I remember wanting to live in that day forever. I was only six or seven, but I already knew by then bout a lot of bad days. Days when Daddy just wasn’t himself, no matter how hard we all tried to make him be. Days when Momma and Daddy would fight, and I would hide under the covers with a book. Memories I tried my hardest to forget, even now. But that night I tried to memorize every smell, every feeling, every moment.
We ain’t ever celebrate the Fourth of July again after that one. Sometimes I wonder if it was even real, or if I made it up in my mind. Already, the sound of the fireworks is quiet, less vibrant. The whole scene, when I replay it in my mind, is blurry. Like a bad recording. A forged memory. Or maybe it did happen, cause God needed me to know happy just one time, so I would really feel it when He took it away.
* * *
Me and Granddaddy and Nia arrive at a big park after a long time of slow driving. Momma drives slow to keep me from gettin’ carsick, which I like, but Granddaddy’s slow is more like riding on a turtle. Plus, in all the excitement I forgot to grab my book, so I ain’t have nothin’ to do the whole way cept count songs on the radio. Seventeen. I jump out the car and stretch my arms and legs. We grab the food from the trunk and a large, striped blanket. Then we walk toward a crowd of people playing loud music that makes me wanna clap and stomp.
There are five long picnic tables underneath a dome-shaped shelter. Lopsided barbecue grills poke up from the grass circling the cement mound. All four of those grills are filled end to end with smoking meat. All the people in the shelter are loud and happy and Black. Women stand in groups talking and laughing. Kids run around in circles, with some parents chasing. Other parents just let ’em run. Men hold cans of beer and play games that make ’em shout. The music is the beat that they all talk over and dance to, all in rhythm. Seeing everybody here like this reminds me of the barbecues we used to have on our old block, when all the daddies would argue over who could grill the best, and the mommas would sit on their porches, braiding hair and sipping lemonade. This is just like those times, cept better, cause this is my family.
Granddaddy walks to the table on the end, so we follow. He sets the pot of greens down beside a bunch of other pots and pans. Nia hands him the corn, which he takes to the man flipping meat on the first grill, who’s wearing an apron and smoking a cigarette. I set the blanket on the table beside the greens. But it looks funny up on the table like that, so I take it down and set it, still folded, on the grass.
“Granddad!” A dark-skinned boy with ashy knees and ankles runs toward Granddaddy with a huge, white-toothed grin on his face that clashes with his dark skin. He looks happy to see Granddaddy, but when I turn and look at Granddaddy, I don’t see the same. Instead of the smile I expect to see, he got an expression on his face that looks more like a frown, cept not quite.
“Stop all that yelling, boy,” says Granddaddy, evenly. The boy stops running all at once, like he was smacked head-on by a train. A train with crossed arms and, now, a full frown.
“Sorry,” mumbles the boy, head down. His hair is like little black balls of cotton, longer on the top than on the edges. He got scars all over his arms and legs, and one big one right cross the back of his neck. The most interesting thing bout him, though, is his nose, which is wide with nostrils that flare so I can almost see straight up his nose when he talks.
“Gon’ and say hi to your cousins, boy!” Granddaddy’s voice is louder and meaner than I’ve heard before, and I ain’t sure why. Nia lowers her eyes and bites her nails, so I lower my eyes and bite my nails. But then I look up to smile nicely when the boy begins to introduce himself, even though Nia don’t.
“Hi, I’m Javon”—he speaks quietly—“what are your names?”
“Nia,” short and sweet, then I follow with, “I’m KB,” and an even bigger smile. I ain’t ever had a cousin before. I think bout them kids in the pool, the cousins, and wonder if that’s what it’s gon’ be like.
“Where’s your brother?” Granddaddy interrupts, voice still booming.
“Over there.” Javon points to a group of boys playing basketball on a court cross from the pavilion. Neither of the basketball rims still got the net attached, and there’s giant cracks all cross the cement, but none of the boys seem to notice as they yell and dribble and laugh. “I’ll go get him.” Javon runs off and I wonder excitedly which one is my other cousin.
“Come on, girls, let me introduce you to everybody.” Granddaddy’s voice is suddenly nice and soft again. I wonder if he is nicer to us cause we’re girls. Or maybe since he made Momma mad so long ago, now he feels like he gotta be nice to us to make up for it.
We follow Granddaddy around the picnic area. He shows us off to a whole bunch of grown-ups whose names I don’t remember. They all say things like, “Are these Jacquee’s daughters?” and “Look how big you are!” and “Do you remember me? I ain’t seen you since you was this high!” Even though it’s nice to be fussed over, I’m impatient to get to my cousins. I tune out the adult voices and think bout how I’m gon’ get my new cousins to tell me bout Momma and Granddaddy.
“And this here,” Granddaddy interrupts my thoughts, “is your uncle Willie.” I stay quiet while Granddaddy explains that Willie is Momma’s brother. Momma never talked much bout having brothers, even when we asked, but I know she got four of ’em, all older than her. Seemed like Momma didn’t wanna talk bout them, cause she never even mentioned them having any kids. They were already grown-ups by the time she was born, which I guess is why they wasn’t in none of the pictures in Granddaddy’s book. Willie is the oldest. He is tall and skinny with a bald head and skin bout a half shade lighter than Granddaddy’s. I look and look but can’t find no way he looks like Momma.
“I can’t believe I’m just now meeting my beautiful nieces,” says Willie—should I call him Uncle Willie?—as he stares at Nia and then me. “You look just like your momma,” he tells Nia. I wish somebody would look at me for once when they say that. Sometimes, if I look in the mirror long and hard enough, I think I do look like Momma. But it’s hard to see cause our skin’s so different. If I was brown like Momma, I bet people would say I look like her, too.
“How old are you girls now?” Willie continues. I wait for Nia to answer. She always talks for us when grown-ups start asking questions.
“I’m fourteen and she’s ten,” is Nia’s quick response. I wonder if she’s gon’ mention that my eleventh birthday is just ten days away now, but she don’t.
“Wow, fourteen and ten,” responds Willie, scratching his head. “I can’t believe it’s been that long.” He looks down at the ground for a second, like he’s sad or worried bout something, but then looks up again, quick. “Well, my boys ain’t much older than you, KB. I got Javon, who’s twelve, and Jesse, who’s bout to be fourteen. Almost your age,” he finishes, looking at Nia in the end.
“We already met Javon,” I whisper, scared to talk but excited that I finally got something to say. I hop from one foot to the other while I wait for his response.