalk. Scottie honks the horn, startling me. I look up to see him leaning out the window, while the car rolls steadily forward.

“Hey Luz, smile already—it's your birthday!”

I force myself to wave as he drives away. I see Trini clapping wildly in the backseat, which makes me smile, even though I feel my throat getting tighter and my eyes beginning to water. My body wants to cry but I won't let it. I blink several times and bite the insides of my cheek to distract myself. I drop my head, wishing I could disappear.

“Hey kid, you all right?”

A man's voice, one I recognize but can't name. I turn to see our landlord strolling down the sidewalk. He's wearing a sweatshirt and jeans even though it's eighty degrees out, which
makes him stand out more than the color of his skin. Snowman, a fitting name.

“You okay?” he asks again.

“Yeah. I'm fine.” I try to walk around him, but he follows me up the driveway.

“Hey,” he calls after me. “You ever see that kid that got shot?”

I stop walking and turn to face him, wondering how he even knows about César.

“You know, that Martinez kid?”

He gestures with the bag in his hand. It's from Circuit City. If the gods were kind it would be my birthday present.

“Yeah, I know him.”

He steps toward me. “How's he doing? I heard he was lucky to still be alive.”

“Yeah, he is,” I say, nodding my head for emphasis.

He looks at me like he wants me to say more.

“He's the same. They're still waiting for him to wake up.”

“Oh. Okay.” He wraps the bag around his hand, cutting off his circulation. I didn't think his skin could get any whiter, but it does.

“Sometimes it's worse when they wake up,” he says. “If they find out they can't walk or whatever.”

I try to think of something to say to get this guy to leave. Then he hands me the bag.

“Give him this, will you? When he wakes up.” He steps back from me. “If.”

I look into the bag. There's a Sony Discman and a bunch of CDs. Prince and Janet Jackson are the only covers I can see through the plastic.

“Okay.”

He reaches into his pocket. “And these. I almost forgot.” He hands me a package of batteries. Kind of makes me wish I was in the hospital.

“Thanks, kid,” he says. “Appreciate it.”

I nod and walk into the house. The apartment is hot and stuffy, and it smells like old furniture. I hang the Circuit City bag on the back of the bedroom door. Even if I do give it to
him, it's not gonna be on my birthday. I take off the dress I was wearing and change into an old T-shirt and shorts I've had for the last three summers. They're small, but they still fit good enough to wear. I throw the pumps into the back of the closet and swear I will never wear them again. My braids make me feel pretty so I leave them in. I pretend they are gifts and wrap each end with a purple bow.

I hear laughter and the annoying jingle of the ice cream truck as it comes down the street. From the window I can see half the neighborhood run outside and chase it down. A girl and her sister run hand-in-hand down the street, jumping over the pothole we use as a sandbox. There is a part of me that wants to join them, to play in the sun and eat ice cream and laugh. But the bigger part, the one I listen to when I can't hear anything else, tells me to climb into my bed with my book and read in the half-dark, while the rest of the city is lit up like a birthday cake. Not that I've seen one of those in a while. But I still remember what one looks like.

When Cristo gets home he comes into the room without knocking. He stops short when he sees me, obviously startled. He holds his hand over his heart just like our mother used to do.

“Luz, what the fuck? I thought you were going with Trini today.”

I keep reading my book. “I didn't feel like it.”

“So you're gonna stay home? On your birthday?”

“I don't even like Scottie, or his sister. And I don't like Waterfire. Who wants to sit around staring at burning logs all night?”

Cristo shrugs. “Teacher says it's cool. Like being in church, only you get to listen to music instead of some old guy preaching.” He kicks off his sneakers and throws them into the closet.

“Church on a Saturday night? No thank you, very much.” I hide my face so he can't tell I'm lying. Miss March, the librarian, goes all the time and she says the best part is the smell, like the whole city is roasting marshmallows in front of a campfire. The only fire I've ever seen was when an old carpet factory burned down on Cranston Avenue, and that smelled like
chemicals and death.

He points to the Circuit City bag. “What's that? Scottie get you a present?”

“Please. He never remembered our birthdays when we still lived together.” I jump down from my bed and try to snatch the bag from him, but he holds it away from me and peaks inside.

“Damn, a Discman? Who's it from?”

I hesitate. “Snowman.” I walk into the kitchen, hoping he forgets about it.

“Shit. I wish it was my birthday,” he calls out from the bedroom.

The fridge is empty except for some old take-out containers and a few bottles of root beer. I drink the soda and find some peanut butter crackers in the cupboard. I remind myself that when her shift is over, Lucho will bring us something to eat. Sometimes she forgets to come home, but whenever she shows up, she never forgets to bring food. That, if nothing else, can be counted on.

Miss Valentín comes by at seven to take Cristo to the movies. I've heard of Big Brother or Big Sister programs, but I've never heard of a Big Teacher program. What teacher would want to spend this much time with a student, especially in the summer? And what's so great about my brother anyway? You'd think she'd have her own family to hang out with.