Natalie Baszile - Queen Sugar

“I thought that shit burned your scalp,” he’d said.

“I’m used to it,” Gwenna said, groping for the shampoo. He’d pushed the bottle toward her, then changed his mind, poured some in his hand, stood behind her, and massaged the shampoo into her hair, smelling lilac and honeysuckle. He felt her relax, letting him take over. Then he gathered a towel around her head and led her to the couch, watched as she pulled the comb through her hair, then plucked strands from the teeth and twisted them around her finger.

“We should take Blue to see your dad,” she’d said. Beads of cloudy water hung from the tips of her hair.

“Why would I do that?” He’d wiped the drop of water running down the side of her face. “He wasn’t interested in being a dad. Why would he be interested in being a grandfather?” But that was why he loved her. Because she saw his better self even when he couldn’t; because she always pushed him toward the light. I have more faith in you than I have in myself , he once told her.

• • •

Sonny Stitt played on the radio as the Impala slid over the country road, and Ralph Angel felt that a new day had broken.

Amber lit another cigarette. “What are you thinking about?”

“A poem I used to know.” Ralph Angel kept his eyes on the road. “My daddy taught it to me.” It was really Gwenna’s favorite poem. He’d memorized it when they were still dating and recited it the night he asked her to marry him. But he didn’t think Amber would appreciate that little factoid, that he was thinking about his wife, after what they just did.

“Let’s hear it.”

“That’s okay.”

“No, honest. I want to hear it.”

“Okay,” Ralph Angel said. “Here goes. Don’t laugh.

“ So live, that when thy summons comes to join / The innumerable caravan, that moves / To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take / His chamber in the silent halls of death, / Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, / Scourged to his dungeon, but sustain’d and sooth’d / By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, / Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch / About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. ”

“Damn,” Amber said.

“You didn’t like it.”

Amber shrugged. “I don’t know. I kind of like the ones that rhyme.”

They were on the outskirts of town when a car came out of nowhere and pulled on to the road, hung back for a while, but then closed the distance. In the rearview mirror, Ralph Angel made out rectangular headlights, a rack on the grille, the cruiser’s white hood glowing in his taillights. The blue and white lights flashed.

“Shit.”

Amber sat up straight, smoothed her hair as Ralph Angel steered onto the shoulder. He clamped his hands to the wheel, where he knew they’d be visible, watched in his side mirror as the trooper ran his plates then came up alongside the Impala, his palm resting lightly on the grip of his gun. He tried not to blink as the trooper shined the light in his face.

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four Mississippi. The arc of light swung past him, over the seat, across Amber’s lap and up into her pale face. Five Mississippi, six Mississippi. Seven Mississippi, eight.

“You all right, miss? You need some assistance?”

“No, Officer, I’m fine,” Amber said, her voice high and strained. Her accent thicker. “Just trying to get home.”

Nine Mississippi, ten Mississippi. Lights in Ralph Angel’s eyes again.

“License and registration, please.”

“Yes, sir.” Slowly, Ralph Angel reached into his back pocket. He thought about the car as he handed his license to the trooper and his mouth went dry as he played out the possibilities. Eleven Mississippi. Twelve Mississippi.

The trooper studied the photo. “California. You’re a long way from home.”

“Yes, sir.” Ralph Angel cleared his throat. “I’m visiting family.”

“This car belong to you?”

“No, sir. It’s a rental.” Thirteen Mississippi.

The trooper studied his license again. “And you drove all the way down here?”

“Yes, sir. Like I said, I’m visiting family.”

Fourteen Mississippi. Fifteen. The trooper looked up the road. “It’s a little late for you two to be out here, don’t you think?”

“Yes, sir. I’m just driving this young lady home.”

“You been drinking tonight?”

Sixteen Mississippi. How should he answer? Be careful. “I had one drink back at the casino, but that was awhile ago.”

Amber leaned forward, raised her hand against the hard beam of light. “He’s telling the truth, Officer. I work there. I’m the one who served him.”

Eighteen Mississippi.

“Because you were doing seventy-two coming into town,” the trooper said. “You know that?”

“No, sir, I didn’t. I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

Nineteen Mississippi. Twenty. Twenty-one.

The trooper looked from Ralph Angel to Amber. He studied Ralph Angel’s license again, then handed it back. “I’m gonna let you go this time, but I want you to pay closer attention, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir, Officer. Thank you.”

“Y’all have a good night.”

Ralph Angel waited until the cruiser slid back onto the road, watched the taillights flicker as it disappeared over the rise, then let his head fall against the headrest. His heart beat so fast he thought he might faint. He hadn’t felt like that in a long time. Not since that night.

He and Gwenna had never bought from that house before, but word had it the stuff that came out of there was pure. Black tar. None of the cut-up shit those punks down on Central tried to pass off. They bought enough for a three-day run, then went over to the abandoned house down from the market. No gas, no electricity since the owners got evicted. A legless couch and a coffee table littered with stems, matches, and steel wool in the living room. Colder inside than out. They chose a bedroom facing the street so they could keep an eye on Blue, asleep in the car. Before he lit the pipe, he looked at Gwenna. Until the last run, she’d been going to meetings. She said the counselor, Linda, offered a lot of strategies for how to stay clean. Stay busy , Linda said. Surround yourself with positive people. He knew what that meant: changing the locks. He hadn’t wanted to get clean, but he didn’t want to be locked out either. So he begged her, took her hand. Come on. Just this once, then get clean if you want. He’d recited the poem and she’d smiled her crooked smile. He mixed the smack with a drop of water, flicked the lighter under the spoon and caught a whiff of vinegar.

When he woke, the room was dark. It took him a minute to remember where he was.

Baby?

No answer.

Hey, G, get up.

For a second, he thought maybe she’d left him, thought maybe she never took the syringe, drove off with Blue instead. He went to the window and saw the car on the street, its windows black beneath the streetlight. He turned back to the room and that’s when he saw her.

In the car, Blue was awake and crying. He’d soiled his pants. Ralph Angel held him anyway, pulled off Blue’s clothes and used a crumpled napkin to wipe the shit. He found one of Gwenna’s T-shirts in the backseat — it smelled like her — and wrapped it around Blue’s shoulders, dumped the soiled clothes in the gutter. He drove for a long time, not sure where to go. Kept thinking about the way she looked lying there on the floor — He shouldn’t have pushed her. But then again, he’d been so afraid she’d leave him behind. She’d always been the stronger one when it came down to it.

Blue had looked up at him. Where’s Mommy?