I showered again, needing to wash him away, but it didn’t work. His scent coated my pillow, filling my nostrils with his aroma. I tossed the tainted pillow to the floor, but that didn’t help either. He still lingered there, in my mind and in my bed. I rolled to my side with a deep sigh, and closed my eyes, praying for peace. I wasn’t sure I would ever figure this man out, and truth be known, I wasn’t sure I had it in me to try anymore.
~~
“I want to call my sister. It’s her birthday. Sherry said I could talk to her today,” I complained to Ms. Porter.
She brushed me off with a wave of her hand. “Get the fuck out of my way. That bitch don’t care about you. People lie. People always lie. Now move the hell out the front of my television.”
“I’m going to walk there,” I threatened with a stomp to the wooden floor.
Ms. Porter laughed at me. “Go for it. Your pretty little ass won’t make it to the corner without getting fucked in an alley.”
Even at the age of twelve I knew what that meant, and she was right. I wouldn’t walk past the school bus stop by myself. Had it not been for my neighbor, Falcon, I wouldn’t go there either.
Falcon was five years older than me, but he didn’t go to school anymore. He’d dropped out at sixteen. He looked out for me. He knew that a dark little white girl shouldn’t be lurking around that neighborhood. Nobody should; especially a vulnerable twelve year old with nobody to report her missing. Falcon told me about men in shiny black cars, luring young girls away from the hood. Pretty young girls like me not easily missed.
It was enough for me to ground myself inside the house. Sometimes I’d go out and sit on the stoop, but that’s as far as I went.
I stomped out to the stoop and dropped to the top step.
“Watcha doin’ out here,” Falcon said from the next porch. I looked left, toward the row of houses to his face. A thick strand of smoke lingered above his head. The pipe and the smell told me it wasn’t a cigarette.
“It’s my birthday, and my sister’s birthday. They told me I could call her. They said I could talk to her,” I said with tears streaming down my face, sucking in hot Florida air. My heart hurt so much. I missed her so much, and there was nothing I could do.
“Who tell you that?”
“The social worker, and Ms. Porter. It’s almost four o’clock and I still didn’t get to talk to her?”
“Today your birthday? How old you be?”
“Twelve, and Gabby’s twelve, too.”
“Gabby? What the fuck you talking about, girl?”
Falcon hoped to the wobbling banister and to my side. That’s how close the houses were to each other. A hop and a jump.
“I mean, Izzy. My sister is Izzy. Izabella. We’re twins.”
“Where yo mama?”
“She died from drugs. She fell off a fire escape.”
“Why you not with yo sister?”
“They wouldn’t let us. Nobody would take both of us. She’s in Michigan, but they said they’d let us talk. They don’t,” I said while more tears streamed down my face. I just wanted my sister. My other half. Nobody cared about us. Nobody cared how much we needed each other. I thought Falcon did. My kind black neighbor.
“I can get you a phone call with her,” he said in a low tone.
My heart beat out of my chest, and I straightened my posture, yelling with excitement. “You can?
“Of course I can, but you gotta do something for me, too. You get your thing yet. The period thing. My bros say once a girl gets that, she a woman.”
“Um, yeah, a couple months ago,” I replied with rosy red cheeks. Oh, my God. Why would he say something like that? I didn’t want to talk about blood coming out of my vag with him. Good Lord!
Needless to say, I became the property of Falcon. I did things with him that I’m not proud of, and I never talked to my sister. He always promised he was getting closer every time he coaxed me into his room. Falcon controlled my life for three consecutive years. Up until he got life without the possibility of parole. A convenience store robbery gone bad on the south side of town. I never did hear all the details. Ms. Porter couldn’t get her nose out of American Idol long enough to see anything. Her and those stupid reality shows.
I guess I didn’t really care to know. A father and two little boys were killed. I knew that much. The gruesome details weren’t needed. A guy in the gang they called Blade, tried like hell to step into Falcon’s shoes. I wouldn’t let him. I stayed away. I went to school and came home. That’s it. I didn’t have friends because the only ones that wanted to be my friend were either part of a gang, or on drugs. I stopped being the cheerful little girl, full of life, energy, and happiness, and drowned. I drowned every day in the same, sad misery.
Ms. Porter wasn’t much better than Falcon, but at least she was safe. I spent my life after my twin, trying like hell to forget her. I became more and more introverted, realizing all the lies my mother told. You couldn’t escape life with a vision of a better one. It always came back. As soon as your eyes opened. Real life was there. The cold hard truth.
Chapter Sixteen
I did exactly what Paxton wanted the next morning for breakfast. He woke up to greasy bacon and eggs waiting for him in the kitchen. The radio played Justin Bieber until he entered, and then I switched it. NPR news talked about a clerk refusing same sex marriage license, Joe Biden’s son’s death, a missing seven year old, and a hurricane losing strength off the coast of Hawaii. Donald Trump’s new drama, and a dip in the economy.
“You’re not eating with me?” Paxton asked with a piece of wiggly bacon hanging from his mouth. It turned my stomach just looking at it.
“Not necessary,” I said with my back to his. I cleaned up the greasy mess, ignoring my husband and his unhealthy breakfast.
“What the fuck, Gabriella?”
My hair flipped to the right and to my back with a frown when I turned to look at him. “Is it, Paxton? Did I sit with you before I forgot who I was?”
“No, but you’ve been doing it ever since. Sit down.”
If that was his nice way of telling me he liked me sitting with him over breakfast, he sucked. Nonetheless, I poured coffee and sat with a bran muffin. Cranberry. Without one word, I picked off a piece and plopped it to my mouth.
“What’s with you and this health kick? We don’t eat muffins. We eat good stuff. Like this,” he said while his eyes shifted to his plate and a biscuit sopped up gravy.
“You can eat like that. I’m not.”
“You did before.”
I laid it on thick without even meaning to. Total diva. “So, I hear. Anything special I should know about before I screw this day up, too?”
“I hate this attitude. Where the hell is this coming from?”