Orphea Proud (7 page)

“Lissa was so bubbly and very wise,” Marilyn said. “She would never, ever do something like try to kill herself. That was not Lissa.”

How did they know? How could anyone know what she felt when Rupert went downstairs to rub her nose in it? He had seen us. She would have felt ashamed. She would have been afraid of him calling her parents. Maybe she wrecked the van on purpose.…

A few days later, I was back at the diner. I’d been avoiding the open-mike nights, but Icky’s coffee had become my regular diet. After closing, he and Marilyn invited me upstairs to their apartment. They had something to tell me. Seemed they were leaving town; they’d been planning it for quite a while but I hadn’t known. The news came as a blow. Now that Lissa was gone, they were the only people in the world who understood what I was going through. Oh, Mrs. Evans had called once or twice since the memorial, but there was a distance between us; I’m sure it was because I couldn’t be honest about all that had happened the morning of the accident. How could I? Lissa might not have wanted them to know. Who was I to spoil the memory of their perfect girl? But Icky and Marilyn knew everything. And now they were leaving.

“Where are you going? Why?”

“We got our own place.” Marilyn sounded so happy.

“She saw it in the tea leaves,” bragged Icky.

“But you have your own place. You work here. You’re the boss.”

“The diner is okay, but we don’t own it.”

“Besides, we don’t want a diner. We want a club. And now we got a club in Queens, New York!”

“Queens, New York? What’s wrong with Pennsylvania?”

“I got a grandma in Queens,” said Marilyn.

“We’ve been living in Pennsylvania for long enough,” said Icky. “We would have left a few years ago, if it wasn’t for my parole.”

“Parole?”

“Been a long road to here from juvie,” he said, sheepishly. “Used to be a young arsonist. Mind you, not something I’m proud of, but I paid my debt. Now we’re going to have our dream, our own little club. Right, Marilyn?”

Marilyn snuggled up. “Yes, Icarus, dear. In the Big Apple. Just like I saw in the tea leaves.”

“Who cares about some old dumb tea leaves? You can have your own club right here!”

“We already got the spot. We put down the deposit,” said Icky. “This is our dream.”

“It’ll be paradise,” said Marilyn. “We’ll serve coffee and have a juice bar. All the poets and artists will come. Icky’s going to have theatrical lights! I’ll play bass!”

My eyes stung with tears.

“Great, guys. Congratulations.”

Marilyn touched my shoulder. “This summer we’re hoping you’ll visit us.”

“You mean it?”

“You can’t get rid of us that easy,” said Icky.

“So will you come?” asked Marilyn.

“Yeah, if Rupert and Ruby let me.”

They exchanged glances. Marilyn went into the bedroom. She brought back an envelope.

“Take this.”

“What’s in it?”

“Two hundred bucks. We thought you might need a loan. Use it if you need to get out in a hurry. Get my drift?”

Icky laid a hand on my head. My hair had barely begun growing out. “We don’t like leaving you with that brother of yours.”

“Thanks. But I can’t take the money.”

“Sure you can.”

“It’s too much. I can’t pay it back.”

Icky smiled. “We don’t want the money. Pay us back in poems.”

“You must be joking. I don’t even write anymore.”

“You will,” said Marilyn.

“But two hundred dollars … I’d have to write four hundred poems to pay you back.”

“How about twenty?” said Icky.

I managed a smile. “Lissa wouldn’t believe this. When we were in junior high I used to sell my poems in the grocery store parking lot, while Lissa played the guitar—”

“I didn’t know she played guitar,” said Marilyn.

“She didn’t. She was horrible. But it got people’s attention, so I’d get to sell a few poems. Then we’d split the proceeds for pizza.”

“How much were you charging then?”

“Fifty cents.”

“See there—your price has gone up! One day you’ll be rich and famous.”

“Does it say so in the tea leaves?” I joked.

“Not yet. But one thing I know for sure is that someday we’ll be together.… ”

A lump rose in my throat. “When are you leaving?”

“A few days from now.”

“You have our cell number,” said Icky, “but we’ll call you before we go.”

Marilyn hugged me. “No more pills, promise?”

“Promise.”

Icky shook my hand. “You owe us poems, kiddo. Don’t stiff us.”

I didn’t know it at the time, but I’d be leaving town before they did.

Any
jet-setters in the crowd? Once I went to Kenya.…

But I went before I was born, so you may not think that counts. Nadine and Daddy went on their honeymoon and Nadine was already pregnant. So I was there, on board in her stomach so to speak. Nadine told me about it. She told me that when she was on the hotel balcony, she pulled up her shirt while no one was looking so that her belly was bare. Since I couldn’t see any of Kenya, she wanted me to at least feel the heat of the sun through her skin. I don’t remember that either, of course, but Nadine assured me that I felt it.

The only other trip I took was to the mountains in Virginia, to a town called Handsome Crossing. Nadine had grown up there in a place called Proud Road. Proud Road, named for my family. I was around three when that happened. Nadine had been incredibly attached to her family. So much so that she wanted me to have their last name. She insisted on it with Daddy and got her way. So, my name got to be Proud like Nadine’s. Rupert was Jones like Daddy. Rupert wouldn’t have been a Proud at any rate, since we had different mothers. I never knew a thing about Rupert’s mother except that she moved to Cleveland. She came from Handsome Crossing, too, and she hated Nadine on account of how Nadine had stolen her husband. If you’re wondering how I know that, Nadine told me. Weird, how she confided in a small child. Or maybe not weird. Daddy was a lot older. When I was born, she was just seventeen. Seventeen, same age I am now.

When Nadine died, Rupert wanted my name changed to Jones since he and Ruby would be my guardians. When I found out, I went on a hunger strike. I was already so sad in my gray world. Why eat a gray piece of broccoli? A mysterious hand had snatched my mother away. Nobody was taking my name. I’d starve first. Luckily, Ruby took pity on me.

“Look at her Rupert, she’s so pathetic,” Ruby would say. “You don’t need another girl named Jones, as long as you’ve got me.”

“She’ll be Jones as long as she lives in my house.” His house? My house, you mean! It’s where I’d lived
my whole life! That house belongs to us both! But Rupert thinks it belongs to him more, because Nadine made him the executor. Well, he may have been in charge of the house, but he was not in charge of my name!

“You’re Orphea Jones,” he would argue.

“Orphea Proud,” I would say stubbornly.

“Orphea Jones!” he would shout. “Eat those peas!”

“I hate peas, you jackass!”

“Did you hear that, Ruby? Go wash her mouth out with soap.”

I would trot off with Ruby to the bathroom, leaving my peas on the plate.

“Why do you anger him so?” Ruby would sigh.

“He hates me. Anyway, I’m Orphea Proud.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Ruby would say, washing my face. She never, ever washed out my mouth. “Brothers and sisters always fight. Besides, he’s under pressure. Dental school is harder than he thought.”

I scowled. “Orphea Proud.”

“Okay, Miss Proud,” Ruby would say. “I’ll see what I can do.” Then she’d start to make a little braid in my hair. Ruby’s braids hurt. They were too tight. I liked the way Nadine braided.

“Stop wiggling, Miss Sugar ‘n’ Spice.”

Sugar ‘n’ spice? Maybe lemon and hot sauce or better still turpentine and Worcestershire. Never sugar and spice, though. But I have to hand it to Ruby. Thanks to her, I kept my name. It was one of the only things I had left to remind me of Nadine. I also had the
wall hanging, which she had brought home from Kenya. It was one of the first things I showed Lissa when she came over. I also showed her the picture of me and Nadine when we were on Proud Road when I was three. Lissa never got tired of looking at it with me. That’s the kind of friend she was. She never got tired of hearing me tell the same story over and over.

“It had a nice smell.” She was listening to me again. She was holding the picture, looking at every detail as if for the first time.

“What did it smell like?”

“Woodsmoke.” I took a little sniff, trying to imagine. “Woodsmoke mixed with snow clouds.”

“That’s because you were there in winter,” she said, pressing the picture to her nose. “You were there when it was snowing.” She held the picture up to the light. “Your mom is so pretty.”

“Thanks.”

“And you’re so weird-looking.”

“Thanks again, I guess.”

“Your feet, they’re so big!”

“I was wearing someone’s snow boots. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Duckfeet!”

“Stop it,” I whined.

“I like your mittens, though. I can hardly see what color they were, the picture is so faded. What color were they again?”

“Red. And my mom’s coat is brown. I’ll never forget her coat. I used to bury my nose in it.”

“Oh, Orphea, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m not sad anymore. I just wish I could go there again.”

“Do you think it’s changed?”

“How could it be the same if Nadine isn’t there?”

“What about the aunts?”

“I don’t know them. They just send me a card every Christmas with a dollar bill in it.”

She winced. “Do you think they’re poor?”

“Who knows?”

We put our heads together and stared at the photo. It was covered with my thumbprints. My mom and I both had round dark eyes. Clouds of breath floated in front of our faces.

“Looks cold there,” said Lissa.

“It was cold the time I was there.”

“What about the other time?”

“What other time?”

She stared at the ceiling. She was talking about Nadine’s funeral. I’d told her how I’d thrown myself on the coffin.

“It was springtime then.”

“Hey! I see something! Did you ever see this?”

“In the picture? What?”