Piecing Me Together(8)

As I wait for the bus, some man with holes in his jacket and a bottle in his hand comes up to me and says, “You got a number, Jade?”

How does he know my name?

The man’s eyes are looking at my breasts.

I look down. Great. I’m still wearing the stupid name tag. I pull it off, ball it up, and put it in my pocket.

“That’s not your name anymore?” He steps closer to me. “That’s fine. You don’t want to be Jade no more? I’ll call you whatever you want,” he says. He leans in as if he’s going to kiss me.

I step back. Tell him to stop. I walk away, leaving the drunk man yelling and cursing. There is no bus in sight, so I decide to walk a few blocks to the next stop.

By the time I get home, it is dark and raining. E.J. is already turning the sofa into his bed, and Mom is on her way to Ms. Louise’s house. She’s staying there for three nights while Ms. Louise’s daughter is out of town. Mom looks at me with her knowing eyes. She can tell I’m upset. She always knows how I’m feeling, even when I don’t know how to put it in words. She is good at reading minds, reading the room, at having a feeling that just won’t go away.

Like the night E.J.’s best friend, Alan, was killed. Mom kept saying she had this feeling, a feeling that something bad was going to happen. She kept calling E.J.’s cell, but he didn’t answer. I thought she was flipping out for no reason, but later that night we got the call that E.J. and his friends had been shot. E.J. was okay, barely grazed on his arm. Nate was wounded badly, and Alan died at the scene.

Nothing’s been the same since then. I think Mom only hears what she wants to hear, sees what she wants to see when it comes to her baby brother. Mom knows E.J. is not fine. He’s not working a full-time job, and that money he makes from deejaying and selling mixtapes isn’t going to sustain him. Mom asks him all the time, “Are you looking for a job?” He says yes and she believes him. She asks him, “Are you okay, E.J.? What happened to you was traumatic. Maybe you should talk to someone.” But E.J. says he is fine and Mom believes him. I wonder, how could she get that feeling that night and know her brother was in danger when he was miles away, and not know he’s in danger when he’s right in front of her face?

Mom looks me in my eyes. “What’s wrong?” she asks. “How did it go?”

“She didn’t show up,” I tell her.

“What do you mean she didn’t show up?” Mom grabs her umbrella from the bucket by the door.

I just stand there.

“Does anyone know your mentor didn’t come?”

“No. I left.”

“Well, Jade. You should have said something.”

“Why?”

“Well, don’t you care that she didn’t show up? You need to let whoever is in charge know that—”

“I couldn’t just interrupt the event, Mom. Plus, Sabrina will know when she checks the sign-in sheet. I don’t need to say anything.”

“You have to start speaking up for yourself. I don’t know why you’re so shy. You need to—”

“Mom, it’s after seven already,” I tell her. This is my way of reminding her that if she doesn’t leave now, she will be late for work. It is my way of telling her I don’t need a lecture right now.

She kisses me on my forehead. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

“Think about what I said, please,” Mom adds as she steps outside. She opens her umbrella and walks down the steps.

I go to my room and try to do my homework, but instead my mind keeps drifting off to what Mom said. The thing is, I don’t think I’m shy. I just don’t always know what to say or how to say it. I am like Mom in so many ways but not when it comes to things like this. She is full of words and bites her tongue for no one. I wish I could be that way.





10


presentar

to introduce

I am on the phone, talking to Lee Lee, telling her everything that did and didn’t happen at the Woman to Woman welcome meeting. “A name game?” she asks. “Do they think you’re in elementary school?”

“Right? That’s how I felt,” I tell her.

Lee Lee and I talk until her aunt tells her to get off the phone.

I hang up as E.J. comes out of the kitchen and into the living room to convert the sofa into his bed.

There is a knock at the door. I look out of the window and see a woman standing there. “E.J., I think someone is here for you.”

“Is it Trina?” He spreads a blanket over the pulled-out sofa.

I take a closer look. This isn’t Trina. And on a second look, I think maybe she’s lost and needs directions. She’s way too pretty to be here for E.J. Her hair is crinkled and wild, all over the place—but on purpose. She’s somewhere in the middle of thick and big-boned. I want to look like that. Instead I’m just plump. I open the door. “Can I help you?” I ask.

“Hi,” the woman says. “I’m here for Jade. My name is Maxine.”

Maxine. My mentor.

“I’m Jade,” I say.

I stand there, looking at her, wondering what she wants. Wondering how it is she can show up at my house in the middle of the night and not at the event earlier this evening. She must expect me to let her in, but there’s no way I’m letting her see my house. Not with the sofa made up as E.J.’s bed.