Gumbo: A Celebration of African American Writing by E. Lynn Harris

Author:E. Lynn Harris [Harris, E. Lynn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Anthologies
ISBN: 9780767910460
Publisher: Broadway Books
Published: 2002-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Thought we'd catch the 4 to 149th and Grand Concourse—everybody out, everybody home. We could pass the murals of young men painted outside candy stores and supermarkets, where a thoughtful friend might have set out a new candle, where mourning seemed like a lifestyle. Instead we took the 6 and got out at 116th, walked blocks, then left, to Pleasant Avenue. My sister's home.

Cocoa saw me turn, flinch like someone had set off a car alarm in my ear, but then he put his arm on my shoulder and pushed hard, said, “Come on. Keep going.” Cocoa kept pushing until we got upstairs, to the door, green, on it the numbers had been nailed in and the air had oxidized their faux-gold paint into that blackened color so familiar to buildings across our income level. He rang the bell. (Are they artificially powered?) The sound was so shrill I guessed they were part of the enemy army. Our first battle, twelve years before in the drab brown medical ward, had been so quick I'm sure they'd thought I'd forget. But I'd squirmed after they set those wires against my little forehead, so when they flipped the charge that one time, the lines slipped and burned both cheeks black; years later the spots were still there.

She opened the door. The whole place was going: television, microwave, coffeemaker, VCR. Karen was surprised to see me, but still, expecting it in some way. She was used to this.

I went to the bathroom but didn't shut the door. I filled my mouth with water and let it trickle out through my pursed lips, down into the toilet bowl so they'd think I was busy, held open the door some and my ears more:

Karen: “How did you end up with him?”

Cocoa: “I ran into Sammy a few weeks ago, gave him my number, then he wouldn't leave me alone.”

Karen: “You think he's starting up?”

Cocoa: “I don't know what else. It's got to be. He hasn't done this nonsense in years. He calls me one morning and in an hour he's at my door, ringing the bell. I'm living with my girl's family, you know? He started kicking the door if I didn't answer. So I been with him three days.”

Karen: “You should have called me or something.”

Cocoa: “Called who? I wasn't even sure if you still lived here. I got lucky you and your man didn't get promoted or relocated. I called your mom but the number was disconnected.”

Karen: “She needed to get away.”

Cocoa: “Well, I know how she feels. You know I love that kid, but I can't keep this up. My son is about to drop in a few months. I'm trying to take care of this school thing. He's bugging, that's all I can say.”

Karen: “You think you could help me out here, until Masai comes?”

Cocoa: “I can't take five more minutes. I'm sorry Karen, I am, but I can't be around him no more. I'm through.”

I listened to him walk to the door, open and shut it quietly.

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