“Nothing, daddy,” I say and stir the cheese into my grits.
Benny and Lola are loud in the backyard. Daddy and mama been left, but I’m still sitting at the table, dirty dishes spread all over the tabletop. Lola runs into the kitchen with a knobby piece of branch. Benny comes in right behind her carrying two sticks. Lola bangs the branch on the floor.
“Wanna go scare some neutra rats?” she ask.
I just shake my head no.
“We got you a stick,” Benny say.
I shrug my shoulders.
“We goin then,” she say. “And I don’t wanna hear nothin ’bout them dishes.”
I shrug my shoulders again.
Lola looks close at me. “What’s wrong with you?” she ask.
I don’t say nothing. Lola bang her stick on the floor, suck her teeth, and turn away.
“Come on, Benny, let’s go to the canal. Rosa’s actin all funny today.”
It feel like the air around me is thick and I gotta move real slow. My favorite overalls be the only thing I can think of to make me feel better. I put them on before I jeck the sheets from my bed. In the tub, I wash out the dark spots. I bring the sheets down the hall, down the stairs, through the living room, through the kitchen to the back door. Just when I’m ’bout to step outside, I see nosy ole Mrs. Roberts looking into our yard. I back up, arms still full of sheets. If Mrs. Roberts see me hanging up a sheet with a few wet spots, she gonna ask mama if I got my cycle. And mama gonna come asking me questions like she did Lola. So I go back upstairs to my room. I let the sheets fall out of my arms onto my bare mattress. Then I sit on my bed a while, thinking and staring out the window. Real quick like, I get an idea. I jump up onto the mattress with my slippers on. I strain to lift the windows and struggle to get the screens out. I hang the flat sheet out one window and the fitted sheet out the other. Them wet spots should dry real quick. I just know I better get them screens back in before mama gets home.
In mama and daddy’s room everything is cool and quiet. It’s like they room ain’t part of the rest of the house. It’s so dark in there I can’t see my reflection in neither of mama and daddy’s two mirrors. I get real close on them, but I can barely make out my face. Then I start snooping around. I don’t even know what I’m looking for until I see it: daddy’s favorite harmonica sitting on top the dresser with mama’s combs and jewelry. I slip the harmonica into my side pocket. On the floor next to daddy’s side of the bed is the sports section. I crouch down and look at it. It’s all marked up with inky black fingerprints. I roll it up and stick it in my back pocket. I go down the hall to the bathroom and stand on the step stool. In the medicine cabinet, I see lots of little bottles with words I can’t read. Then I see daddy’s toothpicks. I put a handful in my front pocket and go to the kitchen with my pockets loaded.
Beneath the sink is a burlap bag full of daddy’s favorite coffee. I grab the bag by the edges and drag it out the kitchen, through the living room to the front porch. Back in the kitchen, I find the metal bowl mama uses to soak burnt pots and pans—I bring that to the porch too. I stick the toothpicks in the harmonica holes and wrap the harmonica in the newspaper. My hand twitches. I look at it and suddenly remember—daddy’s hair! I run upstairs and scoop up the hair from my dresser drawer. On the porch, I unwrap the newspaper and stick daddy’s hair into the harmonica holes too. Then I wrap the whole thing up again. I put it in mama’s metal bowl and set the whole thing on fire. As I squat, watching it burn, my lips begin to move. Words come spilling out of my mouth, spelling out a protection prayer I never even knew I had in my head.
When the fire burns out, the whole porch is cloudy with smoke. I use a dishrag to pick up daddy’s burnt things and shove them deep into the coffee beans. It seem like it take forever for me to drag that bag of coffee upstairs, but I do it. By the time I stuff the bag under my bed, my arms are wet with sweat.
When Lola and Benny come home, all the smoke from the fire is gone. I’m back sitting at the kitchen table, looking like I didn’t move. My pockets are stuffed with cotton balls I took from under the bathroom sink.
When Lola sees the dirty dishes still spread over the table, she punches me hard.
“Why you didn’t clean the dishes, stupid?”
I give her the same evil look she give me this morning, and she backs off. She hates my magic. She liked it better when she could beat me up. Now she be a bit more careful.
“Come on, Benny, let’s do the dishes,” Lola says.
“Yeah,” Benny says, like doing the dishes is a treat.
After mama tucks me in and turns out my light, I grab the cotton balls and put them under my pillow. Then I sit on top, and those prayers start coming out of me again. This time, they come so fast, it’s scary. I sit there for hours, mumbling to myself, waiting for daddy to come home. When I hear daddy’s car creep into the driveway, I jump out of bed and drop down to my hands and knees. As the front door opens, I grab hold of the burlap bag and yank it hard.
Daddy’s footsteps are on the stairs. I’m tugging on the bag, but it don’t come free. I got to get it unstuck somehow. I catch a tighter hold of the burlap, but it still won’t come loose. I hear daddy’s footsteps at the top of the stairs, and I just panic. I run to my desk and snatch my scissors from the desk drawer. I stab the scissors into the bag. The bag splits and coffee beans spill out. I jam my hand into the coffee and make wild grabs, feeling around for daddy’s stuff. He’s so close now, I can almost feel him breathing down my neck. ’Stead of my door, I hear mama and daddy’s door squeak open. I let out a little sigh, but I don’t relax. I keep searching ’til my fingers touch something hard. Then I grab it—the burnt bundle of daddy’s stuff.
Mama and daddy’s door squeaks again. I listen for a second, thinking maybe daddy just got in bed, but no, I can hear the clunk clunk of his footsteps. I stick my hand under my mattress and feel around for my magic pouch. Daddy’s footsteps stop in front of my door, and it feel like my heart stops. I turn the pouch upside down and shake it wildly. Marbles, gum, and a picture of Ronald, the boy I have a crush on, spill to the floor. Daddy’s turning the doorknob now. My fingers are shaking as I reach for the cotton. I stuff a little cotton into the bottom of the pouch and drop the bundle of daddy’s things on top. I turn to face daddy as I fill the pouch up with cotton and a handful of coffee beans.
Daddy’s face is confused. He stands in the doorway as I tie the pouch closed and hang it around my neck. When I am finally still, he starts to walk toward me.
“Don’t be scared, baby,” daddy says.
I put my hand out in front of me and daddy stops short. I turn my palm up to the ceiling and imagine daddy’s heart resting in my grasp. The second I feel the weight of his heart in my hand, I snap my fingers shut. Daddy gasps and bends over. I squeeze until the thing stops beating. Daddy stumbles away.
The next morning, mama’s not in the kitchen. Me, Lola, and Benny go to mama and daddy’s room. Lola pushes the door open, and me and Benny creep in behind her. Mama is sitting on the bed crying. She don’t ask about the missing bag of coffee or her burnt metal bowl. She don’t even notice how I bent the screens. The only thing she notice is daddy. He’s lying next to her breathing heavy. His hands are shaking. His skin looks gray.
“Lola, honey, go call a ambulance. Your daddy is sick. Benny, come with me downstairs. Help me make daddy some tea. Rosa, stay here with your daddy. Call me if he starts to lookin worse.”
I nod my head, but I can’t speak. When everyone leaves I’m too frightened to move. I stay with my back against the wall, close to the door.