Long Division(54)

Part of me thought it was just Evan and Shalaya Crump who could time travel. But if Shalaya Crump could time travel and Evan could time travel and I could time travel, and now Baize could time travel, I figured it must be the hole.

“I ain’t gonna lie to you,” I told her. “I think it’s the hole. Can we go inside? I’m hungry.”

Baize’s house and porch were so raggedy that I didn’t really wanna walk in. Super nasty houses always made me itch even if nothing was crawling on me. The TV in their living room looked like it belonged in Richie Rich’s house, though. It was nearly as tall as me.

“Why your TV so big and nice but your house is kinda, you know…”

“To’ up from the flo’ up?” she said, and started grinning.

“Yeah, how do you…” I paused to try to get my words right. “How much is a TV like that? Like $2,000?”

“More like $35 a month.”

Baize sat in the one chair in the living room and I sat on the floor. She turned on the TV with one of the three remotes.

Before the TV came on, all these lights went from red to green. When it finally came on, a new version of Soul Train was on, and it was the sound as much as the screen that I couldn’t understand. Soul Train on that TV sounded like life. You know how in life, there’s hardly ever just that one sound you’re listening for? Like even when I imagined Shalaya Crump telling me she loved me, I imagined hearing the wind whistling and a few different car horns behind us and maybe a freight train miles away and definitely some barking dogs. That’s how the sound was on that TV. You could hear people moving their feet and snapping their fingers and it sounded like the Soul Train line was happening in your room. If everything you saw in real life had the best light behind it, and was polished super shiny, that’s how Soul Train looked on that TV.

Baize gave me the remote and told me that she was gonna make something to eat. “Even if we had a lot of money, we wouldn’t waste it on the outside of our house. That could be gone in a second if another storm came. You want oriental ramen or chicken ramen with your french fries and butter beans?”

“What’s ramen?”

“Noodles, boy. Y’all don’t even have ramen in the ’80s?”

Baize walked through the other room into the kitchen.

The first thing I did with the remote was check how many channels the TV had. When I pushed below 1, the TV went to channel 1,975. Back in my time, we’d watch TV and say “Ain’t nothing on.” I didn’t know how anyone could ever say “Ain’t nothing on” in 2013. The Flintstones was on. Basketball was on. Soap operas were on. Andy Griffith was on. The Cosby Show and Good Times were on. And PBS shows that looked exactly the same as they looked in 1985 were on.

And on more channels than you could imagine, there were black women with real JET-centerfold booties yelling and fighting each other.

Baize came back in the room and just sat on the floor next to me.

“What?” I asked her.

“What, what?” she asked me. “Don’t ‘what’ me in my house.”

“Why you sitting next to me so close?” She didn’t answer, but her hip was touching my left hand. So I moved it and asked, “Is the ramen ready?”

“Almost. I warmed up the biscuits to go with the butter beans and french fries.”

“Okay.” I kept changing the channels. “What happened to real actors and comedians? On all these stations, you see people you would see at the mall fighting. And when did McDonald’s start using black folks on their commercials?”

“I don’t even know, Voltron,” she said. “That’s a good question.” I could tell she wasn’t really listening to me. “Um, do you wanna smoke?”

“Smoke what? Aren’t you like twelve?” I asked her. “I’m good. You ain’t never heard of ‘Just Say No?’”

“Wow,” she said. “I’m thirteen. You should have your own reality show. Keep doing you, Voltron. I’m smoking before I eat.”

Baize walked back toward the kitchen and I just sat there in front of that TV. I hated Baize for smoking without me even though I didn’t want to smoke. After a few minutes I got really curious, though. I had seen plenty of folks smoke weed and cigarettes, but I’d never seen a girl younger than me smoke.

I walked toward the kitchen and saw that there was a screen door. Sitting on the step on the other side of the screen was Baize. And she had a square in her mouth. Right in front of her was the area where I had seen those two Dobermans doing it. And next to that was a huge, grimy work shed.

“You ever wonder what happened before you in the same place you’re standing now?” I asked her. “Like, I saw this talking cat right around the corner.”

I looked at her and waited for her to ask me to explain myself. “Look,” she said, “let’s talk, but don’t be coming out here messing up my high. Don’t say nothing to me about how I shouldn’t smoke, either. I’m thick and I’m extra and I smoke. Leave me alone.”

“You’re extra what?”

“Just extra.” She took a puff and exhaled it.

“If you ask any girl in Melahatchie about me, they’ll be like, ‘Baize, that bitch is extra,’ especially after my song blew up on YouTube. It’s a compliment. I know myself.”