The Girl Who Would Be King(30)

“My favorite person is my new baby sister, cause she’s going to be my best friend an’ slave ’til I get a baby brother, which will be much better,” Noah says with pride, holding up a pair of pink baby booties. Jasper starts to laugh and then covers his mouth and coughs, while several of the Noah’s male classmates nod solemnly in agreement.

“Does your sister have a name, Noah?”

“Yeah, it’s Emma, but I call her E-dawg.”

“I’m sure your mom loves that,” Jasper says with a smile. Noah nods confidently.

“Ya, she likes it,” Noah pauses, arms crossed, “You got any brothers or sisters, Mr. J?”

Jasper corrects Noah’s language, “You mean do I have any brothers or sisters.”

“Ya, ya,” Noah says waving his hand dismissively, “Do ya?” I’m holding my breath in anticipation of Jasper’s answer.

“No,” Jasper says simply and with a smile, “No brothers or sisters for Mr. J,” he says ushering Noah back to his seat with his pink booties proudly in hand.

This information hits me like a bullet. Like a million bullets. It’s not even like there is sadness in his face. He said it as simply as if I had long ago been wiped away, or worse, never existed. I pull back from the window and stumble over my own feet across the yard, eventually falling into a swing far too small for me. My sneakers drag clumsily across the black tar, tears falling onto my jeans in desperate little plops.

Clearly, he hasn’t forgiven me.

I’m not sure how long I wallow, but a small clear voice rouses me from it. “Your hair is pretty,” it says, and I look up to find a tiny girl in a quilted orange jacket far too warm for early June staring at me. I wipe my eyes, embarrassed.

“Thanks,” I say, smiling a little.

“Are you sad?” she asks, pulling herself up into the swing next to me, her little pointed toes barely grazing the ground. “Did someone kill your turtle? ’Cause my brother killed my turtle and even though he sayed it was an accident I still cried lots.”

I try not to smile. “I’m sorry about your turtle. What was his name?”

“His name was Gregory,” she says, deadly serious. I try not to smile again.

“That’s a very good name for a turtle.”

“Ya,” she nods in agreement.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Nu-uh, you gotta tell me yours first, or else you’re a stranger and I ain’t ’sposed ta talk ta you,” she says.

“I’m Bonnie.”

“I never heard that name before,” she says thinking hard. “I’m Celia,” she adds, putting out her tiny hand for a proper handshake. I take it gingerly and we have a little silent shake together.

“What are you doing out here, Celia?” I ask, looking around, wondering about her parents.

“I got to go to the dentist,” she says, sticking out her tongue in disgust.

“Where’s your mom?”

“Inside. She tol’ me to sit still on the steps.”

“Well, this isn’t the steps,” I say tentatively.

“Jeez! They’re right there,” she says, gesturing at the steps thirty feet away.

“Okay, okay,” I say, raising my hands in defeat.

“What are YOU doing out here?” she asks with a challenge.

“Just saying goodbye to someone,” I say.

“Who?”

“My brother,” I say, and Celia turns up her nose at the word.

“Hmmm. Just be glad you don’t have no turtle,” she says under her breath. This time I can’t help smiling and have to stifle a laugh. Just then Celia’s mother emerges from the building.

“Celia!” she yells a little too loudly and Celia pops off the swing.

“See ya Bonnie,” she says running toward the front steps.

“See ya Celia,” I echo back.

Halfway to her mother, she turns around, not unlike a pumpkin in her puffy orange coat. “I still like your hair a real lot!” she shouts.

I smile and shout back, “I like yours too.”



Long after Celia and her mother have left, I pick up my duffel and leave the yard. There’s nothing for me here. He’s obviously moved on. I don’t want to hurt him any more than I already have.

It’s back to the train yard for me.

I wait all afternoon for something headed west and take the first one that even suggests that direction. I’m going to start over somewhere else. Maybe even be someone new.



•

I wake up in my crappy Phoenix motel room, the gross comforter on the pretty much gross floor, the white sheets in knots around me and candy wrappers strewn across the bed like opened presents. I’ve slept a long time, maybe even into the late afternoon. I’d shed my blood caked clothing like a second skin the night before and I stare at them now wondering what I should do with them. I suppose a dumpster somewhere will do. I hop across the dark carpet and into the bathroom, hoping a hot shower will loosen up my muscles after the long bike ride. I don’t really hurt but my body feels more stiff than normal. The shower is glorious.