Natashia Deon - Grace

From over her shoulder, she tell me, “Get me a drink.”

I make her a shot of gin, the brand she already drinking so she don’t get sick, and after she swallows it down, she say to the priest, “Proceed.”

He unrolls his hat and peels a small sheet of paper from the inside flap and puts it on the bar top. He say, “It’s the address to a temple nearby. Up the road. The rabbi there’s expecting you. Got some from the women’s group you might talk to. Could help.”

“What the hell?” she say. Her whole face, her body, slouches in disgust. “What the mother fucking hell! You speaking for me now, Preacha Man?”

“Maybe you’ll find what you need there,” he say, putting his hat back on.

“You asking ’round about me, Preacha? You’re the one up here in my bar. Drinking my drinks. Smelling the pussy I sell. You’re getting God for me?”

“Have a good day, ma’am,” he say, nodding to me when he go out the door.

“Well, goddamn,” she yell to the empty doorway. “You don’t know me, asshole. Come in here like you’re God. Fuck you!”

She turns to me, grabs my wrist, ripping the stitches on the sleeve of my yellow dress, Jeremy’s dress. My face flushes red. My tears come instant.

She point her long white finger in my face. “Don’t you come get me for no more bullshit,” and she starts toward the hall.

“You should be used to it,” I say, before I can stop myself. Cain’t believe myself, “That’s all that ever comes for you!”

She stops.

“You think you smart?” she say. “First piece of ass you ever had and it’s got your nose open. You think that Little Dick Jeremy is the shit and you the toilet? You think you got that, huh? Well, I been there, done that. That loser will sew you up and sell you for his first bad hand. He ain’t all you think he is.”

“You’re jealous ’cause this is all you have. And you cain’t buy me. You ain’t got no friends, no family, no nothin. And now you cain’t have what I got.”

“No. That’s what I just said. I’ve had that. And like I also said, Little Dick will do whatever he can to get over another bad hand.”

I spit in her face. She slaps me.

“Don’t you touch me!” I say.

Before I can move, she’s got her arms around my neck, throws us to the table. Drinking glasses crash to the floor. She’s drunk and I pull her hair. She won’t let go of me. I send my forehead into her cheekbone. Her hands follow to the spot.

I cain’t see.

“Bitch!” she say.

I wriggle out from under her, wiping the wrinkles out my dress. “Don’t you ever touch me again!” I say. “Not my dress. Not my body. Not ever!”

“This is my house!” she say. “I do what I damn well please and what I’m gon’ do is send your black ass back to Alabama so they string you up for what you did.”

“How about I send your cracker ass back to Charleston for what you did to your own daddy.”

Her eyes widen.

Then a soft voice behind me say, “Mimi?”

I fall into him, crying. “Jeremy.”

He smells of new cologne. This shirt I’ve never seen before. I kiss his lips, see his hair’s combed different. He don’t hold me the way he should. Loose, like. He don’t look at me.

“Sorry I’m late,” he tell Cynthia. “Had to finish helping Geraldine this morning. Was on the road back from Athens yesterday. I appreciate the extra money.”

“Just get to them keys and play something fast and loud,” she say. “Anything. And when you leave tonight, take this trifling whore with you. Ungrateful bitch!”

She staggers up her hallway, holding her face, still yelling, “Ungrateful! I don’t care if I never see you again. In fact, don’t you never come back here.”

Her door slams shut.

“What happened?” Jeremy say.

“Where you been?” I say.

“What happened to your hair?” he say.

“How you like my dress?” I turn around in it for him. “I knew you’d come back and I wanted you to see me pretty. Don’t mind this ripped seam. I’ll fix it.”

“Mimi, I’m leaving.”

“What?”

“This is my last day.”

I don’t understand.

“They found gold in San Francisco. A bunch of us is headed up that way to try our luck. Get my head clear.”

“You leaving ’cause of me?”

“There’s some things I need to sort out. I need money. And. .”

“I’ve never seen San Francisco before,” I say.

“Mimi. .”

“Ain’t got much to pack. My brush. Some clothes. You use our money if Cynthia want you to pay for me. .”

“Naomi. .”

“A few pieces. .” I say.

He grabs the sides of my shoulders. “You ain’t comin.”

I shake my head. I don’t understand. If it don’t make sense, it’s a lie.

“I can’t take you with me,” he say.

“That’s not true. You don’t mean that.”

He slides his hands down from my arms to my hands and holds them together.

“We getting married,” I say. “Me and you fooling the world.”

“People will know,” he say, softly.

“We gon’ have babies. A family. Our gamble, you remember that?”

“We can’t hide our feelings. .” he say.

“We’re gonna make vows to God because we love each other. Jeremy, tell me you love me.”

“Dammit, Naomi!” he say, throwing my hands. “Are you dumb or something? Can’t you see me suffering here? I’m going to California without you. Why can’t you just be happy for me, wish me luck? Give me a sweet word to hold onto?”

“We both escape,” I say softly. I don’t even recognize my own voice. “Both escape our suffering.”

He opens the door and goes to the porch like I ain’t even here.

He turns around to me, looking at me like he don’t know me, then lingers there. One last glance. He’s gone.

What’s happening here? I don’t understand.

I just gave up my peace for him.

My protection.

All those chances at freedom I gave up for him. My body — to him, almost to Mr. Shepard — for him. I left part of my soul in a gambling room and now I don’t understand.

What’s love supposed to cost? What’s freedom cost? I’ve already paid it all.

And I don’t understand.

I BEEN WAITING AT this door for two hours for Jeremy but he ain’t come back yet. Every time I get ready to go, I tell myself he gon’ show up again, see me missing and think I don’t love him. So I’ll keep sitting here on my knees, waiting. I know he still loves me.

He could forgive me.

After what he asked me to do with Mr. Shepard, he owe me. He can forgive my insult. It wouldn’t be fair if he found me unforgivable after all we been through.

When I think of unforgivable I think of how I killed Massa. No, God could forgive me for that ’cause I had to protect myself. Unforgivable is cold-blooded murder, senseless and with no excuse. Like what they keep writing about what I did in the papers that keep coming: “Faunsdale Slaughterer.”

No, cold-blooded murderer is when somebody, for no reason, takes away everything a innocent man ever had and everything he was ever gone have. But what did I do to Jeremy? And who the hell’s he anyway to make me earn forgiveness from him?

I could help him be better.

I could love him.

Lord knows, I do love him. I’d even forgive him for taking a life, cold-blooded, if he’d promised to love me again.

My sour stomach’s making me sick and that’s all right.

I want it that way.

I want Jeremy to see me sick for him, my knees black and blue for him, my eyes swollen for him. Want him to see me loving him the way he say he don’t love me and regret it.