Chameleon (9 page)

Not again.

I shouted down to her, “Auntie, you OK?”

Her limp body stirred. She lifted her head to look up at me, then swung her head around to find my voice. Her body shifted from an
S
shape on the floor to a sitting position. Her eyes blinked their way open, and her mouth moved to make sound. Nothing came out.

A couple of breaths later she said, “I told you I didn’t wanna hear nunna yo’ excuses. I saw you with that . . . that . . .” Her arms started swinging in the air, and she almost hit me in the face.

The second half of her sentence trickled out: “. . . that fat heifer. You get away from me, Avery. Just go. Go to yo’ heifer and have her take care of you.”

I bent over to pick her up but was waved off with a slap of the hand and a loud “Don’t touch me!”

The last words came out in a cloud of alcohol fumes. The bottle on the counter was bone dry, so whatever haze she was in must have been thick.

“Aunt Gertie, it’s me . . . Shawn. Come on, now. You gotta get up.”

Her thin neck teetered her swirled hair atop her swaying frame. She exhaled another cloud of fumes as she grabbed my right hand to stand up. Her neck bobbled on my shoulder on her way up. We rocked out of the kitchen and into the living room, where I let her plop onto her spot on the couch. Her right hand shifted to support her still-swaying head. A drawn-out sigh exited her mouth, followed by a stream of lip smacks.

“I’m OK. I’m OK,” she said, her eyes blinking awake. “Shawnie, get me something to drink, please.”

I filled a plastic cup with ice and water and brought it to her.

“What is this? I don’t want this. I said something to
drink.
”

My neck hairs felt singed from her hot breath as I made my way back into the kitchen.
Something to drink?
There’s no more of that stuff, and I wouldn’t pour it for her even if there was. I went back into the living room and found the cup and its contents on the floor. I guess her body lost the battle with gravity, because her head was on one side of the couch while her legs hung over the edge of the other.

“Shawn, can you get me some pillows, please,” she whispered.

I propped a couple of pillows under her head to make her comfortable, and her eyelids flickered, so I went back to the kitchen.

I scavenged through the cabinets for food. My eyes lit up when an unopened box of powdered sugar donuts appeared before them. I plucked one out and plunged my teeth inside. I made my way to the window and saw the little black sedan I was always happy to see — Mama’s car — coming down the street.

I dusted my mouth, licked my fingers, and wiped my hands on my shirt. Then I went outside.

“Hey, baby,” Mama said, stepping from the car.

I gave her a peck on the cheek.

“You bring me anything?” I huffed.

“Good to see you too, Shawn. Is that all you think about, boy: food?”

“Naw, I mean, no, Mama, I’m just hungry. That sweet roll you brought me yesterday was so good, I was hoping you’d bring me another one.”

“Sorry, baby. Not today.”

She stepped away from the car and made her way inside.

“Why’s it so loud in there?”

I was so focused on Auntie and getting something to eat, I forgot about the racket.

“Oh, that was Auntie. I’ll go turn it off.”

I ran back inside, slamming the door, which made Auntie jerk in her sleep. The radio static and talking heads disappeared as I made my way through each room in the house.

When I came back, Mama was shaking Gertie’s shoulder. She didn’t look too thrilled to find her son being watched by the person who lay passed out in front of her.

“GERTIE! GERTIE! Come on, now.” Her voice carried the weight of anger, but it disappeared as she rotated Auntie’s worn face into view. She pushed the hair out of her face and smoothed the wrinkles from her dress. Mama lowered her head and said in a calm voice, “Shawn, could you get me a cold towel, please.”

“Come on, Gertie. Get up, ol’ girl. It’s me, Sis . . . Brenda. Come on, now. Time to get up.”

When I came back, Mama held Auntie’s head in her arms. Gentle kisses brought her back to life. Gertie’s eyes blinked. She gathered herself before acknowledging my mother, her little sister. “Hey, Sis. How you doin’, girl?”

“I should be asking you that question . . . how
you
doin’?”

“Oh, you know. Same ol’, same ol.’ Caught up on my stories . . . did a couple of crossword puzzles . . . watched the news . . .” Her words trailed off as she nodded toward the now-silent TV. “You know . . . some poor chile over on Greenleaf today . . . fell out of a window . . . again . . . eighth floor . . . I think. Only two years old too. Ummm-mmmm-mmm. Is a shame, Brenda . . . a real shame, girl.” She shook her head as the words stumbled out.

Her hands twitched in her lap as she smoothed her housedress.

Mama looked at me, then back at Auntie. “You do anything else today, Sis? Go outside for a walk, stop at the store, or anything like that?”

“Who you talking to, girl? Of course I didn’t go nowhere today. Hot as it is out there? Shooooot! And you know it’s hard for me to miss my stories. Especially
All My Children,
with that Erica Kane, ummm-mmmm-mmmm. She is something else. Lemme tell you . . . today . . .”

Mama cut her off: “Looks like you had yourself a little party.”

“Aw, Sis, come on, now. You know me better than that. I just had a little tase . . . thas all.”

Auntie shrunk down into her chair as if trying to hide from Mama. I been there before.

“Looks like you had more than a taste.”

Her eyes flashed to mine. All I could do was shrug from the easy chair. My sneakers stuck out and rocked a rhythm.

“Wellll . . . you know how it is, Sis . . .”

Her eyes drifted around the room.

“Lissen, Sis, I need a favor. . . .”

Mama cut her off again: “How long did that one last you?”

“Come on, Sis, it takes me a while to get through one. Thas why I only get pints. I don’t even remember when I got tha las’ one.”

“Now, Sis, you know I’m not getting you a pint. The last one wasn’t even a pint. It was a bottle,” Mama said, in the same voice she uses to punish me.

Auntie sucked her teeth and melted deeper into the couch.

“Besides, you know the store is closed,” Mama added, using a line I’d heard before.

Auntie’s head bobbed with a quiet, “OK, Sis. I unnerstand. I unnerstand.”

With each head bob, her eyes flickered and her head inched lower. She jerked up just before it reached her lap. “l made some oxtails and rice if you want to take some home,” she remembered. Her hands clutched the couch as she tried to stand. “Lemme scoop you up a plate.”

Aunt Gertie and Mama grew up in Louisiana but moved here when Mama was about six. They moved to Compton when Grandpa died so Grandma could find work. Grandma held down a couple jobs, so Auntie did most of the cooking and taught Mama when she was old enough. Mama’s loved cooking ever since. That must be why she got a job cooking for a living. The bad part is that she cooks in a college cafeteria and doesn’t always get to make certain things the way she wants. Her boss likes what she makes, but down in Louisiana they like their food spicy, and she can’t always do that at school. Every once in a while she manages to get in some gumbo or dirty rice or something like that, though.

“Sit, Sis. Me and Shawn will do it.”

Auntie sat. Mama stood.

“You wanna watch some TV?”

“Naw . . . I’m tired, girl. . . . I’m a take me a catnap. You help yourself.”

Mama stood and kicked my left sneaker, telling me to get up. The dog bite crept back into my ankle as I winced my way into the kitchen.

“So tell me what happened.”

“What do you mean, what happened?” I said.

Had she already noticed the sneaker?

“With Sis? Tell me what happened with her today.”

I couldn’t stand the pain, so I sat.

“How should I know? I wasn’t here.”

She slid two Tupperware containers from a drawer and zoomed her eyes in on me. Her free hand found her hip. That’s not good.

“And where were you today?”

I leaned back.

“Come on, Mama. I hang out with my friends during the day.”

She found a large spoon to scoop up some oxtails. Huge chunks of the tender meat dropped into one of the containers. Mmmmm — I was getting hungry just looking at it.

“Doing what?”

I stretched my legs.

“Stuff. Hanging out . . . playing ball. You know . . . stuff.”

“Yeah, I know: nothin’ — that’s what you boys are doing. Listen, I know you are getting older and getting ready to go into high school, Shawn, but it would be nice if you could spend more time with your auntie.”

I jumped up.

“But I don’t wanna watch soap operas all day and watch her get all . . .” My words trailed off as I sat back down.

“Come on, Shawn, it ain’t that bad,” she said, avoiding my eyes and splashing gravy on the stove. But her words were about as believable as the shoe story she would soon hear.

The smell of hot food was getting to me, making my mouth water. I slinked over to the stove and pinched some rice from the pot with two fingers. Her hand smacked mine, and the lid crashed onto the stove.

“Boy, get your hand out of there. You’re not the only one eating this.”

A voice called out from the living room.

“You all right, Sis?”

“Yeah, Gertie. You just rest!”

Tupperware in hand, Mama scooped out enough rice for both of us.

“Look, Shawn, I know it’s hard. But she’s still my sister and your auntie. Having somebody around would be good for her.”

She snapped shut the container and walked up to me. I was leaning against the wall. My arms crossed as I looked over her shoulder.

“You might not be seeing much of her in the near future.”

My eyes lit up. Is she gonna finally let me stay alone in Carson?

“Are you gonna stop dropping me off?”

Her eyes rolled and her head tilted.

“I don’t think so. At some point, but not for a while.”

She grabbed the containers and faced me again. “I’m talking about Sis.”

“What about her?”

The containers sat on the edge of the table with Mama’s fingers tracing each lid. Heavy breaths heaved her chest in and out. Her eyes darted outside.

“I mean . . . you know . . . she has problems.” Mama dropped her head.

I leaned back against the wall, uncrossed my arms, and whispered, “I’ll say.”

“Don’t be smart, Shawn!” she shot.

“Mama, you don’t know,” I shot back, exploding off the wall. “You only see what you see when you see it. But me, I see it all — all the time, Mama,” I pleaded. “
All
the time: on the floor. On the couch. In the bathroom. Cursing at me. Tossing glasses. Asking me the same thing over and over and over and . . .”

She looked outside again and sighed. The floor squeaked as she pulled up a seat.

“Look, Shawn.” She swallowed. “I know you’ve picked her up and dusted her off more times than you’d like to remember.” Her eyes darted outside before she added, “I’ve done it myself off and on since you started school.”

“Dannng!”

“What did I tell you about using that word?” she snapped. I didn’t even get out my “sorry” before her voice had softened and she added, “It would be nice, Shawn, real nice, if you could spend more time with your auntie. Just once in a while. I’d hate to have something happen to her and nobody be around until it was too late.”

Mannn . . . this sucks. What do I say to that? My stomach grumbled, so I pushed off from the wall and pinched more rice from the pot. I was ready to go home. I stood in the doorway between Mama and the living room.

“Can you do that for me, Shawnie?” she said, stroking her right hand across my cheek.

“I can’t even bring my friends here. . . .”

“I know, baby, but could you do this for me . . . please?”

The kitchen walls and ceiling grabbed my attention as I avoided answering her. The soft stroke of her hand on my cheek became a gentle but firm grip on my jaw. She coaxed it around to look me in the eye, so I said the only thing I could say: “All right.”

A PECK EACH on Auntie’s cheek and we were gone. The streets of Compton zoomed past my eyes as we headed home to Carson. Supermarkets, restaurants, malls, and banks replaced liquor stores, chicken shacks, beauty parlors, and check-cashing places.

A song on the radio filled the uncomfortable silence. Every once in a while I glanced over at Mama, and even though she was sitting next to me, driving, she wasn’t in the car with me.

I couldn’t believe Auntie had been like that since I was in kindergarten. I’m fourteen now, so that’s a long time drinking that stuff. A real long time. My nose hairs burned just thinking about the smell. I couldn’t describe it exactly, but I can describe how it feels when you sniff it. Imagine putting a hot pepper up your nose, and then imagine what it does to your whole body.

Earlier this year in health class, we talked about organs and how you can donate them for transplants. The one I remember most was the liver. Mr. Bremelow, our teacher, said the liver is our filter for bad stuff in our body and certain things clog it up. If the liver gets clogged, other parts of the body slow down to help it out. One of the things that messes the liver up most is alcohol, because it makes the liver work so hard. He said that if a guy about thirty years old drank every day for ten years, his liver would be in worse condition than somebody who was seventy years old but never drank. Now that I know Auntie’s been drinking hard since I was about five, that story blows my mind even more.