The Weight of Blood (40)

Michael: What do you remember about Maddy?

Nina: After everything that happened, the things I do remember make a lot of sense now. I honestly didn’t know she existed until she was maybe five. There were whispers in the neighborhood that Mr. Washington had a kid, but no one ever saw her. He never let her outside. I only got a glimpse of her once or twice over our back fence. Usually, she snuck out and would stand in her backyard, just staring up at the sky. She was . . . quiet. Her hair was always braided in pigtails. It wasn’t until those birds that I finally got a good look at her. Pale as a ghost.

Michael: Birds?

Nina: Yeah. When the birds, I mean, the crows, attacked their house. Like, hundreds of them. Maddy ran out the door, carrying on about the end of days. You didn’t hear about that?

Michael: No!

Nina: But . . . that’s the whole reason why she started going to school in the first place! It’s why they called her Mad Mad Maddy. They say she went crazy that day.

Michael: Do you remember anything from that day with the birds? Like, how you were feeling?

Nina: Uhhh . . . not really. After the police cleared out, I was supposed to go on a date with my boyfriend but . . . I wasn’t feeling well.

Michael: What was wrong?

Nina: I had this headache. Actually, yeah, I remember. I had a crazy headache and was super nauseous and dizzy. I was scared that I might’ve been pregnant or something. I told Ian to pick up a test from the pharmacy and I ended up taking it at a gas station bathroom. Thank God it was negative. I broke up with him right after high school.

Springville Metro, August 2008

Birds Mysteriously Attack Home

A flock of more than a hundred crows crashed into the home of Thomas Washington, a local business owner. The birds broke several windows, covering the roof and nearby trees, before falling to their deaths.

Washington’s twelve-year-old daughter was seen running out of the house screaming, bloodstains on her pants. Police were called to the scene, and she was rushed to Springville General. After examination, it appeared that she was not hurt during the incident.

Animal control could not determine the cause of the birds’ strange behavior.

May 23, 2014

There’s something about a well-meaning white woman telling a Black man what to do that will always rub them the wrong way. Especially when that well-meaning white woman is kind of right.

The ambush with Mrs. Morgan made Kenny more determined than ever to bring Maddy to prom. He’d camp outside Maddy’s home for days if he had to. But first, he decided to strike where she couldn’t possibly run.

Parked in front of Sal’s, he glanced in the rearview mirror at the Good Old Days, truck engine still running. He hadn’t told Wendy about asking Maddy to prom because Maddy’s reaction had just been too . . . sad? Pitiful? He didn’t have the word for it. But one emotion had eclipsed the entire moment: guilt. His friends were bullies. Racist, asshole bullies, which made him just as much of an asshole.

He didn’t want to be an asshole. And it wasn’t too late to do the right thing.

A few kids from school were hanging out on Sal’s terrace, some inside playing arcade games. Sal wiped the counter for the tenth time, stealing glances out the door, waiting for Kenny to step inside. Everyone would see him.

Am I really about to do this?

“Fuck it,” he grumbled, hopped out of his truck, and jogged across the street.

A cowbell clanged as he pushed the front door. He had never stepped foot inside the Good Old Days before. He’d never needed to.

“Oh, hello! Be right there,” Maddy called from somewhere in the back.

He glanced around. The place resembled a hoarder’s den with an impressive number of artifacts crammed inside.

On a shelf next to a dusty typewriter sat several porcelain dolls. Below them, the sight of a figurine made his back tense. He examined the mammy statue, a big woman with Black skin, thick lips, wearing a red dress with an apron, and a kerchief on her head. He’d read about these images from minstrel shows. What white people thought all Black people looked like, eating watermelon on their porches and dancing a jig. Jules had just about come dressed similarly to school.

“What the fuck?” he mumbled.

“Kendrick?” Maddy stood by the counter in an oil-stained apron, her mouth gaping. Kenny hadn’t heard his full name in so long he almost looked around to see who she was talking to.

She rushed over to him, peering out the glass door with frantic eyes. “What are you doing here?”

He gripped the statue like he would a football, ready to chuck it across the room. “This is what you be selling up in here?” he snarled.

Maddy glanced at the statue then back at him. “What’s wrong? It’s in mint condition.”

He gawked, coughing out a laugh. She didn’t have a clue how offensive it was. How could she? “Nothing, I guess,” he grumbled.

Maddy peered out the door again, wringing her fingers. “My father went to the bank. He’ll be back any moment.”

Kenny nodded. Something seemed different about her, but he couldn’t place it. He switched gears. “We didn’t get a chance to finish our talk the other day. About prom.”

Maddy balked, her eyes growing wide. “I . . . I can’t. Now, please. Can you—”

“You have plans or something?”

She backed away. “Um. No.”