Born Blue Page 3

  I shrugged. Didn't know nothin' 'bout Birmingham 'cept it were in Alabama somewhere.

  "You want your sandwich with or without mayo?" Shell asked me.

  "Don't matter," I said. "Am I never gonna go back to Patsy and Pete?"

  Shell handed me a sandwich and looked fretful at Mama Linda like I said something wrong.

  Mama Linda said to me, "You won't ever have to go back to that terrible place again. Shell and Mitch are going to take care of you now."

  "Shell and Mitch? Do Doris know 'bout me goin'?"

  "No. Now listen, Janie. This has got to be a secret, okay? Now, Mitch and Shell are good people and they love children"—Shell nodded—"and they're gonna be really good to you. All you got to do is be their daughter. See, you got to call them Mama and Daddy. Think you can do that?"

  I looked at Mitch. He were keeping his eyes on the road, but I could see some of his face and I could see his arms and his hands on the wheel, and what I thought was that even if he weren't black as black like Doris, he were black right on, so I nodded.

  Mama Linda slapped my leg and said to Shell, "See, what'd I tell you."

  Shell reached back over her seat and touched my hands. "I love you already. I'll take good care of you, sweetheart."

  I pulled my hands away from her, making like I needed to unwrap my sandwich, 'cause I didn't trust no jazzed-up white lady tellin' me five seconds after knowing me that she loved me. I looked at Mama Linda. "What 'bout you? Where you goin'? Why you ain't my mama?"

  "Of course I'm your mama, little face. I'm your mama Linda and she's your mama Shell, but it's Shell now who's going to care for you. Look how she bought you that sandwich. I didn't even think to get you something to eat. So she'll be your mama. Now that's the deal."

  I wondered 'bout her saying the word deal. Doris used to say that word when she took me and Harmon out for Sunday lunch. She said we was always playin' Let's Make a Deal, 'cause of the way we was always trading our food with each other. I asked Doris what a deal be, and she said it were like agreeing to do something, and me and Harmon was agreeing to make a trade with our food.

  So I asked Mama Linda in that car, "You make a deal with Mama Shell?"

  Mama Linda got squirmy, moving her legs like they ached and looking away from me out the window. "Well—yeah. Yeah, okay, we made a deal."

  "A trade? You make a trade?"

  Mama Linda leaned forward and tapped Mitch's shoulder. "You can let me out here. Here's fine. I can walk the rest of the way."

  "We're almost to the exit," Mitch said. "Let me get you off the highway."

  "No, it's okay. I need to walk. I need to walk, Mitch!"

  Mama Linda's voice got hysterical, just like that. One minute she were saying pull over, and the next she were screaming how she needed to walk and she opened the door like she gonna jump out the car.

  Mitch swerved off the road, and Mama Linda got out and walked away up the ramp of the exit.

  We didn't say nothing for a long time. Mitch pulled out on the highway again, and we rode on. I sat with my chicken sandwich unwrapped in my lap, and Shell turned to face front.

  Then after we been silent a real long time, Shell turned round and said, "We've got to change your name. I have a sister named June. We'll call you June."

  I said, "My name gonna be Leshaya."

  Shell and Mitch snatched a look at each other, and Mitch asked, "Who's Leshaya?"

  "Me," I said. "I be Leshaya now."

  Chapter Seven

  I KNEW I BEEN kidnapped but didn't care none. What's it matter who done the snatchin'? Them at Social Services yanked me from Mama Linda and gave me away to Patsy and Pete, then Mama Linda stole me back and did a deal with Daddy Mitch and Mama Shell. Ain't no difference, really. None of it had thing-one to do with my feelings. So what if I been kidnapped? I figured Mama Linda didn't just hand me over to any old body. She did a deal with my daddy; musta been my real daddy, 'cause why would she give me away to strangers?

  Mama Shell tried to call me June and Juney, but I wouldn't come 'less she called me Leshaya, so she learned right quick I were a stubborn, pigheaded child, just like Patsy always said. But she didn't take the strap to me or make me stand on one leg, neither. She called me Leshaya.

  First night in their home she caught me crying 'cause I were scared and missing Harmon and the ladies and Doris, and she said she couldn't do nothin' 'bout Harmon and Doris but we could go to the music store and I could pick out some brand-new music for myself.

  We went shopping the next day. I didn't find all the same tapes as them Harmon had, but I found some I never heard sung by the ladies, and I got a extra one by Etta James. Mama Shell got me a new tape player, too, the kind that fit on the waist of my pants and had earphones so I could listen private without nobody else hearing. I could lay in my own bed at night and listen all I wanted till I fell to sleep, and weren't nobody tellin' me no, and no babies laying in cribs next to me screaming for daylight.

  Sometimes, when I were singing my songs, laying on my bed, I wondered if anybody were ever looking for me. Did Doris remember me? Did Harmon wonder whatever become of me? Were Patsy and Pete happy I were gone from them? I'd fall asleep wondering these questions, and in the morning Mama Shell would say to me at breakfast or while she were doin' up my hair, "You walked in your sleep again last night."

  "Did I? Where I go?"

  "Same as last time. You walked over to the phone with your face grinning and your eyes bright and as wide open as can be, and you mashed the numbers like you were making a call." Mama Shell squinted her eyes and studied me when she said that.

  "Who I be callin'?" I asked.

  Mama Shell said, "I thought you could tell me."

  I shrugged. "Don't know nobody's number."

  Mama Shell said I could hurt myself walkin' in my sleep, but I knew she didn't like me trying to make a call, 'cause maybe I would call someone who could get her in trouble. That's why I didn't say how I knew Mama Linda's number. I didn't tell her how I were maybe callin' Mama Linda in my sleep. Anytime Mama Shell saw a cop, even if he be in a car goin' the other direction, she 'bout had a fit. She'd tell me to duck down or act natural or stare the other way. Never knew what she'd want me to do, so I always froze till she said move. Seemed Mama Shell were awful nervous 'bout getting caught with me. She were always looking to see if anyone trailing us, always checking her rearview mirror.

  Mama Shell got thinkin' that I gonna try to run away or tell on her for stealing me, but I said, "Why I gonna do that? You treat me better than Patsy and Pete any-day."

  It were true, too. And our house didn't stink, neither. The inside smelled like a stack of clean clothes just passed through the house, 'cause Mama Shell did a lot of laundry. Didn't know where it all come from, but she were always doin' a load and cleaning up something. She told me I needed to wear deodorant so I wouldn't smell like a onion, and she washed my hair every day and sometimes gave me a bath twice a day, so I went around wearing my skin too tight all the time.

  She loved doin' up my hair, and some days I'd go to school wearing one hairdo, and soon as I come home, she'd do me up another. She liked to say how her hair be real blond like mine and how Mama Linda's hair be dyed and weren't real. She said it like it be bad that Mama Linda had dyed hair and good that she had her own color on her head. She liked pointing out what made Mama Linda look bad and what made herself look good. Once she said she knew 'bout me drowning in the Gulf of Mexico. Said she saw it in the newspapers.

  I told Mama Shell 'bout the amnesia that made Mama Linda forget she even had a child; I told her that's why I almost drowned, but Mama Shell said, "Now, I don't want you to tell anybody what I'm about to tell you, especially your daddy Mitch. He doesn't want me telling you this, but you've got a right to know. It wasn't amnesia. Your mama wasn't sick with amnesia. She's a drug addict She takes drugs—heroin. She's a heroin addict. It's nasty stuff. It'll do you a bad turn."

  I looked at Mama Shell and her eyes looked like
firecrackers going off, just full of sparks. And I come to recognize that look after a while. It were her I'm-telling-something-dangerous look.

  I said, "My mama take drugs?"

  "Yes, but don't say I told you so, okay?"

  "Where she get drugs?"

  "Huh?" Mama Shell's eyes went dry—dead.

  "Where she get them drugs?"

  Mama Shell grabbed my shoulders and turned me round so she could get at my hair again. "How am I supposed to know where she gets it? Probably from the streets, like everybody else. Now, hold still. That Linda's dirty. She must be living on the streets, she's so dirty. Aren't you glad you live in a nice, clean house? Doesn't your mama Shell keep a clean house?"

  Mama Shell did work hard at keeping things clean, rubbin' and scrubbin' the way she did. It were like the world were one big stain she just never could rub clean. I made friends okay at school, 'cause I were pretty to look at and had pretty hairdos and clean clothes, so I could thank Mama Shell for all that.

  First day at school I heard Mama Shell explaining to the principal how her and Mitch and me was new in town. She gave the principal phony records, phony birth certificate, phony everything, and nobody said thing-one 'bout it. I didn't mind, 'cause all my new records said my name be Leshaya and said I had good grades in math. Never did do well in math before.

  I told the kids in my new class that I had a mama who were white but I had a African American daddy, so I were part black-skinned even if it didn't show. I held up my arm and let them look close, and I said how just under all that white were the black layers and if you looked closer you could see it. Most said they couldn't see nothin' but white, but my new best friend, Shanna, said she could see it all right, and so could I, so it didn't matter zip what anybody else said.

  I were proud of my daddy Mitch, and I thought next time I saw Mama Linda I'd ask her if he be my real daddy, just to make certain sure I were right 'bout what I thought, cause 'cept for the scars, he were good lookin'. He had a wide face with flat high cheekbones that Mama Shell said were because he be part American Indian. He wore his black hair straight down his back and parted in the middle, and he had a wide nose with big round holes for nostrils, and a good juicy-lookin' mouth, and deep narrow eyes that looked full of smarts, like everything he knew 'bout life he learned by watchin' and he stored it all right there in his eyes.

  The thing I figured 'bout Daddy Mitch were that he loved gold and money best in the world. He had a gold tooth right in the front of his mouth, and he wore a gold watch, and chains round his wrists and neck, and gold stud earrings, and gold buckles on both sides of his leather jacket he were always wearing. He carried a fat wad of bills on him, and he loved taking it out and counting it, especially whenever Mama Shell were fussin' at him for doing something she didn't like. Only problem, Daddy Mitch didn't want nothin' to do with me or Mama Shell. I found this out first time I tried talking to him. I wanted to know 'bout his scars. I wondered what kind of accident made them pits in his cheek? I asked him and he said, "Shut up."

  Anytime I tried talkin' to him, that's what he said. He wouldn't never talk to me, but he didn't talk much, anyway. Weren't never in the house for long. Most nights we didn't know where he be at. Mama Shell said he went to Miami on business lots, and that's why he weren't never home. One time she said she thought he had another wife down there in Florida, but then she laughed when she noticed she spoke out loud and I were standing in front of her hearing what she said. "I'm only fooling, Leshaya, so wipe that worried look off your pretty face." And she laughed some more, but her eyes was shootin' off them dangerous firecrackers.

  Chapter Eight

  MAMA SHELL LOVED to shop. She loved to pick me up after school and take me to the mall. Seemed her purse were full of dollar bills, but she didn't always pay for what we got. She could move through a store so natural that even when I seen her taking something, I weren't sure of her stealing, till we got home and she dumped out the loot. She used to work in a department store that had a handheld gadget that could remove the big plastic tags off clothes. She took it with her when she quit and kept it in her purse to use on any clothes we liked so we wouldn't set off alarms, walking out the store. I felt proud the way she could haul off stuff and not get caught. She could have a real innocent look about her when she wanted. Most of the time, though, Mama Shell just looked classy. She wore her hair big and stiff with hair spray, and she wore makeup that made her whole face look pink as pink. When we went to the mall, she always wore a skirt that fit snug around her skinny body, and her feet always hurt 'cause, she said, her shoes weren't sensible.

  We shopped at the toy store last Mama Shell paid for my toys with real money, and I felt proud of her for that, too. My favorite toy be my first doll, a doll with black skin and pretty black hair in tight curls and happy brown eyes. I named her Doris, 'cause she 'bout black as Doris, and I sang her my songs. I sang the old songs, the ones I couldn't find at the music store. I sang them so I could remember them.

  Every day I missed Harmon and Doris. I missed listening to the ladies and suckin' on my bread in the basement with Harmon. Mama Shell had me on a diet 'cause, she said, my breasts shouldn't oughtta be growin' when I'm just seven years old. And they was growin', but I were scared I'd get to looking too skinny like her. Seemed white women always trying to get skinny, always trying to lose what make them women in the first place. Patsy, Mama Linda, and Mama Shell didn't none of them have any tits or ass to speak of. And I didn't care if I grew up big like Doris, 'cause I knew if I were big, I'd be nice and folks would want to hug me and lean on me and fall asleep on me 'cause I'd be so comfortable and sweet-smelling in my powder and perfume.

  One night I were laying in my bed, singing my songs from memory to my Doris doll, and I had my eyes closed and the headphones on my head even though I didn't have no tape playing. I couldn't hear nothin', so I 'bout fell out the bed when Daddy Mitch got hold of my arm and shook it. It were dark enough in the room that I couldn't read his face, but his voice sounded strong like maybe he was angry. He asked me, "Is that you singin'?"

  I didn't know what to say, 'cause who else could be singin'? But he asked like he wanted a answer so I said, "Were me singin', Daddy Mitch. I didn't know you come home." I sat up in my bed and held Doris close to me. "Don't you like music? Do I be keepin' you 'wake?"

  He said, "Child, you got a voice on you."

  "Yes, sir," I said. "Doris say I sing pretty."

  "I never heard a child sing like that before." Daddy Mitch shook his head. "You got a voice like butter. It's rich. Rich and smooth as smooth. Mm-mm." He shook his head again and walked out the room.

  THE NEXT DAY, Daddy Mitch told Mama Shell he would take me to school, and Mama Shell got those sparks flashin' in her eyes, so I knew she didn't like him driving me and she were thinking something dangerous. But she let him take me, 'cause even though he weren't home much he still the boss of our house.

  I had to tell him how to get to the school. He weren't hardly paying attention though, 'cause he wanted to know 'bout my singin'.

  "Who taught you to sing like that?" he wanted to know.

  I said, "The ladies taught me: Etta James and Sarah Vaughan and Aretha Franklin. I got their tapes, and other tapes, too. I been listenin' to the ladies since I were real little. Me and Harmon." I looked at Daddy Mitch. "You know Harmon?"

  Daddy Mitch shook his head and I pointed to the sign for the school. "Harmon my best friend. He my foster brother. We used to all the time listen to the tapes, and Harmon say he gonna dance to them and I say I gonna sing. You know what? Singin's 'bout the best thing I know to do. Even if I sad, singin' feel real good to do. Know what I'm sayin', Daddy Mitch?"

  Daddy Mitch pulled into the school lot and I showed him where he could park He said he didn't need to park, he'd just let me off, but I told him I wanted him to walk with me to my class. He made a face that showed off his gold tooth and said, "Why the hell do I have to do that?"

  I said, "Don't have to. I jus
t want you to. I want to show everybody you my daddy."

  Daddy Mitch looked at me like he was wondering, What in the world? I pulled at his arm and he said, "Damn," and shook his head. But his eyes looked happy and he come on with me to the class.

  After that day, anytime Daddy Mitch come home from somewhere, he called me to come give him a hug and sing him a song. He dug a old guitar out from under his bed. He said he had that guitar since he were fifteen years old. Said he once loved it so much, he used to sleep with it at the foot of his bed before Mama Shell come along. He laughed at that, but Mama Shell didn't. She gave him her dangerous look She didn't never seem happy to see him no more, and when he were around she didn't look happy to see me, neither.

  Daddy Mitch weren't too good at playin' the guitar, which surprised me 'cause I figured him being my real daddy, he'd be musical. I knew how bad he were, 'cause I listened close to the guitars the ladies got playing in the background of their songs. I knew the sounds of all the different instruments playin' in the background even if I didn't know all their names. Weren't nothing I hadn't heard in them songs. I knew them so well, I figured if I had the chance all I had to do were to pick up a instrument and I could play just what I been hearing all my life. But I liked Daddy Mitch playin' the guitar, 'cause that way I weren't nervous 'bout singin'. And seemed my singin' made him happy, so I didn't mind doing it. I got real used to it, even, and Daddy Mitch come around a lot more to the house.

  Only problem, Mama Shell didn't like it. Said my voice were too big for a little girl like me. She said it sounded like a grown-up were singin' behind me and I were just moving my mouth. Said I be flirtin' with Daddy Mitch and that a seven-year-old singing saucy songs 'bout love were dirty.

  I got to worrying 'bout Daddy Mitch coming home, 'cause of the way Mama Shell acted with the two of us. Worrying got me wishing Mama Shell allowed bread in the house, 'cause my stomach were always grumblin' for it Singin' were all I had left to keep the worry away, and I just prayed Mama Shell wouldn't take that from me, too.