Needy Little Things(57)

My head throbs with the effort to hold in my emotions. My nasal passages swell until I can no longer breathe through my nose. The lump in my throat is actually painful. And my eyes burn, begging me to moisten them. But I can’t let any of it loose until I’m behind my closed bedroom door. Mama and I, we’ll mirror each other. We’ll rain tears on opposite poles of the apartment. And it’s better that way because crying within her earshot will only throw the world even more off-balance. Crying within her earshot feels like asking her never to heal. To fall deeper into her loop of despair. She knows she hurt me, but I won’t ever let her know how much. Tibby is the only one to witness the depth of my breakdown. He does more than witness. He feels it. I squeeze him so hard a seam in his stomach pops. A grape-sized ball of stuffing reveals itself. I graze it with my index finger before forcing it back through the hole, but as if spring-loaded, it comes back out. A metaphor for my life. The stuffed pig shouting, “You can’t escape this. You can’t fix this.” It goads me until I’m ready to tear all the stuffing out and throw the remains across the room.

But I don’t do that.

I just cry. I cry from hurt, from frustration, from uncertainty. What are we going to do if Mama doesn’t get help soon? How can she find another job in her current state? I rest my face in my hands and a laugh breaks its way through my tears, because I just made some money. And not two minutes after blowing almost all of it, Mama drops her wonderful news. I feel a twinge of guilt for even thinking of Jojo’s camp as blowing the money, but considering our current situation, it’s fair. The brochure said they offer full refunds for cancellations made at least thirty days before the start of camp, but that would destroy Josiah. He would hate me. He’s at the stage in life where he has an awareness of money, but no real concept of its value. Of how hard it can be to get. I can’t cancel that camp. I’ve got my last Sweet Pea’s check coming soon and hustling with Santa Bag is still an option. What I won’t do is call Daddy. He’s been on disability for years. If he had more money to give us, he would have been giving it a long time ago. What he does have to offer us is a paid-off house in Chefly. Our other home. Our original home. And while I might have daydreamed about what a life there would be like, Atlanta is the best place for Jojo and I don’t want Dad to bring up moving away. This problem is for me to figure out.

I take Tibby to the bathroom and put a Band-Aid over the opening in his stomach. I have to press hard to get it to stick to the textured fabric, but I manage it. I turn out the lights and run a bath. Something I do maybe twice a year. The water is at my favorite temperature—the one that feels like nothing. Not hot, not cold. Just me, sliding into myself. A few unshed tears force their way from my eyes. I let them run down my cheeks, drip from my chin, and drop into the tepid water. My phone illuminates and vibrates on the small stool next to the tub. A puddle forms on the floor when I remove my arm from the water to check it. Malcolm. When I confirm it’s nothing urgent, I set it back down without replying and sink so low into the water that only my nose and eyes are above it.

Long after my fingers and toes go pruney, I wrap myself in a towel and go to my room to lotion my legs. Malcolm texts again, this time a long paragraph that makes my stomach tense up. That makes me want to hide under my covers and never come out. I don’t read it. I can’t. I can’t give him whatever he needs right now. I can’t anything.



* * *



I spend most of Sunday in bed, phone on Do Not Disturb, almost too exhausted to feel guilty about it. Almost. I only force myself out of my pajamas when it’s time to go pick Josiah up from Eddie’s. I walk to meet him there, then we hop on the bus to the grocery store.

“Did something happen, Sariyah? Why are you so quiet?” Josiah’s eyes are big with worry.

I sit up straighter, try rearranging my expression, but I know it won’t fool him. There’s no masking how I feel right now. “I’m not ready to go back to school tomorrow,” I say.

“Me neither. Spring break was way too short.” He crosses his arms.

“Sorry it didn’t go the way you expected.”

He drops his head. “It’s okay. It’s not anyone’s fault.”

“You’re right. It’s not, but you can still be upset about it.” I pull up my email on my phone and open the camp confirmation from Zoo Atlanta. “You can be upset about it and excited about this at the same time.”

He takes the phone and hugs me when he realizes what it is. “Thank you, Riyah.”

Inside the store, Jojo uses his right foot to kick off and goes rolling down the bread aisle on the back of the shopping cart. I scan the price tags for the best deal on whole wheat when I sense someone behind me. Not their needs. Their body. Musty and way too close to mine.

“Bag lady, Bag lady.” The smell of liquor and stale breath washes across my ear and up my nostrils. The person breaks into a chorus of Erykah Badu.

I turn around and there are only a couple of inches between me and Tim.

“Remember me?”

I take a step back, not sure how to engage. Has he been following me? “Yes, I remember you. I just saw you yesterday.”

“Yeah, but you were acting like you were a little too big for your boots. Thought maybe you would have forgot me by now.”

“I didn’t.”