Maizon at Blue Hill (6 page)

“Speaking of dealing,” Sheila cut in, “Cadman is having a dance this winter.”

They all squealed and giggled. Charli blew a kiss at nothing, then laughed.

“Cadman's the boys' school in the next town, Maizon,” Sheila explained. “Do they have some fine numbers going there!”

“Remember Ron? Brown skinned, brown eyes baby-cakes?” Charli closed her eyes. “Man, could that boy turn a slow dance into a dangerous thing!”

“And Curtis, who graduated last year? I'm gonna write him,” Marie added.

“Marie, you already have a college boy. No stockpiling.” Sheila laughed, elbowing Marie.

I hated the way girls got silly-eyed over boys. I didn't get it. Something about boys made even the smartest girls seem dumber than tree stumps.

“We'll hook you up with someone nice, Maizon,” Charli offered.

“No interest, Charli.”

They all looked at me, saying nothing. Then Charli smiled. “Don't worry. I didn't have an interest either. Then one day I woke up and boom!—the boys were all right!

“Anyway,” Charli added, rising, “We're having chocolate cake for dessert.”

“What does that have to do with guys?” Marie asked.

“I don't know.” Charli lifted her glass of milk to her mouth and drained it. “Figured since we're so smart, maybe we could make some sort of connection.”

I giggled and forked the last bit of rice into my mouth before handing my empty plate to Charli.

After dinner, I walked slowly back from the dining hall by myself, wanting to take in Connecticut without anybody else around. A group of girls giggled past me, their Blue Hill jackets draped across their shoulders. One girl turned and waved and I waved back without smiling.

The sky was the color of ink. Black like my mother's eyes in the pictures Grandma had on the mantelpiece back home. Stars speckled it with tiny dots of light. I stopped in the middle of the field and clenched my eyes against the tears I knew would come if I let them. The air blowing against my face was cool. I swallowed big gulps of it. There was something I wanted to consume. I was thinking about my father; only, he wasn't like the man in the picture with Mama. That man was tall with skin the color of autumn—all golden-brown and soft—and curly hair. The man that came to mind was Margaret's father—Mr. Tory—even though he died last summer. Mr. Tory was blocking out the image of my father. I walked slowly, swallowing every few steps, my head thrown back against the breeze. An awful loneliness came over me, working its way up from the middle of my stomach to the center of my chest. I needed to picture my father and I couldn't. I hated him so much for leaving me. Hated him like I've never ever hated anybody. Margaret was lucky. She had a word for what her father was. Death was something solid—something with a name and place to it. Something certain. But for where my father was, I didn't have anything. I didn't know if he would ever show up again. The only thing I was sure of was that he had come to Grandma's house on a cold day in April with me bundled up in blankets. He had me in one arm and a suitcase in the other.

“I can't take care of her,” he had whispered to Grandma, handing me over.

And then he was gone, taking with him one big suitcase and the face my mother had fallen in love with. The thought of him drifts back and forth and I'm always wondering if he'll return. Sometimes I pray that he doesn't. And sometimes I hope he will. I wish on falling stars and eyelashes. Absence isn't solid the way death is. It's fluid, like language. And it hurts so much ... so, so much.

A mosquito buzzed closed to the side of my head and I shooed it away. “Eeny Meeny Miney Mo ...” I sang softly to myself. Somewhere far off, bells were ringing. I walked through the grass, feeling the earth go soft beneath my loafers. “Let's catch Maizon by her toes. If she hollers, don't let her go.... Eeny Meeny Miney Mo....”

Something was missing. I wondered if Blue Hill was the beginning of something always being missing.

10

M
aizon, can I borrow your soap?“ I wrapped my towel tighter around me. Claudette stood in front of me, stark naked. I'd met her at orientation last night.

The bathroom was big, with three showers and four toilet stalls. But I had never had to share a bathroom with anyone, and standing on the cold tile with other girls brushing their teeth at the sink and one in front of me stark naked was something I'd never imagined myself doing.

I handed Claudette the plastic soap container.

“Thanks,” she said, darting toward the shower. “I left mine back in my room.” I walked over to a sink that was freed up by a girl I didn't know who had been blow-drying her hair in front of it, and started combing my hair. Around me, other girls went about their morning duties in various stages of undress. Most of them just had on bras and panties. Even if I wore a bra, I wouldn't walk around in it with nothing else on. I looked at my skinny shoulders in the mirror. Sharing or no sharing, I wasn't about to let the girls see how undeveloped I was.

“You can give it to me later,” I called to Claudette, gathering my stuff together.

“Thanks,” she yelled back over the running water.

Back in my room, I dressed slowly, then tried to get some more unpacking done. Sandy had already left, so I had the room all to myself for a few minutes. My tour person would be coming at nine. But at eight forty-five, there was a knock on the door.

“I'm Susan,” a brown-haired girl with glasses said. “I've been assigned to show you around. I'm a junior here.”

“I'm Maizon,” I said, moving aside to let her in. “Make yourself comfortable. I was doing a little unpacking.”

“I'm kind of in a rush,” Susan said, brushing past me and sitting on Sandy's bed.

I hung a pair of sweatpants in the closet, then folded a T-shirt and put it in the dresser drawer at the head of my bed. “I guess this can wait until we come back....”

Susan watched my hands as I worked and I wondered what she could be thinking. I had seen her in the cafeteria last night, but hadn't paid much attention to her. She was shorter than I was, with a face that sort of pinched itself into a frown.

“You remind me of the lady who works for my family,” Susan said. “She has hair like yours—cut short. And she folds and hangs everything up carefully like you. Her last name is Peterson. You know her?”

I shook my head.

“I thought maybe you guys were related.” Susan leaned back on her elbows and eyed the room. “My room's bigger than this.”

“Yeah, so's Marie and Sheila's down the hall. They say lower school freshmen get the short end of the stick around here.”

“I thought they gave you a cheapie room ‘cause you're on scholarship, since you're not really contributing to the cost.”

I shrugged. “It doesn't bother me. I don't need a lot of space.” I started counting to ten in my head, because Grandma had said I should do that before deciding I didn't like a person. She said sometimes by the time you get to seven, you're already liking the person more.

“What does your father do?” Susan asked, too casually.

“He's a lawyer.” I was up to eight now, and because she had made me lie, I was sure I didn't like her. I wasn't about to tell Susan the real story of my father..

“Corporate or public interest?” Susan asked.

“Public interest,” I said quickly, trying not to stutter.

“Criminal?”

“Huh?”

“Is he a criminal lawyer?”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded.

“That's too bad. My dad's a prosecutor. He tries to get as many criminals off the street as he can. He thinks criminal lawyers should be behind bars too.”

“Not everybody's guilty.”

“Yeah, yeah ... that's what they all say.”

“Sometimes cops make mistakes.”

“Rarely.”

I clinched my fist over a pair of lavender socks. What right did this girl have coming into my room and making me lie about my life, anyway?

“I don't want to talk about it,” I said, lowering my voice.

“It's a losing argument.” Susan stood up and came over to the dresser. “Who's this?” she asked, pointing to the picture Hattie took last summer. In it, me and Margaret were standing with our arms across each other's shoulders.

“That's my best friend, Margaret.”

“She's pretty. I think some black people are real pretty, you know. Like, they have real clear skin and nice teeth. Where are her parents boarding her?”

“Huh?”

“What school is she at?”

“P.S. 102 ... in Brooklyn.”

“Public school?”

I nodded. I had learned to fight when I was seven and Michael Acosta tried to bully me and Margaret into giving him our snack money. After I beat him up, I wasn't scared of anyone anymore. Michael had been a whole head taller than me. It wouldn't take much at all to pound Susan into the ground. I started counting again. Everyone deserved a second chance.

“That's frightening. Don't they kill people every day in those schools?”

“You must be reading the
National Enquirer
or something,” I said, letting a little of my annoyance seep into my . voice.

“No, my father told me that. He said New York schools are dangerous.”

“Give me a break. Next time you talk to your father, ask him when was the last time he was in one.”

“Don't get snotty,” Susan said. “I was just repeating what I heard.”

I shrugged. “Well, think before you say it. People will think you're a parrot. Anyway, I'm ready for my tour,” I said, holding the door open.

Susan looked in the mirror and finger-combed some hair out of her eyes before heading for the door.

Susan was a pain, but she gave a thorough tour. By the time we were finished, I felt like I knew Blue Hill inside and out.

“I've been giving freshman tours since my second year here,” Susan said, when she dropped me off at my dorm. “You could probably pass a test on the history of Blue Hill now.”

I thanked her bluntly—wanting her to understand that while I appreciated the tour, I still didn't like her. She got the point, I think, because she looked confused for a moment, then turned on her heel and headed back across the field.

“Hi, Maizon.”

Ms. Bender was sitting in the first-floor lounge. In the corner, a huge fireplace sat unlit with logs beside it. The chair she sat in was one of those comfortable overstuffed ones with flowered upholstery. Lace doilies were thrown across the arms and back. “Figured I could catch up on some reading. How was the tour?”

I took a seat in the chair across from her. “It was okay. This is a pretty place.”

Ms. Bender nodded. “People say that. I'm glad you think so too.” She lay the magazine across her lap and leaned forward. “How's Susan?”

I grimaced.

Ms. Bender chuckled. “I know what you mean,” she said, but didn't volunteer any other information. “I told you, we have all kinds of girls here. But isn't diversity important?”

“I guess.”

“We learn from each other that way.”

I was silent for a moment. I guess Susan and I did learn some things from each other today. I learned she wasn't the brightest girl that ever walked the earth and she learned that she had better not mess with me.

A tall boy blasted through the door and ran up to Ms. Bender's chair, then stumbled to a stop. He was the color of caramel, with light brown eyes and short curly hair. My heart skipped as I realized I hadn't seen a boy in days. I hadn't even missed them!

“Mama,” he said, out of breath, “I don't think I'm staying the weekend after all.”

Ms. Bender nodded knowingly. “This is my younger son, Davis,” she said to me. “Davis, this is Maizon.”

Davis looked over at me and smiled. A thin line of silver ran across his already straight teeth. “Hey, Maizon.”

I swallowed, trying to figure out where my tongue had run off to. “Hi . . . Davis,” I stuttered. Charlie had been right. He was
fine.

“Davis is a college man now.” Ms. Bender sighed. “No more time for Mama.”

Davis looked embarrassed for a moment. “Ma, they're putting some guys on line tonight. I have to get back.”

“A fraternity man,” Ms. Bender continued, then turned to Davis. “Well, get on back and pledge those poor boys. But don't forget you were once
on line.”

Davis left as quickly as he had come. Ms. Bender fanned herself with the magazine. “‘On line' is what they do in those fraternities and sororities. Once you're on line, you're on your way to whatever it means to be a frat brother or sorority sister. Doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me. But... whatever.”

I smiled, still starry-eyed.

Ms. Bender took one look at me and laughed. “Join the crowd of Blue Hill girls in love with him, Maizon,” she said. “He knows he has a fan club here. But forget it! He's twenty years old. And his brother, who is just as beautiful, is twenty-seven.”

I shrugged. “I don't think about boys that much,” I confided. “I hadn't even missed them until Davis walked in.”

“Well, you're a lone soldier here then. But you have time. I give you about a year and a half. Then they'll fill every inch of your conversation.”

I doubted it. But I didn't tell Ms. Bender that. I liked reading and double-dutch and good gossip. I liked learning new stuff about life and twirling the info around in my head for days and days. Davis was cute. But he wouldn't stay on my mind long. I wanted to know about Ms. Bender and the husband that left her. I was way into learning about people leaving.