Chameleon (36 page)

“I NEED YOU TO CLEAN the backyard today so I can start a garden,” Auntie said the moment I stepped into her house the next morning. “I’m sick of paying for wilted vegetables at the grocery, so I’ll grow my own . . . like I used to.”

The backyard was one big mess. This was gonna take time. Oh, well. Not like I have anything better to do. Especially with Auntie watching her soaps inside. I was mad I didn’t get to see the fellas to tell them I wouldn’t be around for the day, but they would just wanna come over and hang out anyway. I didn’t want that.

By lunchtime, my shirt clung to my body, sweat-soaked from the heat. I wanted to get a little more done before I ate because I didn’t know if I would want to come back out again. I got most of the junk cleared out and was ready to start on the garden itself. A square patch of dirt about the size of two of me lay framed by a bunch of wooden stakes and string. The patch of dirt sprouted plenty of weeds and didn’t look like it was ever a garden. The heat finally took my breath away, so I went inside for a break and found Auntie watching her stories on the couch. She sat cool and calm — no swaying, no moaning. Her glass of “juice” was nowhere nearby. I wondered when it would come out.

I guzzled a tall glass of apple juice myself, the only drink besides water in the fridge, and hunted for something to eat.

“What you got to eat, Auntie?” I yelled to the living room.

“There’s some leftover dirty rice and crab in the fridge,” she hollered back.

Dirty rice? Mama made some one time, and I didn’t like it. Dang. I don’t like crab either. What else is there? I flipped through the cabinets and settled on a basic peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. I found the bread and the jelly no problem, but not the peanut butter.

“Where’s the peanut butter?” I yelled.

“In the fridge. Behind the lard,” she yelled back.

The fridge? Who keeps peanut butter there? I pulled it out from behind the big red bucket of lard and stuck the knife in. I tried to spread it, but it was so hard, it ripped the bread to pieces. Dang! I’m hungry!

“You got anything else to eat, Auntie?”

“Boy, this ain’t Burger King. You can’t have it your way.”

Now I know how Lorenzo’s Dad felt. I didn’t buy the food in this house, but I was mad there was nothing to eat, especially after working so hard outside. After hunting through the cabinets and fridge again, I tracked down some lunch meat and made a sandwich. Auntie’s familiar big bottle sat on the counter in the corner and held my attention as I chewed my food. It hadn’t been cracked open. Yet. Hopefully it won’t. And hopefully I won’t have to scrape her off the floor later.

About an hour later, the rest of the backyard and garden were done. I dragged my tired body inside and collapsed on the couch with
Malcolm X.
It was good reading but, just like at Dad’s, before I knew it, I was fast asleep. Ambulance sirens jerked me awake. Huh? Oh, just the TV. I went into the kitchen for some water and saw Auntie’s bottle on the same counter, in the same corner, staring me in the face, half empty. Dang! How she do that so fast?

My stomach rumbled, so I tracked down some donuts and went to town. The clock read 2:15 — still three more hours before Mama gets here. I strolled back to the couch and found Auntie sitting in her spot — still cool, still calm, and still watching her stories. Isn’t there anything else on besides soap operas? I grabbed
Malcolm
and went out to the porch. The fresh air felt good. Now I see why Miss Johnston liked sitting outside every day. Maybe I’ll do the same when I’m old.

My thoughts drifted from Malcolm’s life to Marisol’s birthday gift and how to pay for it. What else can I get besides a hair clip? What are other people gonna get her? Andre said to get her something good, but what does that mean? Maybe I could talk to Janine and ask her. Yeah, right. Trent probably won’t even let us back in his house if she’s there.

Speaking of Trent, I wonder what the fellas are doing right now. Probably playing ball somewhere. DuBois? MLK? Maybe they at the movies. Or the Tamale Hut. Maybe Marisol is there. I wonder what she’s wearing. Purple? Pink? Green? Lorenzo better not be talking to her.

Miss Bricknell was nowhere to be found, so I went and got a closer look at her roses. Picture-perfect pink, yellow, white, and red petals dotted the sea of green in front of her house. How could such beautiful flowers grow from such an evil woman? I should snip a few off and give ’em to Marisol. Nah. That sourpuss Miss Bricknell would know it was me. She already thinks I’m a thief. No use in proving her right.

I stepped back in the house to find cool and calm Auntie replaced by passed-out Auntie. She’s sneaky with that bottle. At least she’s passed out on the couch and not the floor. Hopefully she’ll sleep it off there. I stepped back outside on the porch and looked in the direction of Miss Johnston’s house. Her chair sat lifeless and alone. How much stuff had she seen on the block? Auntie’s little episode was one for the books, for sure, but Miss Johnston, old as she was, must’ve seen stuff that beat that by a mile. Shoot, I’ve seen a few things here myself over the years.

One time, there was this woman across the street who pulled a shotgun on her husband after he beat her one too many times. It was late in the day and I was waiting for Mama on the porch when this big dude comes running out of his house in nothing but striped boxer shorts, his fat belly bouncing. This tiny little woman in a ripped shirt and dress chases after him, carrying a big ol’ shotgun. He’s screaming and shouting for her to put the gun down and then — get this — he gets down on his knees and begs, straight-up
begs
! He’s crying and praying and carrying on to her the whole time, but then, not only does she lower the gun — I couldn’t believe this — she starts saying she’s sorry.
She’s
sorry! He snatches the gun out of her hand, punches her in the eye, and says for the whole neighborhood to hear, “Bitch, you EVER do that again and I’ll kill you. You hear me? I’LL KILL YOU!”

I guess what Mama said is true: every pot has its lid.

The Cali breeze tickled the trees, and, like one of Auntie’s soap operas, I felt young and restless. I took a walk around the outside of the house just because, and when I got back to the porch, I saw three bodies approaching from the direction of the Wrights’ house — opposite the way I usually come. They were different sizes and didn’t look familiar, but when I saw a basketball bounce between them, I knew who it was.

Shoot. What are they doing here? I stepped inside, and Auntie was still passed out. When I stepped back onto the porch, they were in front of the fence shouting my name.

“What y’all doing here?” I asked as we exchanged soul claps across the waist-high fence. I stood on Auntie’s green grass on one side; they stood on gray concrete on the other.

“You wasn’t at Pop’s this morning, so we wanted to make sure you was all right,” Andre said.

“How’d you guys find me?” I said, trying to hide my surprise.

I never even told them where Auntie lived.

“Glad to see you too, Shawn,” Trent said.

I was glad to see them — real glad, but they gotta go. If they see Auntie passed out . . .

“We ran into Passion at the Tamale Hut and asked her if she knew where your Auntie stayed. She knew the street but not the house,” Lorenzo said. “Good thing you was outside. Looks like nothing but old folks live on this block.”

Yeah, good thing I was outside. Lucky me. They went to the Tamale Hut?

“We saw Marisol,” Andre said.

“Looking fine as ever in some little short-shorts,” Lorenzo added.

I folded my arms and stared at him. “So?”

“So, you know you in love with her, Shawn,” Trent answered.

“I am not. But what you doing looking at her shorts, ’Zo?”

“See? I told you,” Lorenzo teased. “We just messing with you, Shawnie-Shawn. She wasn’t even there. Passion was there with one of her sisters.”

Why he always do that?

“It’s too hot out here. Ay, Shawn, can we get something to drink?” Andre asked.

They must have just finished playing ball, because their shirts were soaked. Shoot. I don’t wanna let them in the house, but I don’t wanna be rude either.

“Of course. My auntie was sick yesterday, so Mama had me stay with her today to make sure she’s cool. She’s sleeping on the couch now, but we can hang out here on the porch. We just gotta keep it down so we don’t wake her.”

Auntie was still passed out on the couch as I stepped inside. I
really
hope she don’t wake up anytime soon. But if she does, maybe she won’t be drunk anymore. That would be good. I still can’t let them in the house, though. The last thing I need is for them to see her laid out.

I brought out three tall glasses of ice water. Lorenzo looked at his and said, “No Kool-Aid?”

“You lucky you got water, ’Zo. At least I put ice in it.”

He shook his head and took a seat on the lowest step. Trent took the step up from him, and Andre sat next to me on the top.

“So what y’all do so far today?”

“The usual. We just finished playing ball over at DuBois. It wasn’t the same without you as our fourth. I had to take turns beating up on these two in one-on-one,” Andre said.

“Black Bruce was there too. He showed me a few more moves. I think I’m gonna take kung fu,” Trent said.

“Is that what you was doing? Looked to me like you was having a fit, Trent,” Lorenzo said.

“How you know? You was sleeping on the bench,” Trent shot back.

“It’s hot, man. I was resting my eyes,” Lorenzo said.

“And your belly,” Andre added.

“Don’t make me break out the bags!” Lorenzo shouted.

“Keep it down, ’Zo. I told you my auntie’s sleeping.”

“Sorry.” Lorenzo sipped.

“So, Shawn, you figure out what you getting Marisol?” Andre asked.

“And how you gonna pay for it?” Lorenzo added.

Their six eyes zoomed in on me. Do I tell them what Mama said . . . about the hair clip?

“Not yet. My mother suggested I get her a . . . a . . .”

“What, Shawn? Your Mama said you should get her a what?” Trent said, knocking my knees.

Do I really wanna tell them? It sounded all right when Mama told me last night, but now, sitting in front of them . . . I don’t know. Hey, if I could tell Auntie about Miss Johnston . . .

“A hair clip. I told her Marisol has long hair and always has a hair clip pulling it back, so she suggested I get her one — a nice one.”

All right. Let the arrows fly.

“Shawn, Shawn, Shawn.”

“A hair clip?”

“Aren’t they, like, real small?”

“I said the same exact thing, but Mama said whenever Marisol wears it — get this — she’ll think of me,” I said with pride.

“But what if she
don’t
wear it. Does that mean she
won’t
be thinking about you?” Lorenzo said, shaking his empty glass at me.

“Shut up, Lorenzo,” Trent said.

“How much they cost?” Andre asked.

“She said there’s all kinds, but they could go for as much as fifty bucks.”

“Fifty bucks!” the three voices said.

“For a hair clip?” Lorenzo shouted.

“Shhhhh. I told you . . . keep it down.”

I poked my head into the door and Auntie was still out.

“Where you gonna get fifty bucks?” Andre said.

“Yeah, that might as well be a million bucks,” Trent added.

“I know how you can get it,” Lorenzo said, standing. He stretched his arms to the sky and his belly button winked at me.

“Dang, Lorenzo, can’t you wear something longer to hide that thing?” I said, pointing to his eyeball of a belly button.

“What you doing looking at it?”

“It was winking at me!”

I got into my chair on the porch.

“All right, Lorenzo, where do I magically get fifty bucks?”

Lorenzo sat down on the steps and lowered his voice when he spoke.

“My brother’s been asking me to drop off these packages for him around the neighborhood. He said he’d give me fifty bucks for each one. I did it one time a while ago, but the house had all these Pirus hanging out, so I didn’t do it anymore. He gave me the fifty bucks and said he had work for me whenever I needed cash.”

“Are you crazy, ’Zo? You do remember your brother’s wrist getting stomped on, right? I’m sure them ‘packages’ had something to do with it,” Trent said.

“I know. I know. I’m just saying, you do it one time and —
boom
— nice new hair clip,” Lorenzo said.

“Yeah . . . if he’s still alive,” Andre said.

“Or with nothing broken,” Trent added.

“Hey, at least I made a suggestion. I don’t hear y’all speaking up.”

He’s right. Nobody else said anything. I thought about delivering the package for one hot second, but the sound of Dayshaun’s wrist being crushed echoed back into my ears and vibrated through my body. That wiped that thought from my head.

“Shawn, look, you ain’t gotta spend fifty bucks. Shoot, you ain’t even gotta spend a dime. Does your mama or auntie have anything that you could give as a gift?” Lorenzo said.

“Listen to you, cheapskate. You’d give free cheese as a gift if you could! Don’t listen to him, Shawn. Yeah, you don’t have to spend fifty bucks, but you still got to buy her something,” Andre said.

We moved from the gift to who might be at the party when Miss Bricknell called to me over the fence. I ignored her, but she got loud: “I know you hear me, boy! That crazy aunt of yours got the whole neighborhood talking. Everybody saw her drunken self staggering around out here and carrying on. She planning another show anytime soon?”

The fellas raised their eyebrows at her. Then me. That brought me to the fence.

“What is it, Miss Bricknell?”

She flipped her sun hat up to eyeball me and wagged a glove-covered finger in my face.

“I don’t appreciate Gertie speaking to me the way she did yesterday. You tell her I’ll be waiting for an apology whenever she’s ready.”

Is she serious? An apology? I know she don’t expect Auntie to apologize, let alone talk to her.

“Is that it, Miss Bricknell?” I said, as calm as possible.

“No, that’s not it. You and your little hoodlum friends need to keep it down.”