if you’re here, please come out, please!
I hear a shuffling.
God, listen to me. If you will let her still be alive, I will give up Bombay gin. Maybe not Tanqueray, but definitely Bombay.
I walk straight to the tiny storage closet in the back and open the door. I follow my instincts. One thing I have is instincts.
There she is—crouched in there, hiding from me.
I bend down to her. I want to kill her.
Then Kidd is at my side. He says, I’ll be damned if this is not female intuition.
I say, Sidda, honey, you are carrying this book thing too far.
She is crying. She says, I don’t want to go home. You can’t make me go home!
I bend down to take her hand and she knocks the flashlight out of my hand. Kidd shines his big torch on her.
I say, Siddalee, get up from there.
She screams, I hate you! You said Daddy was dead.
I want to slap her to death, after all she has put me through.
Kidd says, Young lady, you heard your mother. Now get up out of that closet and stop your foolishness.
Sidda doesn’t budge. She stays hunkered down with her arms wrapped around her knees and says, Yall are all sons of bitches.
Well, Kidd has had it, so have I. He reaches down and jerks her up to her feet and I say, It’s alright, Kidd, it’s alright. (But I’m glad somebody has jerked her up. She needs some jerking if you ask me.)
I put my hands on her shoulders and tell her, Listen kiddo, stop being so dramatic right this instant, you hear me? Now let’s go get in the car and go home.
The child stares at me like she’s about to spit in my face.
Kidd says, Vivi, do you want me to handle this for you?
I say, No. Thank you, Kidd. Excuse us for just a minute, would you please?
I grab Sidda and walk her over to Necie’s station wagon. By the time we get there, she’s sobbing.
Keep an eye on her, will you, Caro? I say. And don’t dare let her out of this car.
I straighten my hair that must look like hell in all this humidity and walk over to Kidd. He’s standing by his car with his foot propped on the running board. In spite of myself, that man still gives me goose-bumps like he did when he was a quarterback. You cannot think like that, I tell my shriveled-up insides.
I give him a little kiss on the cheek and say, Thank you, dahling. Everything’ll be fine. I’ve just got a high-strung daughter on my hands, that’s all.
He says, Well, I sure hate to see you have to go through this.
I know, Kidd, I tell him—like he has no idea of half of it. Now listen, you and Nona absolutely must come over sometime soon. It has been too long.
Yeah, Vivi, he says. Like he still wants me.
When I get back in the car, Sidda is sitting there shaking and doing her damn hyperventilating trick. She grabs onto me and won’t let go. I don’t know why she does that, I am not a child psychologist. Her palms are hot and sweaty against my arm. I want to push her away from me. I don’t like it when my children get close to me when I’m not in the mood.
We finally get her home, and I draw a bath for her, and hand her one of the Darvons that I always keep around the house for cramps. Then when she’s done, I go and lie down in the bed with her. It’s cool and dry in her room and the curtains are open with a little sliver of light spilling in from the porch light. We both love it in the summer when it is scorching hot outside, but real cool inside with that huge central air conditioner blasting away.
I kiss her on the forehead. Precious, I tell her, You have got to stop taking things so seriously. Your father came home just like I knew he would. Is that all you were worried about?
She says, Mama, I don’t feel like talking, I’m too tired.
I say, Well then, I’ll talk and you listen: You can’t run away from things, Siddalee. You’ve got to stay in this house where your life is. Don’t you think I want to run off and hide in a bookmobile or join the circus? We all do. But we have responsibilities.
She rolls away from me onto her
I hear a shuffling.
God, listen to me. If you will let her still be alive, I will give up Bombay gin. Maybe not Tanqueray, but definitely Bombay.
I walk straight to the tiny storage closet in the back and open the door. I follow my instincts. One thing I have is instincts.
There she is—crouched in there, hiding from me.
I bend down to her. I want to kill her.
Then Kidd is at my side. He says, I’ll be damned if this is not female intuition.
I say, Sidda, honey, you are carrying this book thing too far.
She is crying. She says, I don’t want to go home. You can’t make me go home!
I bend down to take her hand and she knocks the flashlight out of my hand. Kidd shines his big torch on her.
I say, Siddalee, get up from there.
She screams, I hate you! You said Daddy was dead.
I want to slap her to death, after all she has put me through.
Kidd says, Young lady, you heard your mother. Now get up out of that closet and stop your foolishness.
Sidda doesn’t budge. She stays hunkered down with her arms wrapped around her knees and says, Yall are all sons of bitches.
Well, Kidd has had it, so have I. He reaches down and jerks her up to her feet and I say, It’s alright, Kidd, it’s alright. (But I’m glad somebody has jerked her up. She needs some jerking if you ask me.)
I put my hands on her shoulders and tell her, Listen kiddo, stop being so dramatic right this instant, you hear me? Now let’s go get in the car and go home.
The child stares at me like she’s about to spit in my face.
Kidd says, Vivi, do you want me to handle this for you?
I say, No. Thank you, Kidd. Excuse us for just a minute, would you please?
I grab Sidda and walk her over to Necie’s station wagon. By the time we get there, she’s sobbing.
Keep an eye on her, will you, Caro? I say. And don’t dare let her out of this car.
I straighten my hair that must look like hell in all this humidity and walk over to Kidd. He’s standing by his car with his foot propped on the running board. In spite of myself, that man still gives me goose-bumps like he did when he was a quarterback. You cannot think like that, I tell my shriveled-up insides.
I give him a little kiss on the cheek and say, Thank you, dahling. Everything’ll be fine. I’ve just got a high-strung daughter on my hands, that’s all.
He says, Well, I sure hate to see you have to go through this.
I know, Kidd, I tell him—like he has no idea of half of it. Now listen, you and Nona absolutely must come over sometime soon. It has been too long.
Yeah, Vivi, he says. Like he still wants me.
When I get back in the car, Sidda is sitting there shaking and doing her damn hyperventilating trick. She grabs onto me and won’t let go. I don’t know why she does that, I am not a child psychologist. Her palms are hot and sweaty against my arm. I want to push her away from me. I don’t like it when my children get close to me when I’m not in the mood.
We finally get her home, and I draw a bath for her, and hand her one of the Darvons that I always keep around the house for cramps. Then when she’s done, I go and lie down in the bed with her. It’s cool and dry in her room and the curtains are open with a little sliver of light spilling in from the porch light. We both love it in the summer when it is scorching hot outside, but real cool inside with that huge central air conditioner blasting away.
I kiss her on the forehead. Precious, I tell her, You have got to stop taking things so seriously. Your father came home just like I knew he would. Is that all you were worried about?
She says, Mama, I don’t feel like talking, I’m too tired.
I say, Well then, I’ll talk and you listen: You can’t run away from things, Siddalee. You’ve got to stay in this house where your life is. Don’t you think I want to run off and hide in a bookmobile or join the circus? We all do. But we have responsibilities.
She rolls away from me onto her
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