Unbeweaveable (21 page)

It Is What It Is

“Hey, open up, you know it's me. It's dinnertime.” I knocked again and heard her feet shuffling toward the bathroom door. She was dressed in floral silk pajamas and her wet hair was plaited in several braids, making her look like Pollyanna's little sister.

“Can't we just order in?”

“Great, I'm starved,” I said.

“What do you want?” She picked up the menu.

“What do they have?”

She threw the menu at me and it landed in my lap. “Look for yourself. I'm not that hungry. I'm just ordering a sandwich.”

I scanned the menu and then decided I would have a sandwich, too, and ordered BLT's for both of us. After hanging up the phone, I watched her as she sat on the bed, her legs beneath her Indian-style. She was watching an episode of
Survivor
.

“Can we talk?”

Without turning her head she said, “Is this important enough that I need to press mute?”

“This is important enough that you need to turn it off.”

She obeyed and watched me as I sat next to her.

“I know you're nervous about meeting your father, but—”

“Nervous isn't the word for what I'm feeling. I want to talk to you about the other day. When we were at the restaurant? You seemed to freeze up when we talked about your lack of friends.”

“It's fine.” She patted my knee. “I had a hard time at first, but you get used to the way things are. It's fine now.”

“It's not fine. And I'm very sorry for how I've treated you.”

“Haven't we had this conversation already?”

“Yes, but…” I sighed. “Sometimes when you don't have something you fool yourself into thinking you don't need it. I never had a father, so I tricked myself into thinking it was okay. I convinced myself that I didn't need a father, or any family, for that matter. I was wrong. I need you, Renee. And I'm glad you're here.”

Renee looked down. “All my life all I've ever wanted is your friendship. God made us sisters, but it takes
work
to be someone's friend. It's embarrassing to me when someone asks me how you're doing and I don't know. I didn't know you. And for years you thought that was okay.”

Her eyes sparkled like diamonds from unshed tears. Seeing her pain was like catching a cold—it was contagious. Tears pricked my eyes.

“You don't have to keep apologizing for the past. It is what it is.”

I hugged her and she hugged me just as tight. Pulling away, she wiped my wet cheeks.

“I think I've cried enough for a lifetime.”

“Crying is good. Makes you human.”

* * *

After a fitful night of sleep, I finally sat up in the bed at 6:00 a.m. Tired enough to go back to sleep, but too anxious to close my eyes, I got up and took a shower. I got dressed quickly and was hitting Renee's arm at 6:30.

“Are you serious?” she asked, rolling over, her morning breath making an appearance before her. I stepped back.

“Get ready.”

She shook her head. “You're crazy, it's too early.” She yawned, causing me to vomit a little in my mouth, and I told her to brush her teeth and get ready. She brushed her teeth but came out the bathroom wearing her nightclothes and lay back in the bed.

“Aww, come on, let's go.”

“No way. It's too early.”

I sighed and laid down in the bed next to her. “I'm meeting my father today.”

She sighed, and I smelled spearmint. All was well in the world.

“You're not going to let a girl sleep, are you?”

“That's the plan.”

“You nervous?”

“A little. Excited, mostly.”

“So how are you going to make your approach?”

“I'm going to knock on his door and tell him that I'm his daughter.”

She laughed. “This isn't some
Lifetime
movie. How are you
really
going to tell him?”

“I'm serious. That's the plan.”

She just looked at me, her hazel eyes flashing green.

“You don't like that idea?”

She shrugged. “It's your plan. If you think that's best—”

“I do.”

“You don't want to call first?”

“I thought about that.” And I had. I was afraid that if I called it would give him a chance to reject me. In person it would be harder for him to do that—he would be looking at his flesh and blood daughter and not just a voice over the telephone. He couldn't reject me once he saw me. I'd practiced making my eyes big and pitiful, like a dog begging for a treat. There was no way he could deny me.

“Trust me, this is the best way,” I said.

“All right,” she said, closing her eyes.

I gave her a few minutes and tapped her shoulder.

“Go away,” she moaned.

“If you get up now it'll give us enough time to get breakfast—”

“Man, you are annoying!” she said, throwing back the covers and standing up. “You better be glad I love you.”

Space Suit

The hardest part about not having a father is seeing the people around you who have one.

Seeing Anthony kiss Renee good night.

Seeing him read her bedtime stories or look up from his morning newspaper to tell her that she was pretty—if I hadn't seen these things, maybe I wouldn't know what I was missing out on.

Anthony never attempted to fill the void left in my life by my father's absence. The few times he came in my room to read to me, he raced through the story so fast, I thought I was at an auction.

“Don't ask me to do that again,” I heard him say when he closed my bedroom door. “I feel weird enough around that girl. Don't force something that's not there, Beverly.”

“You don't love her?”

I could hear his deep sigh through the door. “Of course I do. But she's not my daughter. I'm not her father. We don't have that bond.”

Their steps retreated from my door and I strained to hear the rest of their conversation.

Was that all? He didn't feel the same love for me as he did Renee, but that was fine.
I could make him love me.

And I tried. For the next month or so,
I
was the one who poured his coffee, who folded his newspaper in half, the crease so neat it could be a pair of pants. I complimented him on his ties, sat next to him as he watched the news and commented on President Reagan's diplomacy. All this with a nod from him, or a stiff thank you. No hugs, kisses, or tickles.

That's okay. Just push harder. Love him harder.

When he read to Renee at night, I laid down in the bed next to her, forcing him to kiss my cheek after he kissed hers. When he danced around the house with Renee on his shoulders, I screamed, “My turn!” until he picked me up. Brief as the turn was, I relished the attention. Two weeks later as he was leaving for work, I did the unthinkable—I hugged his knees and told him I loved him. I don't think that was what offended him so, it was the “Daddy” I added at the end. He shrugged me off like a dog and patted my shoulder.

Beverly sat me down for a talk one day. “Why are you getting so touchy with Anthony lately?”

I shrugged.

“He loves you. You don't have to try so hard with him.”

“But I was just…I thought that I could—”

“Could what? Make him your father? He is
not
your father, Mariah.”

“Why can't he just pretend? For me? Why can't he act like he loves me?”

She sighed. “I wish things could be that simple.” She wrapped her arms around me and said, “Just give him some space.”

“Did he tell you to talk to me?”

“Of course not.”

I looked at her. Of course he had. It was written all over her face, the way her hand fingered the pearl necklace that was always around her throat.

“I'll leave him alone.”

“I didn't mean not to talk to him—”

“No, I got what you meant. Tell him I won't bother him anymore.”

Cows at Lunch Time

“Do you want me to drive?” Renee asked.

I looked down at my hands and saw they were trembling. I folded them in my lap to still them. I tried again to start the car, but my hands shook so badly, I couldn't turn the ignition.

“Yeah, maybe that's a good idea.”

We got out and switched seats and I looked at her get-up, high-heeled Christian Louboutin shoes (trust me, I knew), a hot pink YSL sundress. She looked nice.

“I didn't notice how dressed up you were. You look nice.”

“Thanks,” she said, starting the car. She put her high heel down on the brake to shift into drive, and I heard the distinct sound of a $600 pair of shoes breaking.

“Oh no!” she squealed, looking down at her broken heel. “It's ruined!”

“Let me see.” She handed me her right shoe, and I saw her heel hanging on so loose that if I blew on it, it would break. “We can get these fixed. We just need to find a shoe repair.”

“A shoe repair?”

“Yes, rich lady. Some of us don't have the luxury of throwing away good shoes, we have to get them repaired. We could do that first, before we find my father. It'll give me time to calm down.”

“I still need a pair of shoes in the meantime,” Renee whined.

“I have a pair of flip-flops in the trunk. They'll do.”

She rolled her eyes and hobbled to the trunk of the car, muttering about how wrong the shoes were with her outfit. She got in the car still grumbling.

“Those must have been your favorite pair.”

“They were. It doesn't matter. Let's find this shoe repair.” She flicked on the navigation and typed in “shoe repair.” Several addresses popped up and we picked Good Day Shoe Repair because it was the closest.

“We should call them and make sure they work on designer shoes.”

“Does it matter?” I asked. “You just need a heel repaired. It's not rocket science.”

“Yeah, okay…you're right.” She pulled out of the hotel parking lot and into traffic.

Good Day Shoe Repair was only ten minutes away and we followed the robotic voice of the navigation system until we pulled into the parking lot of a bright orange building that resembled a small house. A group of men loitered out front laughing loudly.

“Will you come in with me?”

“Sure.”

She grabbed her shoes and we walked up to the entrance of the store. The men stopped laughing and the air grew thick between us as we passed them. My weave gave me the confidence to stride past groups of ogling men, able to say good morning without breaking a sweat. But without it I was shy as a three-year-old, yearning to hide behind my mother's knees. We entered the store and the smell of varnish and polish hit my nose like bricks. It was crowded, which was a good sign. It meant their work was good—or at least competent.

“Can I help you?” a woman called out. Her mouth twisted around as she smacked her gum, giving her the impression of a cow at lunchtime.

“I need to get my heel repaired,” Renee said, walking up to the counter.

“Let me see 'em,” the girl said. Renee handed her the heels and the girl whistled.

“This is a nice pair of shoes. I gotta get Mister to sign off on these. Hold on a sec,” she said, hopping off a stool, lessening her height by four inches. She went into the back room of the store and we heard voices, and then a tall, dark man followed her out the room. I sucked in a breath. It was him. Renee must have recognized him, too, because her face went pale.

He picked up Renee's shoes and inspected them. “Shoes over a certain price point have to sign a waiver. This is a simple fix, but I'm gonna need to keep them overnight.” His voice sounded like a retired jazz singer, throaty smooth and low. He slid a form across the counter for Renee to sign while cow girl handed her a pen. But Renee was like me—frozen in place, unable to move.

“Y'all okay?” the girl asked, her dark penciled-in eyebrows raised in concern.

“Um, yeah, we're okay…We're right as rain. Except it's not raining. It's sunny outside—” I would have kept going if Renee hadn't pinched me. She signed the form and I asked the question to make sure…

“What's your name?”

“Latisha Banks. People call me Tisha.”

“Oh, okay. But I was asking about you,” I said, my eyes fluttering to meet his. “What's your name?”

He frowned and then said, “Paul Stevens.”

 

Experience is a comb

which nature gives us

when we are bald.

—Proverb

Kermit the Frog

“And what's yours, pretty lady?”

“What's my what?”

Renee had to touch me to speak and I sputtered out my name.

“Y'all related?” Latisha asked, giving her gum a loud smack.

“Yes,” I said.

“No,” he said at the same time.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“I'll give y'all a minute to figure it out,” Latisha said, walking away.

“My mother's name is Beverly King. Her maiden name was Beverly Jenkins.”

He sucked in a breath and leaned on the counter. “You're my…my daughter?”

He was wearing a denim apron filled with black smudges of shoe polish, and he untied it, revealing his thin frame. He came from behind the counter and put both my hands in his.

“You look more beautiful than I imagined.”

I smiled.

“Can I?”

I nodded and he pulled me into his arms. He smelled of shoe polish and aftershave.

He pulled me back and looked at my face. “I can't believe this. You're my daughter?”

“Yes.”

“She named you Mariah. I still can't believe this,” he said, running his hand over his short crop of hair, tinged with gray. “How did you find me?”

“Actually, she gave me a box full of your letters—”

His face darkened. “She had them? I thought—” He shook his head. “Never mind all that, you're here now. And I'm glad.”

The pop of gum returned. “It's great that y'all have a reunion, but we got a load of shoes to get finished. And you know we short staffed today,” she said.

“All right, Latisha.” He looked down at me. “She's right, we're swamped today. I finish in a couple of hours, you mind hanging out here?”

I looked around at all the leering men and shook my head. “That's okay—”

“Hold on a sec.” He walked back toward the counter and picked up the phone. With his back to me he had a hushed conversation, and then hung up. He turned back to me and grinned.

“It's all settled. You'll wait for me at home. My mother's there—I almost gave her a heart attack when I told her you were here.”

I just nodded, my mouth dry.

He scribbled his address on a piece of paper and I took it, not bothering telling him that I already had his address. “When you leave here make a right, and then two lefts. My house is the second from the corner. You can't miss it, it's painted lime green.” He looked down at his watch. “You better hurry. Mama won't answer the door during her soaps. It's almost eleven.”

Renee had to nudge me again to speak.

“Okay, thanks. We'll wait for you there.”

The shop had been lively when we entered, but it was as quiet as a cemetery when we left.

“I can't believe it…”

“Me, either. What if my heel hadn't broken?”

“I guess we would have gone to his house, and still waited for him. Come on, let's get going. I want to meet my grandmother.”

We looked at each other and squealed as we raced to the car.

* * *

“Paul wasn't lying when he said his house was lime green,” Renee said as we pulled up into the cracked, concrete driveway.

“No kidding, looks like Kermit the Frog lives here.”

We both laughed.

“You ready?”

I nodded. “Yep. Let's go.”

We got out of the car and approached the house. A row of red and white begonias lined the walkway, and I put my hand through the rip in the screen door to knock on the worn front door.

I stopped when the door screeched open and a woman as wide as the doorjamb peered down at us. Our skin was the same—the color of burnt brownies. Her nose was wide and lay flat on her face. Her lips were turned up in a smile.

“Hello,” she said, squeezing me into the tightest bear hug of my life. My nose was squished against her watermelon breasts, she smelled of day-old bread, and I had to flail my arms after a few seconds to let her know I couldn't breathe.

“Sorry,” she said, releasing me and cradling my face in her hands. “You all right?”

“Yes,” I said, gasping for air. “Just couldn't breathe.”

“Chile, I'm sorry. But when Paul called and told me I had another grandbaby, I didn't know what to do! And look at you,” she said, squeezing my cheeks. “You are gorgeous!”

“Thank you,” I said, pulling my cheeks back and rubbing them.

“Name's Gloria. And yours is Mariah, right?”

“Yes.”

“And who's this?”

“This is my sister, Renee.”

Renee held out her hand and Gloria slapped it away and engulfed her face in her breasts the same as she did me.

“Chile, we don't believe in handshakes, we hug!” She pulled Renee out of her chest and smiled at her.

“You ain't kidding, you sure enough Beverly's daughter. Spittin' image of her. Well, y'all come in, come in! My show about to start.”

We exchanged looks and then went in.