Jesmyn Ward - Men We Reaped

“Let’s go,” I said. I pulled Nerissa’s arm.

“You don’t want to go down in it?” Joshua asked. I could tell by the way he said it that he hadn’t gone down in it yet, and that he thought we might explore it together.

“No,” I said. “Let’s go.”

I yanked Nerissa to walk.

“Hold on,” I told Charine, and she tightened her legs around my waist, locking them at the heels. I pushed branches out of the way, began shouldering through the underbrush back to the trail. Josh stood behind us, still at the mouth of that hole.

“Come on!” I said.

He hesitated, then followed. When we reached the trail, I began trotting, Charine bouncing up and down on my back, laughing.

“Run,” I said.

We ran, stumbling on roots, plants whipping us like fishing line at the ankle. When we reached the end of the trail, we ran past the mattress, leapt over the ditch that bordered the woods and our yard, then let ourselves into the fence and the backyard, where we stopped, breathing hard. I turned on the hose and made everyone drink, and I kept us close to the yard for the rest of the day. Josh did a few desultory flips on the mattress, but he was the only one who reentered the woods before coming back out again.

That night, after my mother had fussed at me for forgetting my key again, after we’d all been bathed and ordered to bed, I lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, trying to see the dresser, our stuffed animals, my lonely fish in its small, plastic rectangular tank the size of a saucer. I wanted them to glow brightly, to pacify me and let me know I was not alone, but they stood silently in the darkness, beyond my view. I was tempted to shake Nerissa awake so she’d open her eyes because I knew they would be white in the dark and she would at least grunt at me, but I did not. Along with the responsibilities I’d resumed when my father left again, his departure renewed my sense of abandonment, worthlessness. While I lay next to my sleeping sisters, questioning my father’s love, I equated the cellar out in the woods with my deserved misery. Instead of waking Nerissa, I pictured the open mouth of that cellar off in the darkness, in the future, gaping as a grave.

The next day, I didn’t ask my friend Kelly about the cellar, or my friend Tamika, or my friend Cynthia. Instead, I stood barefoot in the empty lot next to our house, still thinking about it, while half listening to Kelly talk.

“Girl, have you heard that new song by that White rapper?”

I looked confused.

“He is so fine,” she said. I was thirteen by then, all slim lines and teeth and unruly hair that my mother had first given up on combing, and then attempted to tame with a relaxer. When Kelly said this, she smiled and her entire body shook, the woman parts of her moving like water. Kelly was fourteen. She rolled her eyes.

“Wait till you see him.”

When I saw him on television, the White rapper was all hard lines and sequins. There were other boys I saw in the neighborhood who I thought were more attractive, boys with prominent cheekbones and black hair and dark, almost black eyes. Boys who looked like my father when he was younger. But I had no boyfriends. I thought I was too skinny and ugly to get a boyfriend: I would never approach and speak to a boy I didn’t know, and most times they wouldn’t approach me either. And if they did, I didn’t feel flattered. I felt embarrassed. But Kelly had boyfriends, and so did Crissy, one of my friends from the middle school in Pass Christian. We still talked on the phone sometimes, and she told me stories.

“I almost had sex,” she said.

“Huh?”

“I did.”

“Really?”

“My boyfriend came over and my mama wasn’t home. We was in the room and we was kissing and stuff. He tried to put it in, but it wouldn’t go.”

“Oh,” I said, amazed at her brazenness.

“I guess that meant God didn’t think it was the right time,” she said.

We were thirteen, but even so I was surprised by her mention of God. My ideas about God at the time were that He’d have nothing whatsoever to do with sanctioning an unwed woman, a teenager, having sex, so I didn’t understand Crissy’s logic.

“I guess not,” I said.

We weren’t allowed to let kids into our house when our mother was at work for the day, and mostly I didn’t want to. We met our friends on the street or in the woods, and in Gulf-port, all of my friends were girls. Even though my girlfriends were dating, I didn’t want to. I was still reading books and playing with dolls in secret. I let a boy into my mother’s house once when she was at work, but I did not let him in because I thought he was attractive, or because I wanted something to happen between us; I let him and his friend in because I thought they were Joshua’s friends. It was a disaster. It was a few weeks after we’d found the cellar, and two boys we knew from the neighborhood came by. Phillip was actually Joshua’s friend, skinnier than my brother and maybe a few inches taller, and he liked to wear his hair in a lopsided Gumby cut. His friend was a boy named Thomas, who was around my age, twelve, and we didn’t know him well. He was taller than Phillip, by at least a foot, and thick. He had a wide, flat nose, and his shoulders seemed lopsided, set at an angle, like whatever aligned him was askew.

“Can we come in?” Thomas asked.

Joshua and Charine and Nerissa were in the living room, watching You Can’t Do That on Television , and I stood at the side door that opened to the carport. The day was bright and hot beyond them, the bugs loudly lamenting the heat. The house was cool, even though my mother kept the thermostat at eighty to save money on her electricity bill during the summertime. We were threatened with whipping if we changed the setting. We never did.

“I guess,” I said.

The two boys followed me into the living room. Phillip sat on the sofa next to Josh, and they began talking. I sat on the long sofa. Nerissa and Charine looked up from their playing for a moment, dolls in mid-meal on the floor, and then went back to it.

“Can I sit next to you?” Thomas asked.

“I guess,” I said.

Thomas sat next to me on the sofa.

“What y’all been doing today?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Watching TV.”

“It’s hot out there.”

“Yeah.”

Thomas scooted closer. His leg touched mine. I scooted over, further into the crack of the sofa.

“Where y’all mama?”

“Work,” I said.

Thomas edged closer so his leg was touching mine again, and I tried to scoot over, but I was jammed into the arm of the sofa. I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t talking to Josh and Phillip.

“Why you keep scooting over?” Thomas asked.

I shrugged, turning a shoulder to him and leaned away from his face. Josh and Phillip, still talking and laughing, walked out the side door. It closed behind them.

“I like you,” Thomas said.

I was mute. He pressed against me, sandwiching me between him and the cushions. I half stood, and he grabbed my arm and yanked me back down to the sofa.

“You don’t like me?” he said.

I shook my head. His hand slid up my arm, to my shoulder, my neck. I jerked away from him, and he moved with me. I was helpless.

“Stop,” I said. It was a squeak.

“What? I’m not doing anything.”

“Stop touching me,” I said. I deserve this , I thought.

“Come on, girl,” he said, leaning into me again, leading with his mouth. He grabbed my arm hard. This is my fault , I thought. Charine and Nerissa were quiet.

“Stop it!” I couldn’t breathe. He was too big. Just sit there, and if you take it long enough, it’ll be over , I thought.

Charine jumped up from her squat on the floor and ran toward the sofa. She leapt into Thomas’s lap feet first and began jumping on him, stomping his crotch.