Imani All Mine Read online

  Star Light, Star Bright

  I CAN’T sleep in the night. I lay in my bed with the window open. Even with Mama laying next to me, it’s like I be by myself. Out in the wilderness. Out in the night. Listening. Trying to hear my own voice out in the trees. It was carried away from me by some birds and put into they nests. Talking to the stars. Singing to my baby.

  Everybody still waiting for me to have something to say. Waiting for me to say something about what I’m feeling. They all watch me from the corner of they eyes. They won’t hold me in the center of they eyes. Nam one of them. They won’t have me at the center. Look at me direct where I see myself reflected back twice. Liquid. Anchored. I know it’s because they afraid of me. Afraid for me. What I’m thinking. They know there’s more in me than what coming out my two lips. And even though they want me to open up, to spill my guts, I think they scared of what will come out from me. That is why they look at me the way they do. Even Mama. She so scared, she done made me her child again. Made me a little girl who she sleep with. She been laying in the bed with me every night for a month. She curl herself around me like I’m in her again. With my big self. With my grown self. She be in the bed with me. Waiting for me to be born back to her. Mama the one who talk. What she be talking about, I don’t always know, because sometimes I ain’t listening. She like to talk so the dark ain’t so empty and so big and we ain’t so small inside it. Curled up along its bottom. Where it touch us and cover us. Hiding us until the morning.

  I don’t say nothing. I just lay with my face looking out the open window. Listening for myself in the big dark outside. Listening for my voice out in the trees. Trying to reach my baby who is dead.

  I couldn’t even say the word at first. For a day. For a week. For a month. Not even to myself. It’s one of them words that was plucked from me. Pulled out my mouth and hid away by the birds. A whole season done changed in just a few weeks while I watch out my window at night. The late and cool blue of spring nights is already gone, and there be a heat burning in the early summer nights. Nights I can see already getting darker. A minute. A minute. A minute more each night. The leaves of the greening trees in the backyard opened they tiny leaves the size of baby hands and grew into the hands of mamas. They dark and shiny sides turned to the sun before I say the word. Last night I say it with my mind in the dark dark night with Mama next to me sharing with me the secret of her hands. A secret she done kept from me so long, I don’t remember her hands being so soft. Being so small and smooth. Having the power of something so gentle flowing through them that when she touch me with my face turned away from her, with my face turned out to the night. When she rub one of her hands down my arm, across my leg, I cry. Just tears. Not even a sound, and I don’t know Mama even know I be crying, and if she do know, she think it’s because Imani dead. Now and forever. But that ain’t why I be crying.

  I be crying because it’s all my fault, and if any one of them knew they’d stop loving me. I want them to stop. There’s so much love for me that I can’t even stand it. I don’t want it. From Aunt Mavis. From Eboni. From Miss Lovey. From Mitch. From Peanut. Even from Mama. I can stand the heat of Mama on me. Flowing into me. Deep inside to my bones. Even now that it’s hot and the fan blow on us. From the floor. Not the window. I like the fan on the floor so the window can be open where I can see. I can stand Mama heart beating soft against my back. And her hands still. Resting. But not moving. I only think Mama be sleeping with me anyway because she don’t want to sleep in her own room. Because that’s where it happened. Where Imani was killed.

  The door to it always be closed now. I heard Mama tell Aunt Mavis on the phone that she has found a place and Mitch moving in with us. Mama don’t want to stay, because Imani died here. She only go in her own room to grab some clothes and get out quick. Like she being chased. Like maybe my baby is some ghost. Which I know she ain’t.

  Even though Imani dead, I can’t see her that way. I see her as a living angel up in heaven. Above the trees. Above the Earth and moon and stars. She get a free pass into heaven. Eboni told me. All babies go to heaven. Into the arms of Je-sus. He sweep them up to the sky like he they daddy. And I want to hate Jesus. To turn him into the devil. To turn him into the man who killed my baby. But I don’t hate him. I’m just jealous. Because I don’t know how he get to be with Imani every day and every night, and I don’t. He don’t need her more than me. Love her more than me. What Jesus know about singing Imani “Miss Sue from Alabama"? What he know about making her jelly bread the way she like it? Where he going to get punch and red and lemon Kool-Aid and mix them all together and make it sweet for Imani the way she like it? I know heaven supposed to be the best place there is, but when they get some Kool-Aid? And what Jesus know about a black girl hair? I know he ain’t got no Royal Crown. He ain’t got whole packs of ponytail holders and barrettes. He wasn’t here with us long enough to know what to do with a black girl. He was down in his box with his eyes turned to the dark. I think Jesus probably got my baby running around heaven looking like a wilderness angel. With her head all nappy and dry. A dark halo around her head. Like she a state kid somebody took in just for the money. Like she lost.

  And she is lost, because she got to be looking for me. Wondering where I’m at in the clouds of heaven. I know she ask for me. All the time. I know she cry, even though I can’t hear her. I be listening, but I can’t hear her. I know she want for me to bring her home. Her face all ashy with dry tears and no Vaseline to grease it. She wondering why she dead. Do she know? Do she understand that, even coming from Jesus? I don’t know how Jesus fix his two lips to tell a baby she been shot to death. How he explain that. Why it had to happen. I don’t see how he make it clear to her. But maybe heaven is different from Earth. Maybe heaven is where it make some sense that a baby got shot to death. Because it ain’t clear to me down here at the bottom of the dark in the middle of the night.

  Maybe all them stars hanging under heaven is answers to questions asked in heaven. All the things can’t nobody understand on Earth. That’s why there’s so many of them. Maybe God hisself hung a star up there to answer Imani. Maybe he showed his face to her. Looked at her with eyes that looked like they had love in them. Eyes that held her right in they center so he could explain why June Bug had to be at Miss Odetta house like he was. Why he had been staying there for three days when he wasn’t even living there no more. I know Mama know. Every cat and dog on the street know whoever shot Imani was gunning for June Bug. If they wasn’t, why the next day was he not only gone, but Miss Odetta too? Why, when the sun was big and bold and bright up in the sky, was there a truck backed up right to they front door?

  Miss Odetta had just left our house that night. Imani was napping on the couch when she come, so I took my baby upstairs. I ain’t take her back to our room. I put her down in Mama room, right on the floor, and closed the door quiet behind her. Then I started cleaning up the kitchen. I was still in there doing the dishes when Miss Odetta left. I was looking out the window. The sky was pretty. It wasn’t all the way black. A curve of blue stretched along the top of it above the tops of the dark trees. I was all happy, because school was ending the next day. I’d finished all my exams. Mr. Toliver had even pulled me aside the day before to tell me he had looked at my exam real quick and that I’d done real good. Which meant I would probably get a C for the year. It wasn’t a grade he was just giving me. I’d earned it. While I finished the last few dishes, I was thinking all I was going to have to do the next day was turn in my books and clean out my locker. I ain’t know if I was going to take Imani with me. It was only going to be a half day.

  Mama come into the kitchen then with a dirty ashtray and some glasses and I ask her if I could leave Imani home the next day. Mama say I could.

  Right then I was thinking I should go check on Imani. Maybe she was woke. She couldn’t get out the room. I went to the bottom of the steps to listen. It was quiet. Nothing but quiet over me, and I should’ve gone to it. I should’ve been drawn to it li
ke a vacuum. But I was going up in just a few minutes anyway. All I had was a little bit more dishes to do. What’s a few minutes? I was thinking. She sleeping.

  And see, Jesus. Why couldn’t you look out for me? For Imani when that car turned up our street. Why you let me go back to the sink and scrape some old dried milk out the bottom of Imani bottle with a knife? And let Mama sit down at the table and drink a Pepsi? When you knew that car was coming down our street. That somebody in it had a gun. A nine millimeter. Automatic. And was coming for June Bug.

  I was just going to be a few minutes. But, Jesus, why ain’t you open up your two lips to say something? Just this one time. Why couldn’t you speak to me direct? Instead of sitting back and watch everything happen like it was a movie. Just watching. When you knew my baby was fenna die.

  Maybe a star might be enough for my baby. Maybe it can hold the answers to her questions, and she can look down and see it lit up, so she ain’t got to ask no more. So she ain’t got to bother nobody with her questions. Imani still young. But I got more questions than even God could answer with a whole sky filled with stars. With a whole galaxy. It’ll take God, take Jesus, all the time there ever was, there ever will be, to explain why my baby had to die like that when I’m the one to blame.

  When the night’s deep. When I been at the bottom of the dark too long, I know Imani ain’t die because I put her in Mama room that night. She died because of me, because of me wishing what I did on her birthday. I wished that God would punish him. I wished him dead. And now God’s punished me.

  Derrick Givens. That’s his name. Now I can say it in my mind. Taste it in my mouth without having to spit. I can lay next to Mama and cry in the night, saying his name in my mind with another wish in my mouth. Asking Jesus. Telling Jesus. I take it back.

  I ain’t really want for Derrick to die. I just wanted him gone from my mind. Clean gone. Clear gone. Like my mind that of a baby. Just to not have him be part of Imani life.

  I ask Jesus. I say, Jesus, I wish I could go back in time. Let me go back. Let me be the one to die. I’m the one should’ve been killed. Not my baby. Let me have just one minute to go up them steps. To go into the vacuum of silence and never come back out. Send that car back to the top of the street and let me be up in Mama room with Imani where I can see the car coming. Quiet. With the lights turned off and the music turned off. Moving like a piece of the night. Moving like a animal. A monster coming for me. I would know. I’d recognize it. See what was coming, and push Imani down. Because the police say she was probably at the window. She’d climbed up on the bed and must’ve been looking out the window. My baby always wanted to see out into this world like there was something for her to see. But, Jesus, I can see in my mind nights. With my eyes turned in, I can see me in Mama room that night. See me knock Imani down. Knock her down so hard I take the breath from her. Just for a minute. So she not hit by the bullet that come through Mama window. Or by the two that come through the living room window. The three that hit the front door. Let one of them hit me. Take me out the world. And I will go without a sound.

  But Jesus act like he don’t hear me. He just leave me stuck with that night. How things really happened.

  Miss Odetta house got hit first. I heard a shot that sounded like it was out the back, over round the way where Peanut live, and I looked out the dark window and thought of him real quick. Hoping he was down his basement. Then I heard another and another real quick. Pop pop. Like firecrackers. I turned to look at Mama just as our living room window was hit. Oh, God, no! Mama screamed. Get down, Tasha!

  All I could think about was Imani. My feet took off running. Automatic. My feet carried me into the living room. I called out her name while Mama was screaming behind me and bullets steady hitting our house. Glass was breaking, and I called out for Imani again. Imani, answer me! She ain’t answer and my feet moved faster. Taking the steps two at a time. Three at a time. By the time I got to the top, the bullets stopped, and for a few seconds there was nothing but quiet. I ain’t pray. I should’ve started asking you, Jesus, right then. Before I run into Mama room.

  The lights was off and I ain’t even see Imani down on the floor where I put her. Her blanket was there. I had to turn on the lights to see her. Face down. On the floor over by the dresser. Blood blood blood was pouring from her, so much the rug was wet under her. So much that I ain’t see at first. For a second. For a minute. I don’t know. But I didn’t see that the top of her head was gone. Just gone. Bone and brain. Just gone. There was a hole there. Pulsing with blood. Filling with blood that spilled out onto the rug. I should’ve prayed then to you, Jesus. Because I fell right to my knees. Screaming. Filling up all the air in the house. I should’ve stayed right by Imani side. Give her CPR. I remembered what Mrs. Poole taught about saving a baby life. How to cover the nose. How to breathe into the mouth. How to count. How to pump the chest. Gentle but firm. But I knew none of that wasn’t going to do no good. I knew right then. When I seen her brain. Imani was dead, and I couldn’t stay in that room. Stay in the house.

  I took off running. Down them steps. Knocking Mama out the way who was on her way up. Slamming her into the wall while she tried to hold on to me. Saying, God, no! Oh, please God, no. Tasha. Mama say while I was out the door and into the night. No shoes. Just in my sweats. Running like I was crazy. Running like I was wild. My braids flying all around me. Running past Miss Odetta heading for our house in her housecoat. Running past June Bug jumping in his car. My mouth still screaming. Screaming. Screaming. Filling up all the air in the street. All the air in the world. Telling everybody all the way from here to heaven that Imani was dead. I kept on running. Out in the middle of the street. Like I was in a dream. Not even knowing where I was going. I kept running while June Bug flew past me in his car. While I was steady screaming. Telling all the birds in the wilderness. Hiding in the dark. In the trees. Calling them all to me. I kept on running to the end of the block. Thinking if I kept going, if I kept running, I could get out this nightmare. That’s what it had to be, and I was trapped inside. Maybe Mama could find me deep inside this dream, deep inside this night, and come light the way out.

  Because nothing was real to me. The people on our street. Moving past me. Going the other way. Running the other way. Calling to me. Reaching out they hands to me. Like they was ghosts. Like they was shadows haunting me. It was like I ain’t know none of them. I couldn’t put a face to none of them. A name to none of them. They wasn’t at all real. I just had to keep running. Down our street that was getting darker. Long like some tunnel I was closed inside of. It stretched out longer in front of me the faster I run. But I knew as long as I kept going, Imani would be alive, laying next to me in my bed.

  I had got to the end of the street when I passed out. I don’t remember even doing it. I was just running. Then I was in the grass of the lady yard who keep her cockeye grandson. Laying in a pile of weeds. Looking up at red and blue lights circling in the dark and faces crowded around me. Sirens was going off all over the place. Somebody say for everybody to get back so I could breathe. I could breathe. And that little boy come and threw a pot of cold water in my face. His grandma slapped him. I don’t know how long I was out for. A second. A minute.

  I don’t know what happened to the time. What happen to time when you slip out of it? Where do it go? Did my Imani slip right out of the world without even knowing what happened? Without any pain?

  I sat up and tried to get up. But that old lady say I shouldn’t, because one of my feet was cut bad. Cut deep. I don’t know when I cut it. How I cut it. It ain’t hurt, not one bit. I got up anyway, not sure where to go, when I seen Mama push into the crowd. Push her face right where I could see it. There wasn’t no reason for me to run no more. Mama was there, and I knew I wasn’t dreaming. I could see on her face. Kin to mine, wild like mine, that everything happening was real.

  She say, Tasha, Imani going to be all right. A ambulance coming. She say that to me. Her clothes wet wet with blood. Her hands with bl
ood on them. I could see it. Even in the dark. Wet and darker than the night. Mama had two cops with her. Real dark. Even in the night. Young like boys. But with strong hands like men. Big hands. One got me under one arm. And the other on the other. Mama was holding on to one arm too. Tight tight. She say, Imani arms and legs was moving. I seen for myself. That’s good. She can still move. You got to be strong for Imani. She need you strong. You hear me?

  I ain’t say nothing. Not nam word. I guess the birds had swooped down on me when I was out, pecked my mouth clean. Mama dug her nails hard into my arm. I felt them enter me. Cut right into the flesh of me without no pain. Mama say again that I needed to be strong. It ain’t make no difference what Mama say. I could feel Imani death all up inside of me. Heavy like lead.

  Latin name, Plumbum. It had been on my Latin test that morning.

  Mama say, You hear me, Tasha? I heard her. Them hands dragging me along. My feet hardly touching the ground. Three police cars was in front our house. They sat me in back of one of them. Cops was everywhere. Searching all around our house and Miss Odetta house with flashlights. A whole bunch of people. Faces I couldn’t really see was gathered behind police tape. Roped behind it. Blue and red lights showing me who they was and then hiding they faces in the night. Watching me. Watching Mama. Like we was in some kind of show. Look like all the lights was on in our house and I could see heads behind the curtains of Mama room. Moving like ghosts.

  Mama was trying to get inside, but they wouldn’t let her. She say, I want to see my baby. But they say she couldn’t go back in. A ambulance was coming. The biggest cop who helped me home, the darkest one, told me his name. Which went right in and out my head. He took hold of one of my hands and kept talking. I seen then he had on gloves. The kind you wear when you giving a relaxer. He was telling me everything was going to be all right. He say wasn’t no need to tell me not to worry. Because he’d worry if he was me. But he say he praying for help. He ask if I want to pray with him. I ain’t think he was supposed to even ask me that.