Keeper of Keys (4 page)

To tell the truth, I was afraid to sleep, to close my eyes and allow my dreams to over take me. I was afraid that I would close my eyes and like my mother, dream forever and never see my child again.

"Did you pray?" This man asked whom I had allowed into my house to fix my roof and had stayed on to mend my mind.

Pray? Every breath I took was a prayer; every beat of my heart was a prayer. No, I did not draw on words I'd heard my grandmother recite from the bible when I was a child, I didn't call out to the Lord the way my mother did when she was tired, frustrated or both: Lord help me!

"No, I did not do that." I told him.

What would have prayer done for me at that point? The disease was in my body already, mixed in with my blood and flowing through my veins. And who was I to ask the Lord: Why have you done this to me? That would have been a foolish question. I had done it to myself, over and over again with men whose names I could hardly remember.

I wished I could have had someone else to blame. Perhaps a private hospital with lots of money and an impeccable reputation. A deranged psychopath that got his kicks from leaving AIDS tainted needles in the seat cushions of movie theaters.

There was no one thing or person to blame outside of me, Kai.

I did finally fall asleep, but not before I watched the sun climb up into the sky, not before the night clouds broke away and sailed off to the part of the world where people were readying themselves for sleep. Not before I wept.

Chapter Six

Fried chicken is an odd smell to wake up to when you don't expect to wake up at all. I blinked at the sunlight that spilled into my room the color of Grandma's lemonade and sniffed the air for the scent of coconut oil. "Did you thank God for the new day?" Asked the man who would, he confided in me later, find anything and everything that was broken in my house just to stay close to me.

"No, I didn't" I said and I must have looked ashamed because he smiled and rubbed the top of my hand and said it was okay to be angry with God sometimes.

"Kai?" Sherry's announcement put a stop to whatever conversation was taking place in the kitchen.

Poor Boy was at the table, a golden chicken leg clutched in his hands, his lips were shimmering with grease and I almost laughed when he smiled at me. He looked ridiculous and reminded me of our summers together when we were small and AIDS was something brewing in a government test tube in a place we didn't know existed.

Sherry was at the stove, flipping thick chicken breasts in the large black frying pan that had belonged to her mother.

Precious was there too, sitting across from Poor Boy. Her back was to me, but I knew her face was perfectly made up and that her nails were painted a delicate iridescent pink and most likely the white material of her blouse dipped in a long V exposing most of her bosom.

From where I stood I could see the clean smooth heels of her foot, because Precious never wore shoes in the house and always, always rested her weight on her toes when she sat. There was a gold bracelet on her left ankle with a heart that dangled from the clasp. And I knew someone new was loving Precious. I hoped she was using a condom.

"Girl you must have been dog tired." Sherry spoke to me but her eyes were on the chicken breasts she was turning.

Precious finally turned around and as expected her make-up was flawless. She looked like one of the models in
Essence
magazine, the issue they put out in January telling you what lip and eye colors were going to be hot that spring and summer.

"Hello," I said and walked a crooked line towards them. My whole body ached and the bottoms of my feet were sore. I wondered if this was part and parcel of the disease I'd recklessly loved myself into.

Precious smiled and her beauty thinned when she did. The gap in her teeth had always taken away from her loveliness. The men didn't mind though, but I knew that Essence magazine would have.

"You 'bout slept the entire day away." Poor Boy said and leaned back in his chair as Sherry dropped another piece of chicken on to his plate. "It's past noon."

I was leaning over Precious, kissing her on her cheek and inhaling the Dolce Gabbana perfume that sailed up from her bosom. Last time I was there she was still wearing L'air du Temp. 

"Is it?" I said as Precious wrapped her arms around my neck and smothered me in kisses.
"Only quarter past." Sherry said nodding at the clock on the wall. 

I could hear children playing out back, Precious' three and the two Sherry and Poor Boy had. I listened hard and above the dozens of questions being hurled at me for the sound of Alice's voice.

"So what is it Kai, what's wrong?" Precious asked, her eyes rolling from my head down to my feet and back. 

"N-nothing," I was distracted and almost panicked because I still hadn't heard Alice's voice shout out: Ollie-Ollie all come freeeeeee, with all of the other children.

"Had to be something for you to drive all this way three weeks early." Poor Boy was rubbing his swollen stomach as he eyed the bowl of fried chicken Sherry set down in the middle of the table next to the loaf of Wonder Bread. 

My hand was gripping the back of the chair and I tried to pretend like I was interested in what my family was saying to me, tried to act like the only thing that was on my mind was the fried chicken, the loaf of Wonder Bread and the green container filled with grape Kool-Aid Sherry was retrieving from the refrigerator.

"W-where's Alice?"

Poor Boy gave in and reached for a chicken leg. Sherry cradled the container in her arms and opened her eyes real wide. 

"She outside with the rest of them." Her response was sharp, like I should be more concerned with answering her questions, more concerned with that than the whereabouts of my one and only child.

I limped away from them and towards the back door. There they were, miniature versions of who we all used to be. Poor Boy's kids; Richard and Ashley, Precious' three, Chastity, Destiny and Mystery and my girl, Alice.

There we all were over again.

"Alice," I called to her and pressed my hand up against the screen of the door. She was running away from Richard, screaming and laughing with excitement, her brown cheeks were flushed and her eyes were wide and clear. My God, I thought, she must have grown at least three inches, the jeans she had on were already creeping above her ankles.

"Alice," I called to her again, but this time I was outside, standing on the warm wood of the deck Poor Boy had put in last summer. I waved at her and began screaming her name, because Richard was gaining on her and the other kids are gaining on him and everyone was screaming and laughing and the dogs were going wild with excitement in their pen, adding to the cacophony with their yelps and barks.

She can't hear me and I need her to hear her name coming from my mouth because I could drop dead right now, right on this new deck with the paint that's already chipping away and my daughter would hate me forever because I didn't even get to say goodbye.

Alice faked left and then made a sharp right just as Richard reached out for her. That's when she saw me.

"Mom!" 

I didn't think she could run any faster, but she does and Richard still has three more feet to move before he can turn right and follow Alice. I want to cheer because my baby is fast and she's only seven years old.

I opened my arms and started down the stairs, barefoot and all and when my feet hit the grass I felt like I might have a chance at living past that day, the next and maybe even September.

When we meet we melt into each other and I know for sure I have never, ever hugged Alice that hard before and I also know I don't ever want to let her go, ever.

"But you did," Journey says and his voice sounds like Dr. Tate's, nonpartisan and unbiased.
But I get defensive anyway and fold my arms over my chest and pinch my lips together like a two-year-old.

"I did," I say, because it is the truth. I did let go of her for a long time, so long that we almost became strangers.

"Did you miss me Alice?"

"Yep!" Alice sings back as we clasp hands and skip back towards the deck.

"Me, too," I say and pull her to me again.

I don't want any fried chicken. I don't want to sit down with my family and discuss why I'm here three weeks early or what I've been doing with myself. I don't want to discuss the one hundred and fifty-year-old house I've purchased, the dogs, or the thing that's living in my blood. I don't even want to brush my teeth or change into the clothes that Sherry has washed, pressed and laid neatly on my bed. All I want is to take my child and buckle her safely into the passenger seat, take my place beside her and drive away.

"You ain't gonna eat?" Poor Boy says when I come out of the room, dressed and ready to go.

I could tell by the tone of his voice that he is offended. "It's just fried chicken." I want to say. "Fried chicken, bread and Kool-Aid." But I don't. Instead, I turn to Precious and ask: "Did you bring Alice's stuff with you?"

Chastity, Destiny and Mystery look at me real sad. They all look like Precious, all got gaps in between their teeth, but their beauty don't thin when they smile. "She'll be back next summer." I say to them and look back at Precious.

"Hell, you can't stay a spell?" Poor Boy speaks again and he tries to put some base in his voice, and narrows his eyes at me like he's speaking to one of his children.

"Can't you just stay one more night?" Sherry says as she pulls out pork chops from the freezer. "I'm frying some chops and making some mash potatoes and creamed corn for dinner."

I feel sorry for her, because she hasn't even washed the lunch dishes and already she's getting things together for dinner. What type of life is that?

"What the hell happened to you up there?" Precious always talks about New York like it's in another atmosphere.

"Nothing." I don't want Alice to worry, but already I see that her eyes are looking like my mother's eyes the day I left her to die alone and without me.

"Go on in the livingroom Alice, We'll be ready to go soon."

Alice shrugs her shoulders and wraps one arm around Chastity and the other around Destiny. Mystery is only four and is content to walk quietly alongside the trio.

"Do you have her stuff or not?" I ask and think that maybe a meal wouldn't hurt, so I reach for a piece of bread and a small chicken wing.

"Tell us what's wrong first?"

"We are not children, Precious, and this is not a game. Do you have her stuff or not?" I say and then wonder why the hell I'm worried about clothing. I could buy Alice new clothes when we get back home. Clothes were the least of my worries.

"We are really concerned about you Kai. I mean you drove all this way, there must be something wrong?"

I think about Alice's favorite Power Ranger T-shirt and her Barbie pajamas that are good and worn now, just the way she likes them, and I know I need to get her clothes.

Chapter Seven

"Kai?" Precious calls my name and pouts her pink lips while she bats her eyes at me, like I'm one of her suitors instead of her cousin. I look over at Poor Boy and Sherry and they're all leaning in towards me, waiting.

I look over my shoulder to make sure that Alice is occupied and then I look back at them because I think I hate them at this moment. Them and the money I gave them, them and their perfect health. I hate them all.

"I have AIDS," I say as simply and as calmly as I would have announced a cold or a headache.

I think I see a nervous smile move like a shadow across Sherry's face and I think maybe there is a laugh creeping up her throat, but the laugh never comes and the smile disappears and her eyes move to her two children the cheeks I kissed earlier.

Poor Boys mouth turns into a thin line and his eyes narrow. He thinks what I've said is a joke and he waves a hand and chuckles before reaching for the last chicken wing.

"Jolean's cousin had AIDS, he died last year. Got pneumonia or something and it took him out just like that!" Precious advises us all and snaps her fingers on the last word. "Do you have it for real?" She sings this question as if what I have is remarkable, as if having AIDS is like having a brand new fifty-six inch color television.

"Yes."

Sherry is sure that I'm telling the truth this time and the glass she's just pulled from the cabinet, slips from her hands and goes crashing to the floor. I realize that Precious is beautiful, but stupid and the intelligence she has is about as wide as the gap between her teeth, because I could see from the look on her face that she does not know that AIDS is a death sentence.

"How?" Is all Poor Boy could say.

I don't answer him, because how is my business, but I would sure appreciate it if someone could tell me why.

This man who could recite my mother's favorite poem, The Negro Speaks of Rivers as if it was his national anthem did not turn his back on me when I told him that I have AIDS or that I loved Alice from a distance after that.

"I was afraid to love her too closely, afraid to hug her before she went off to school or when she came home in the afternoons." I said to my hands, too ashamed to look at him.

"Why?" This man with the name that describes life and every footfall it takes to get through it, asked.

I tell him that I was afraid that I would die suddenly and then she would have to miss me all at once. With me pulling back early, she would miss me in bits and pieces and when I was finally dead and gone there would have been so much emptiness between us that she wouldn't miss me at all.

Journey smiled at me, leaned in and kissed me on my lips, even though I had AIDS in my body and tons of medication on my nightstand.