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  Essence lets out a loud sigh of boredom, of frustration. She goes upstairs. I think maybe I should go with her, but I feel like Ms. Jackson needs me to stay. She needs someone to listen to her yesterdays. She packs the last magazine, one that has the Olympic track star Flo Jo on it. “Help me tape this, please,” she says.

  I take the tape from the coffee table. She grabs the scissors. Together, we close the box, store her memories once again. Before I let go of the box, Ms. Jackson grabs my hand, squeezes it tight. “Don’t tell your mom, okay? Don’t tell her you seen me like this,” she says. “And your dad. Don’t tell your dad. Promise me, okay?”

  I don’t answer.

  “Promise me.”

  “Promise me you’ll stop drinking,” I say.

  “I promise. I promise I’m gonna get myself together,” Ms. Jackson says.

  “I won’t tell them,” I say.

  Ms. Jackson lets go of my hand.

  We both know neither of us will keep our word.

  Chapter 5

  Essence will not tell us how she feels about moving. Instead, she curses the landlord. Rants to me and Nikki about all the things he ever did wrong.

  “He never fixed the light in the bathroom; we have to hit it in order for it to come on,” she says. “And the dishwasher. That thing has never worked. Not once, not ever, in seventeen years. We use it to store pots and pans.” Essence takes everything out of her top dresser drawer and stuffs it into a suitcase. “He raised the rent even though he took two weeks to schedule the exterminator to come.” Essence is yelling now. She slams the drawer and opens another one. “Mickey and Minnie should’ve been paying rent,” Essence says. “Since they left Disneyland and moved in here.”

  Nikki can’t hold back her smile. It spreads across her face and she gives in to a laugh. Essence gives in, too. Her head falls back and she laughs up to heaven, showing God her smile before the rest of us see it.

  We chase the sadness and anger with our laughter. Essence sits on her bed and says, “Do you guys remember that night we all stood in the middle of my bed, hollering for hours?”

  I feel jittery just thinking about it. “That mouse was strolling all over your room. Just roaming around like he lived here,” I say.

  “He did live here!” Nikki says.

  And we laugh harder.

  I finish the story, “And Dad teased us. Said we were scaredy-cats.”

  Nikki remembers, “Yeah, he was like, ‘You three tall girls are scared of a tiny mouse?’”

  “If it wasn’t for your dad,” Essence says, “I don’t know what we would’ve done.”

  She is talking about how Dad came and put out mousetraps, how he always comes and helps—fixing things around her house like he’s the handyman. She is talking about how Dad came the night Ms. Jackson had a breakdown and locked herself in the bathroom, how he called Mom and how they took Ms. Jackson to the hospital and let Essence stay with us until her mom was better.

  Just as quick as the laughter came, it leaves. Essence stands up and paces the room with her arms folded. “I can’t believe I have to move. I hate our landlord,” she says. “I really hate him. He kept telling us he was going to redo the basement. Every year he had some plan, telling us he could make it a rec room, a study, an exercise space, but it’s still just a creepy dungeon,” Essence says. “And then he has the nerve to start fixing things—right in our faces—a new bathroom with a jetted tub and marbled shower.” Essence fills a suitcase with the clothes that are hanging in her closet. “And he goes and tells us it ain’t for us. Like we ain’t good enough to live in a place like this. Can you believe that? He’s going to fix it all up, and we can’t stay.” She inhales a gulp of air. “He knew he was going to sell the house. He knew it. And he knew we wouldn’t be able to afford it!”

  Essence looks out of the window. “Just when things are starting to get nice around here, too. Finally got a neighborhood I don’t have to be afraid to walk through at night, and I got to leave.”

  Essence sits back on her bed. I don’t know what to say, what to do. I am just as mad as she is, but it won’t do any good to join her in complaining. Nikki and I start taking her posters off the wall. Most of them are pages Essence tore out of hair magazines, except for the one big poster of her favorite basketball player.

  The last things left to pack are the picture frames on her dresser. Every photo has a friend in it. There’s one of her and Malachi, and another of her, Nikki, and me when we were in the eighth grade. We are standing outside the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry at a field trip. The three of us just happy to be together.

  The next frame Essence picks up holds a picture of us at the Tillamook Cheese Factory. Ms. Jackson is standing on the end, holding her waffle cone. The rest of us had all gobbled ours right before my mom took out her camera. Mom and Ms. Jackson used to take us to the coast every summer, and we couldn’t go without stopping at the cheese factory. Each year, we took the tour to see the huge machines and learn how cheese is packaged, how ice cream is made. At the end of the tour, we’d stop by the gift shop. Mom always bought smoked cheddar; Ms. Jackson, the squeaky cheese curds that make noise as you chew. And at the very end, we all got ice cream cones—the best part of the day.

  Essence gently puts the photo in the box. There is no bubble wrap to put the frames in, so she takes a black marker, writes FRAGILE on the box. I think maybe that note is not only about what’s in the box, but the girl packing it.

  The three of us sit, looking at the lonely room. I think of all the things we did here. How when we were in elementary school we were small enough to fit under her bed and we would pretend to be on a camping trip. In middle school we whispered and giggled the night away talking about our secret crushes. We carved ESSENCE + MAYA + NIKKI = FRIENDS 4 EVER in her closet.

  “I’m going to miss you,” I say.

  Nikki looks at me like I have just said the craziest thing. “You’re acting like she’s leaving the country.”

  “Well, the bus ride is forty-five minutes,” Essence tells us. “You two better come see me.”

  I don’t know why I start talking in a motherly tone, but I can’t help it. I say, “You better keep your attendance up.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Nikki says. Like she’s forgotten that Essence hits the snooze button for an hour before she crawls out of bed. We both know how long she takes to do her hair, her makeup, and to nurse her hungover mother before she leaves for school.

  “Maya, don’t worry about me. I’ve got to stay on top of things so I can get me some scholarships. Perfect attendance. Honor roll. That’s my goal.” Essence stands up, and we follow her downstairs. The stairs moan like an old woman with bad knees. Essence says, “I wonder when the landlord’s going to fix the rest of the house. You two have to get in good with whoever moves in here so you can tell me how he changes the upstairs.”

  “Okay,” Nikki says.

  I don’t say anything.

  We go into the kitchen, and Essence opens the refrigerator. It is in its usual state. Half-empty. She takes out three cans of soda, and we go outside and sit on the porch swing. Essence and Nikki start talking about prom. They’re already making plans even though prom is at least ten months away.

  We’ve had our senior year planned out since we were in middle school.

  Prom: Me and Devin, Nikki and Ronnie, Essence and Malachi.

  College: the boys at Morehouse, us girls at Spelman.

  That’s the plan.

  Essence and Nikki talk about going to the beach the weekend of prom, which I know Mom and Dad are not going to allow. I let them have their fantasy and start watching Essence’s neighbor, Carla, who is moving another roommate into her house. Carla moved in two years ago. She’s thirtysomething, at least I think she is. She rents rooms to college students, which means there are always people in and out. Carla is in a band and sometimes has rehearsals in the garage, and that always gets Ms. Jackson complaining. She thinks the music is too loud. “And
it don’t even sound good,” Ms. Jackson always says. And then she goes on and on about it. “White people moving here thinking it’s okay to play music all loud and let their dogs go to the bathroom all on the sidewalk. Let one of us blast our music and I bet they call the police for noise violation.”

  I guess the one good thing about Essence moving is, Ms. Jackson won’t have to argue anymore with Carla.

  I actually don’t mind Carla’s music. She even offered to give me guitar lessons, but I never took her up on it.

  Carla waves at us. I wave back.

  “Maya, are you listening to us?” Nikki says. “We’re about to go see a movie with Ronnie and Malachi. You should call Devin and see if he wants to come.”

  “Today is Thursday,” I remind them. And they know what that means. Devin is enrolled in Summer Scholars. He never misses it. We’ve been out of school for two weeks, and I’ve barely seen him. “Maybe we’ll hang out with you guys tomorrow,” I say.

  When Ronnie and Malachi come to pick up Nikki and Essence, they all try to get me to come, but I refuse to be the looming shadow of a double date. “I’m fine,” I tell them. I go across the street. Home.

  I text Devin. Ask him if he wants to get together when his class is over and wait for him to get back to me.

  Chapter 6

  Devin is here.

  But not for me.

  He has a meeting with Dad. They check in once a month. Usually Dad takes him out to eat, but today he’s putting Devin to work and they are pulling up the carpet from one of the rooms in the basement. I guess all the renovations on our block has Dad wanting to fix things up here, too. He promised he’d give Mom her own sewing room by the end of summer.

  I can hear Devin and Dad talking, even though I’m not really trying to listen. Devin is telling Dad about his aunt and how he feels she doesn’t understand where he’s coming from. “It gets frustrating sometimes living in a house full of women.”

  Dad laughs. A little too hard, if you ask me. “Son, I know. I know.”

  Devin has grown up in a house full of women, and Dad says women don’t know everything, can’t teach a boy everything, shouldn’t have to be everything. Devin’s mom and dad died in a car accident when he was just a baby, and his aunt took him in and raised him as her own. His aunt has never been married and has four daughters who are older than us. They baby Devin sometimes, and a lot of times they can be bossy. He complains about it, but I think he also likes the attention.

  I think Devin’s family looks out for him because they know he really might do something big with his life. Devin is the one who makes sure we all keep our grades up, that none of us end up on the wrong side of the statistic. He talks about the future, has plans and dreams of what he wants his life to be.

  Devin is a make-your-momma-proud kind of person. The good-grade-makin’, football-all-star-playin’ brotha who old women point to and say, “He’s the next …” New hope stirring in them because when they look at Devin the future don’t look too bad.

  “He’s a good catch,” Mom always tells me.

  And women throughout our neighborhood pull me aside, saying things like, “I’m glad he’s dating you and not one of them.” And by them they either mean a white girl or a hood girl. I guess Devin and I are some kind of prize to each other.

  But sometimes, instead of winning a prize, I feel like I’m losing him. He always has an excuse, always a reason for not hanging out. At first I thought maybe he was cheating on me. But I trust him, and I know he’s telling me the truth when he tells me he can’t spend time together because he has to get up early for his Summer Scholars program. He is on a mission to be the first in his family to go to college, to be something other than a Portland guy who could have been something. There is no other girl. Just his dream.

  How can I compete with that?

  Chapter 7

  Essence’s landlord finished the rest of her house after she moved out. For two weeks, construction workers came early and stayed late. It’s the Fourth of July weekend, and now the house has a FOR SALE sign in front of it. Today is the open house where people come and walk through to decide if this is where they want to live.

  I don’t belong here. I am the only black person in the entire house. Probably the only one who has lived in this neighborhood my whole life.

  The Realtor makes the guests take their shoes off at the door. They ooh and ahh like tourists in a new city. I pretend like I am looking, like I have never been in this house before. And in a way, I haven’t.

  It is strange to feel like a stranger in my best friend’s home.

  The hallway is painted a pale tan color, and the carpet has been replaced with hardwood floors. Nothing looks regular anymore. Everything seems special—even the knobs for the shower and sink in the bathroom look like they were handpicked, especially chosen for this new house.

  I step out of the bathroom and walk down the hallway to Essence’s bedroom. There is a girl coming out of it. “I love it, Mom,” she says. “We have to get this one.”

  “It is pretty great,” her mom says. “Perfect for your dad getting to work. Carver Middle School isn’t too far from here.”

  They both have brown hair. The mom’s hair is cut short with curls that flip and twirl all over her head. The girl’s hair is straight and hangs to the middle of her back. They both have on the same color of nail polish. Makes me wonder if they paint their nails together and gossip about the happenings of the day.

  “Where are Dad and Tony? Have they been up here yet?” The girl grabs her mom’s hand and they walk down the stairs.

  I walk into Essence’s bedroom. It looks bigger without her bed and dresser in here. I walk over to the window that faces the street and look out at my house. I remember how sometimes, when we talked on the phone, Essence would stand at her bedroom window and I’d stand at mine and we’d talk while looking at each other. Mom called us crazy.

  I walk over to the closet, and when I open it, I know exactly why that girl loves this room so much. Even the closet has been renovated. It’s a walk-in closet now—shelves and room to stand in and take your time to choose what it is you want to wear. Space, space, and more space so that your clothes aren’t bunched up on each other, getting wrinkled.

  I think about Essence, how she would love this closet.

  From the hall, I can hear people roaming from room to room, plotting out how they could make this house their home. “We could use this for an office,” I hear a man say about the room across the hallway.

  There are many conversations swirling through the house.

  This is an up-and-coming neighborhood.

  Is there a Whole Foods in the area?

  What are the neighborhood schools?

  This is a prime location.

  Is it a child-friendly neighborhood?

  The crime rate has gone down.

  “You like the closet, too, huh?” a male voice asks. His voice is closer than those in the hallway. I turn to see who he is talking to, and I realize he is talking to me. It’s just the two of us in the room. He is standing close enough to me that I can smell his cologne, or maybe it’s the leftover fragrance of his shampoo. He smells like soap, like a freshly washed load of laundry. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he says. “I, uh, I came up here looking for my sister. She said I had to come see upstairs.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it. I was just about to leave.”

  “Tony?” A tall man walks into the bedroom. He is with the brown-haired girl and her mom. They crowd into the room, looking at every single detail. The light fixtures, the windowsill, the crown molding.

  I take another look at the closet and notice that ESSENCE + MAYA + NIKKI = FRIENDS 4 EVER has been covered with a fresh coat of paint.

  I leave.

  Just as I step into the hallway I hear the mom say, “Honey, we should make an offer. Seems like it was made just for us.”

  Chapter 8

  The boy who moved in across the street has Essence
’s room.

  He hasn’t put up curtains yet, so I see him all the time. Sometimes without even trying.

  I can’t remember his name.

  He has the same brown hair and green eyes as his mom and sister. His shoulders are wide, and they hide under a too-big T-shirt.

  The only thing I know about him is that he likes art. I’ve been watching him hang framed paintings on his bedroom walls—covering up all that fresh-paint newness. Not even appreciating that he has beautiful, clean walls that don’t need to be covered.

  Essence hung posters over parts of the wall that had chipped paint, small holes, cracks.

  Chapter 9

  I am sitting on the porch when I see the boy who lives across the street walking toward me. He has a look in his eyes like he knows me. “Nikki?” he asks.

  I smile. “Maya.”

  He steps back. “Oh, I’m sorry. You look like—”

  “She’s my twin,” I tell him.

  “Oh! Oh, wow, I-I didn’t know. She didn’t even—”

  “Yeah, we don’t really mention it unless we’re standing next to each other.”

  “You two look just alike,” he says.

  “We’re identical.”

  “Right. Oh, and, uh, I’m Tony Jacobs.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I say. “Nikki isn’t here.”

  “Okay. I, uh, I was just looking for my sister. I thought they were together.”

  “Yeah, Kate, right? They just left not too long ago. Nikki is showing her the neighborhood.”

  I feel like I need to say something, give a reason why I didn’t go, but instead I just smile at him. Nikki invited me, but I refused to go meet and greet the people who moved into Essence’s home. Funny how I ended up meeting them anyway.

  Just when I am trying to find something to say, Tony jumps back, like a thought just shocked his body. He squints and says, “Wait. So that was you. No wonder your sister looked at me like I was crazy when I brought it up the other day. It was you I saw at the open house.”