Victor LaValle: Ecstatic

My waist felt sweaty and my feet were cold. I was so hyper that I finally had the strength to stand on up. I did and screamed my sister’s name.

— Nabisase!

When I was a boy her birth had been the momentous event of my lifetime. My father visited us once, when I was ten. He drank beer with me one afternoon, out of cans and on a park bench. He made me think a man in glasses could be handsome. He spent the rest of the trip chasing my mother. He left after a few days. Nine months more and my sister was.

Having her around had been like a promotion; from only child, from little boy. I hadn’t been so matured in one decade as that first evening I picked her up. Supporting the back of her head with one hand.

— Nabisase! I yelled again.

The doors in the back opened as an usher walked in, but I watched my sister stand up. Ledric had disappeared and I wondered how a fat man moved so fast. Nabisase ran to the other exit, below the screen. Her hands across her mouth and nose hiding her disgrace.

When I reached home, walking from the movies, my hands were so stiff it could have been a bone disorder. Our block, 229th Street, was subdued in the early evening. When I cleared my throat the sound was amplified.

— You out here, too? the President asked from his front steps. In silhouette that hedge looked the worse end of a knife fight.

— It’s just us, I agreed, then leaned against the fence though this was a lousy move as it caused the red Doberman to stir. It came from the backyard.

— Quiet, the President commanded. Quiet! he tried again.

To no end. The man had to call his son. Candan took the leisurely route. When he appeared he only said, — Viper, quietly. The dog stopped watching me and went to Candan inside the house.

— Why would you name a dog after a snake? I asked once Candan had gone inside, taking Viper.

— He named it for the car, the President said.

I wouldn’t say that this man enjoyed my company, but that his own son was no friend.

The President took off his glasses, which made the already awkward eyes go bobbling to the farthest reaches of each socket. I looked away so as not to laugh, because the man was alright.

— He works hard, the President admitted. Soon that boy’s going to make a lot of money and his mother and I need the help. He pays half the mortgage right now, the President said.

— Is that right?

— Hell yes. So he’s got to make some room for himself in the house. I can understand that. I tell myself to.

Candan came to the security door three times. I took this for jealousy, but then saw it as a territorial instinct. I had the feeling that Candan would keep his father in a jar if he could.

The President finished his beer. He had torn away the label. He plopped it down with two others on the stairs. I took those three to the recycling bin, and when I returned he said, — You have got to be the neatest nigga since Moses.

— He was neat?

— Who gives a fuck! I’m talking about you.

This didn’t seem like it was going to be much of a year for snow; that was all right because it saved on shoveling.

— You keep some long hours, the President said. I see you come and go. Don’t know if it’s working or fucking.

— Last woman I got doesn’t call me anymore.

— It happens. My wife stopped giving me the soft serve when our boy came home.

— How long’s that been?

— I bet a year.

— I went longer than that without any, I gloated.

— But I married her behind!

— Stop making a fuss! Candan commanded from inside.

The President licked his lips a few times before putting his mouth to a new bottle of beer.

— Lost your mother, I see.

— How’d you know?

— Four people leave and only three come back, so what would I think? And C.D. was crying in the house last night.

I tapped my thighs because I wasn’t going to feel sad for Candan.

— I had a lot of hope when you moved in, the President said. Thought you were going to straighten your family out.

— And how’s your home life?

— You can’t guess how me and him got to acting like this. It’s not like you all.

Candan called his father inside, but I told him not to go.

— He probably needs help getting his mother from in front of the TV. Horse racing took more money from us than taxes this year.

— Sounds like there’s all types of problems you need fixed, I said.

— Well who doesn’t, Flapjack? You got a solution?

— Sometimes one word can kick-start your day, I said.

The President shook his head. — You tell me you love me and we’re going to have a fight.

— Dad! Candan demanded. The President went inside.

I stood on their stairs and looked at the doorway. It wouldn’t matter if I screamed or whispered so long as I said it.

— Activate.

I left the President’s yard not when the father and son began yelling inside, but once Candan let the Doberman out through the side door. I heard its nails clip along the concrete driveway and I rose.

A genuine Volkswagon Jetta was parked in our driveway behind my Oldsmobile Firenza and I knew Grandma hadn’t bought a new car while Nabisase and I were at the movies. It was impossible to see into the house from our yard because the front window was eight feet off the ground. I crossed the street to stand in the yard of the couple who owned an RV and the lights were on in our living room. With a glow coming through our one front window.

Inside I saw my sister with two, frankly, enormous figures. Men or women I couldn’t say, but each was an airship. They were inside, moving slow, talking with my little sister; it was as if I could see clearly the nightmares in a monster’s head.

I wanted to avoid walking into the house directly in case she’d hired two hooligans to beat me raw after the debacle in Sunrise Cinemas. But why get mad at me?

Into my yard and to the back where the honey-scent of laundry detergent dimmed the air around me. A line of clothes had been left out in the yard of the house next door; not the President’s, but the high-school teacher’s on the other side. The smell of clean clothes made me nostalgic for housekeeping work.

Our basement door, the third entrance to our home, opened to me so easily that I felt a nuclear charge. I put my hand to the sturdy door and it swayed for me.

On top of feeling brawny I also had the house key.

It was dark but I had the basement’s floor plan memorized. I was in the house, but the others didn’t know. I felt great again. Quiet. Invulnerable.

Only fifteen feet away from my book; it was lying on my bed in the dark.

The door at the top of the basement stairs was open four inches, enough to see into the living room. Stairs didn’t creak; suddenly I wasn’t heavy.

Those two bigger figures were women; they seemed attached by an invisible chain. Both carried black bags; not leather, but plastic. They set these on the living room table at the same time then sat. Without a cloth the white top made the purses seem darker and brighter simultaneously.

Nabisase made tea for them.

Merril and Devona introduced themselves to Grandma. I heard them. Then they helped my grandmother from the living room back to her bed.

Maybe they were cops. Could Nabisase have me arrested for making a scene in the movies that day? We’d never had my mother committed, but I’d heard it could be done.

Merril and Devona both wore their hair short, flat and close to the scalp. While they waited for my sister they played with anything near their hands. A few photos. The PennySaver. Pens. My book. My book. My book had been moved from my room.

This made me want to dash out there and take it back, but again, what if they were detectives?