But him being here has not changed anything. No doors have opened since I’ve learned about my cousins’ drug dealing. Do I hand Dray over to the detective even though he wasn’t responsible for the girl’s death? And even though he’s like family to Kasim?
I must’ve been sitting there staring into nowhere, because Kasim’s hand is on my shoulder shaking me and asking me if I’m okay. I snap out of it.
After the meal, Chantal tells me and Kasim to go into the living room so they can clean up. I excuse myself to go change instead. Then Kasim asks to use the bathroom. We’re both headed up the stairs when Pri yells, “Don’t stay up there for too long, y’all!”
I make sure the bedroom door is closed while he uses the bathroom, and I change into something more dressy and put on a bra. When I come out, he’s right there and says, “Hi.”
We stand in the doorway for a moment, and we both know that it’s the first time we’re alone in a house. Not quite alone, but almost. I start to step around him to get downstairs but his eyes wander into Chantal’s room.
“Hey, what’s all that?” he asks.
I turn to see my altar—the statue of the Virgin Mary, the tea candle, the bottle of Florida water, the beaded gourd, tin cup, and white fabric. “My prayer stuff,” I say.
“Damn, you’re like a hard-core Catholic?” he says.
“Yes and no. It’s Vodou.”
“Voodoo? Oh, I get it now. You put a spell on me?”
“No, that’s not real Vodou. We have spirit guides—our lwas are like saints and I pray to them for help. And I offer them food in return—candy, rum, and other things. Don’t you pray?”
“Used to. With my moms. I grew up Muslim. Kasim means ‘divided amongst many’ in Arabic. Will you pray for me?”
“Yes, of course. Always.”
He eases both his hands toward my face, pulls me in, and kisses me deep, deep.
Cher Manman, It’s beginning to feel like you wanted it this way. Maybe you sent me ahead, and you made it so that you wouldn’t come with me—that you would return home to Haiti and leave me here in America. If you had told me to go alone, you knew that I would never agree to it. But this is how you raised me, Manman. You raised me to be like another part of you—another arm or leg. Even as you kept telling me that I’m becoming a woman, you never let me go out into the world to be free. Or maybe I took the place of the sister you left behind, or who left you behind. You raised me like this, so I cannot go on with my own life without you. You can’t go back to Haiti. You have to come to this side because this new family of mine is both familiar and strange—just like how I am American by birth and Haitian by blood, bones, and tears. Familiar and strange.
Manman, your nieces sold drugs. Your sister loaned money to drug dealers. And Uncle Phillip was killed because of drugs. If what you’ve told me is true, that this kind of madichon runs in the family, then what sort of prayers, songs, and lwas will remove this madichon—this curse? And if what you’ve told me is true, that the lwas will show up all around me—in both things and people—then I am surrounded, I am supported. And with the help of Bondye and his messenger, Papa Legba, the giant gate leading you home will soon open.
I will make it so.
Kenbe fem. Hold tight.
Fabiola
TWENTY-FOUR
BECAUSE OF MY new hair and clothes, no one knows that I’ve come from Haiti only a few months ago. I fit in like a well-placed brick. We’re in a giant gymnasium with hundreds of other teenagers. Our high school is playing against another school in a big basketball game. I don’t know the rules of the game, but there are so many cute boys that I don’t even care to pay attention to the ball or the score. These boys are not like the scrawny broomsticks back home in Haiti. They have muscles and they move like ocean waves up and down the court. I’m sitting between Imani and Daesia as they point out which boy is the cutest. For a moment, I forget about Kasim. Only for a moment.
Pri and Donna come over to the bleacher seats in front of us. I glance at Imani to make sure she’s okay because Donna sits right in front of her and tosses her fake hair back so hard that it hits Imani’s knees. Without thinking, I gently shove Donna’s head and say, “Excuse you!”
She turns around and asks, “What?”
“Your hair hit Imani,” I say.
Donna glances at her and says, “Oh, did it? My bad,” and tosses her hair so that it hits Imani again.
I’m about to tap Donna, but Imani stops me, shakes her head, and mouths, “It’s not worth it.”
Pri is sitting next to a girl and they laugh and talk as if they are more than friends. I wonder if this is Taj. I tap Pri on the shoulder, and when she turns, I motion toward the girl.
“Oh, Taj, this is my cousin, Fabulous,” she says. “Fab, this is Taj.” Pri is a little different—the edge in her voice is gone as if she is smoothing out everything about herself to impress this girl.