Heavy: An American Memoir(11)

WET


“Kie, I’m not going to tell you again,” you said the next morning. We were sitting in the Nova in Beulah Beauford’s driveway. “Get out of this car.” I couldn’t tell you why I didn’t want to stay at Beulah Beauford’s house. You claimed you needed to go do some organizing and research in Sunflower County for Jesse Jackson’s presidential campaign and you didn’t want me at the house alone because someone broke in a few months earlier. I told you I knew you were lying and I knew you were going to see Hunter Malachi. “Kiese Laymon, I’m not about to tell you again. Get a grip. And get your fat ass out of my car.”

I stood outside the Nova with my arms folded, covering my belly and my chest. You’d never called me fat. I didn’t think you saw it.

“You better have that essay done when I pick you up, too,” you said. “I’m tired of playing with you.”

From outside the door, I opened my wallet, got your old license out, and tossed it through the window of the car. You threw the license back out of the passenger window and reversed out of the driveway.

Layla didn’t come back to Beulah Beauford’s house that Sunday but Daryl, Delaney, and Wedge did. I asked Dougie what happened after I left the house. He said everyone ate hamburgers, drank forties, and smoked weed until more girls came over. He said the girls who came over were older than Layla, and two of them had to go in Daryl’s room with all the big boys just like Layla did.

Late that Sunday afternoon, I noticed almost all of us were in the pool except for Dougie. Sometimes when Dougie left, he’d just go make everyone cheeseburgers, but he’d been gone for a while so I got out of the pool, too.

I walked back to Dougie’s bedroom. No one was there.

I walked into the bathroom in the hall, but no one was there, either. Down the hall a bit from his room, I saw Daryl’s bedroom door cracked.

I got close enough to the door to see Delaney was standing in the middle of the room with his soggy maroon swim trunks around his calves. Dougie was on his knees in front of Delaney with his hands behind his back. His tongue was out, licking the tip of Delaney’s penis.

As soon as they saw me, Delaney pulled up his swim trunks. Dougie dusted his hands off on his Pittsburgh Steelers shirt and walked right by me with his head down. I turned, walked down the hall, and got ready to fight or sprint out of Beulah Beauford’s front door. Delaney grabbed my arm and asked me to sit down in the living room.

I sat on the stool in front of Beulah Beauford’s piano and Delaney sat next to me. He told me he would teach me to play “Chopsticks” if I promised not to tell anyone what I saw.

I sat with both fists balled up on my thighs. Part of me wanted Delaney to touch me again so I could try to kill him. But the biggest part of me was afraid Delaney might make me get on my knees, make me put my hands behind my back, make me lick the head of his penis until he said stop.

I sat there, watching those still piano keys, and half listening to Delaney play and slowly talk his way through how he learned “Chopsticks.”

When he was done, Delaney stood up and looked down at me one more time.

“Don’t tell nobody, okay?” he said. “I’m serious. I was just playing with that boy. It was just a game. You hear me?”

Grandmama always taught me to empty my pockets before I swung on somebody, so I went in both pockets, took out my wet wallet, and slammed your license down on the piano.

Delaney looked at the ID. “That’s your mama? She work with my daddy. Please don’t say nothing to your mama. Your mama does not play. My daddy gone fuck me up if he finds out. I’m for real. That’s just how me and D be playing. I’m for real.”

I followed Delaney out of Beulah Beauford’s front door and watched him sprint down the road like he was being chased until his wind got bad. That’s when he started walking, looking behind him, and pointing at me like his fingers were guns.

A few seconds later, Delaney was out of sight.

I sat down in Beulah Beauford’s rocky driveway and started making thick-lipped smiley faces with the rocks. My head hurt. I didn’t understand why Delaney thought teaching me “Chopsticks” would make what he did okay, or why Dougie’s hands were behind his back while he was on his knees. I didn’t understand why Delaney seemed so happy to be a part of a train but so scared for me to know what he did with Dougie. A part of me didn’t understand why the big boys wanted to be in rooms alone with Dougie and Layla and not me. A part of me knew it was because I was the fattest, sweatiest person in Beulah Beauford’s house.

Ever since we were old enough to spend the night or day at our friends’ houses, we’d all play this game called “Hide and Go Get It.” One person had to count to thirty-five and the other people had to hide, usually in a dark closet or hallway. We played with boys and girls, but in the dark of those hallways and closets, sometimes folk would touch each other in ways they’d never touch each other when the lights were on. I was too afraid to touch anyone, but not too afraid to want to be touched. My body didn’t care if the person touching me was a boy or girl. My body felt grateful for tender touch no matter where it came from.

Around the same time, girls and girls’ bodies and girls’ booties and girls’ touch made me feel not just special but sexier and more beautiful than boys’ touch and boys’ booties. I didn’t know why and I wasn’t sure how to use words to explain it. I didn’t know who would listen to me explain something so scary even if I thought I’d found the words. I kept thinking you should have been the one I talked with about it all since you were the one who taught me to read and write. But sexuality and bodies and feeling good and pain and tender touch and booties were something we never ever talked about.