Home remedy
Belle didn't have to look to tell who it was, she knew this call would come. "Rosa?" she asked after flicking the old cellphone open.
"Bee, you've got to help us," Rosa's frightened quieted voice said. "He's never been this bad. I think he's gonna..."
"I know," Belle said calmly. She looked over to Gramma, standing next to her bed. She sensed this wasn't just another visit -- someone was going to die.
With that thought, Gramma smiled and nodded, then glanced toward the closet door. Belle climbed down off her bed and went to fetch the brick house. "Be calm, now, Ro," she said into the phone, knowing from the screaming in the background that would be hard. "Where is he?"
"Dad's with mom, in their room," Rosa said. "He's so mad. I'm scared."
"OK," Belle replied. "I'm settin' the phone down. I gotta get something."
"Did you get it from Poco?" Rosa's note of hope in her voice stung Belle. Cousin Poco was no help when Belle tried to tell her how bad it was with Miss Latasha and her husband Robert Porter. Didn't believe her, no one did.
Her cousin said a girl like her was too young to understand older folk, and way too little to get into the hoodoo. But Belle knew some things -- she was in fifth grade, after all. And Poco wasn't the only one with gifts -- Belle's skin was just as dark, darker some days, and her family had been in these Bayous as long as anyone's.
Miss Latasha wasn't. She was new to St. Jude's Parish, brought there by her husband, who wasn't. Still, she was the best teacher Belle had ever had, who liked to refer to people like herself and Belle as "African Americans," which felt more dignified than "colored," like Grandpappy used to say. The teacher was all about pride -- pride in learning, pride in being yourself. She even named Rosa after a hero from Alabama. But it turned out she wasn't feeling so proud lately. Her pride was replaced with a fear of the man she thought she knew, a man whose darkness went so deep somehow no one could see it.
"I made it myself," Belle said towards the phone, as she brought a house made of colorful plastic bricks out of her closet. "I had some help," she added with a glance towards Gramma.
The toy knobby bricks were a mixture of name-brand and off-brand that her brother Boo had collected over the years -- collectively called Legauxs -- which he abandoned to her as he preferred to spend more time outside. Yet this was no simple child's assembly. The brick house was an exact replica of the Porters' home, inside and out. And Gramma had instructed Belle on the right way to put it together: the patterns of color, the words to say. Belle brought out a small sack and carefully applied its contents to the right spots: an old toothbrush (hoping Robert's screaming wasn't over it being missing), a twist of a strand of hair.
"He's hitting her!" Rosa's strained scream came through the phone. Belle could hear Miss Latasha's wailing as well. He's gonna want to quiet that, she realized, gonna want to use more than his hand...
Before she realized she had done it, Belle reached into the house and knocked over bricks in the form of a lamp in the downstairs living room. There was a small crash sound on the phone.
"What the fuck was that!" she heard Mr. Porter bellow. "Rosa, that you down there fuckin' around, breakin' shit!"
Belle stared into the upstairs master bedroom of the brick house. "Yes, come and see," she whispered.
"You gonna get it now!" the man raged. Belle looked up at Gramma, who nodded. The girl then reached into the house, and with an effort fired by a surge of adrenaline, a brick from near the top of the staircase popped into her hand.
Belle sat still for the longest time, that piece of plastic feeling warm, seeming to throb in her hand as she felt its knobs pressed into her skin. There was silence on the phone, then quiet sobs from her best friend, then a different kind of scream in the background.
- - - - -
Entry for LJ Idol: Season 9, Week 2, Topic: The Missing Stair.
(That phrase has taken deeper meaning due to the publication of this essay. Anyway, strange things do tend to happen down in Oubliette, La.)
Big thanks to the_dark_snack for the beta-read. For her entry: Karma is a harsh teacher.
"Bee, you've got to help us," Rosa's frightened quieted voice said. "He's never been this bad. I think he's gonna..."
"I know," Belle said calmly. She looked over to Gramma, standing next to her bed. She sensed this wasn't just another visit -- someone was going to die.
With that thought, Gramma smiled and nodded, then glanced toward the closet door. Belle climbed down off her bed and went to fetch the brick house. "Be calm, now, Ro," she said into the phone, knowing from the screaming in the background that would be hard. "Where is he?"
"Dad's with mom, in their room," Rosa said. "He's so mad. I'm scared."
"OK," Belle replied. "I'm settin' the phone down. I gotta get something."
"Did you get it from Poco?" Rosa's note of hope in her voice stung Belle. Cousin Poco was no help when Belle tried to tell her how bad it was with Miss Latasha and her husband Robert Porter. Didn't believe her, no one did.
Her cousin said a girl like her was too young to understand older folk, and way too little to get into the hoodoo. But Belle knew some things -- she was in fifth grade, after all. And Poco wasn't the only one with gifts -- Belle's skin was just as dark, darker some days, and her family had been in these Bayous as long as anyone's.
Miss Latasha wasn't. She was new to St. Jude's Parish, brought there by her husband, who wasn't. Still, she was the best teacher Belle had ever had, who liked to refer to people like herself and Belle as "African Americans," which felt more dignified than "colored," like Grandpappy used to say. The teacher was all about pride -- pride in learning, pride in being yourself. She even named Rosa after a hero from Alabama. But it turned out she wasn't feeling so proud lately. Her pride was replaced with a fear of the man she thought she knew, a man whose darkness went so deep somehow no one could see it.
"I made it myself," Belle said towards the phone, as she brought a house made of colorful plastic bricks out of her closet. "I had some help," she added with a glance towards Gramma.
The toy knobby bricks were a mixture of name-brand and off-brand that her brother Boo had collected over the years -- collectively called Legauxs -- which he abandoned to her as he preferred to spend more time outside. Yet this was no simple child's assembly. The brick house was an exact replica of the Porters' home, inside and out. And Gramma had instructed Belle on the right way to put it together: the patterns of color, the words to say. Belle brought out a small sack and carefully applied its contents to the right spots: an old toothbrush (hoping Robert's screaming wasn't over it being missing), a twist of a strand of hair.
"He's hitting her!" Rosa's strained scream came through the phone. Belle could hear Miss Latasha's wailing as well. He's gonna want to quiet that, she realized, gonna want to use more than his hand...
Before she realized she had done it, Belle reached into the house and knocked over bricks in the form of a lamp in the downstairs living room. There was a small crash sound on the phone.
"What the fuck was that!" she heard Mr. Porter bellow. "Rosa, that you down there fuckin' around, breakin' shit!"
Belle stared into the upstairs master bedroom of the brick house. "Yes, come and see," she whispered.
"You gonna get it now!" the man raged. Belle looked up at Gramma, who nodded. The girl then reached into the house, and with an effort fired by a surge of adrenaline, a brick from near the top of the staircase popped into her hand.
Belle sat still for the longest time, that piece of plastic feeling warm, seeming to throb in her hand as she felt its knobs pressed into her skin. There was silence on the phone, then quiet sobs from her best friend, then a different kind of scream in the background.
- - - - -
Entry for LJ Idol: Season 9, Week 2, Topic: The Missing Stair.
(That phrase has taken deeper meaning due to the publication of this essay. Anyway, strange things do tend to happen down in Oubliette, La.)
Big thanks to the_dark_snack for the beta-read. For her entry: Karma is a harsh teacher.