Hold On

Warning: A violent incident.

Hold On

Mama’s asleep on the couch. Her cigarette’s burned down to ash in last night’s dinner plate.

“Should we wake her up?” Jamie asks.

“No.”

“Won’t she be mad?”

“I doubt it. If we get going, we might could get back before she wakes up.”

At the corner we board the mall bus. A gray-haired lady with a big red purse in her lap smiles as we make our way down the aisle to find two seats together. We sit across the aisle from her. Jamie tells her what we’re doing, and she tells him how lucky he is to have such a good big sister. “I know,” he says.

I get a lump in my throat, but I pinch my arm and it goes away.

The bus stops eleven times before it gets there.

“You gotta promise to hold my hand. You hear me?”

Back-to-school shoppers everywhere. Last day of No-Tax Week.

“Don’t let go of my hand.”

Jamie nods. He starts pre-K on Monday, two raggedy pairs of shorts left, all his tees too small. “Growing like a weed,” Mama said. “Taking him to Goodwill when I get a chance,” Mama said. But she never did.

Macy’s is at the end on the left. There are signs covering the windows saying, “STORE CLOSING - Everything Must Go!”

The kid’s clothes section is crowded with people digging through stacks of shirts on one table and pants piled on another. One woman, pushing her glasses up as they slide down her nose, says, “They’re practically paying us to take it.”That strikes me funny.

I find the right size. “I need two hands, Jamie. Hang onto my belt loop, you hear me?”

Five pairs of shorts and five tee shirts—no sayings on them—one for every day he’s in school. Size 4 Slim. “Now you’ll look just as good as the other kids.”

He touches the clothes, grins his approval.

I carry the stack in my left arm, pulling Jamie with my right hand. We wind our way through the crowd to the registers and get in line to pay.

I feel sick. Too many people. Some kid on the floor playing war, pretending he’s dropping bombs, boom, shooting rockets, whoosh. I wish he’d stop. Loud noises scare me since Daddy. Since that night.

***

Mama said, “Put on a dress, Sister. Go get your daddy at the bar. He’ll come with you. He won’t get mad at you.”

Four blocks, walking around the puddles because of my good shoes. The neon sign buzzing and crackling. BAR. Pushing my way into the dim, smelly room. Low murmur of men’s voices. Can’t understand them.

“They’ll be tellin’ tales outa school,” Mama said, “pay ‘em no mind.”

Man smoking a cigar, “What’s goin’ on, young’un?”

“I’m looking for my Daddy.”

“Ben! This one yours?”

“Hey, baby girl! What ‘chu doin’ here?”

“Come on home Daddy. Mama’s worried.”

Holding on tight. Leading him home.

“Don’t let go of my hand, baby girl. I’ll fall.”

“I won’t let you fall, Daddy. Just hold on.”

The car.

Rolling slow past us, arm out the window, a hand with a gun at the end of it, pointing.

Bang!

Daddy’s falling, pulling me down. Trying to hang on, his hand slippery with blood, pulls out of mine.

He’s letting go.

Voices are screaming.

I still hear them.

***

Woman behind me taps my shoulder, makes me jump. “You’re next. Cashier’s waiting.”

“Stay with me, Jamie, don’t let go.”

“That all of it?” She’s stacking them up. She’s got face piercings.

“Yes,” I say.

“Cash or charge?”

Getting out my wallet. Needing two hands. Opening the zipper. Money all folded up, tucked away safe.

“Stay with me, Jamie. Don’t walk off.”

Taking out the cash, paying the lady with the shiny nose ring. Looks all red. Does it hurt? I want to ask. Three tens, three ones, three quarters, and two pennies. We’ll have enough left to go to the food court if we share.

“Here, Jamie, you carry the package.”

He’s not there.

“Jamie!”

He’s not there.

“Jamie!”

“I can help the next person in line.”

“Jamie, where are you?”

Shouting louder this time, hearing the panic in my voice, feeling my heart thundering in my chest. Ringing noise in my ears. Some people turn to look. Seeing me. Judging me. Knowing I couldn’t hold onto my little brother. Knowing I couldn’t hang onto my Daddy. Couldn’t bring him home.

“Jamie!”

He had to be hiding, thinking this was funny.

“Jamie! I’m gonna …You’ll be sorry!”

Bending down. Looking underneath the carousels.

“Jamie!”

He’s gone.

***

The security guard’s cologne nearly makes me gag. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of his puffy red face. He punches away on his electronic pad as if he’s mad at it, entering my answers. Name tag says Al.

“Age? Height?”

“Four, he’s four. About this tall. I hold my hand chest high. Small for his age.”

“Wearing?”

“Blue Crocs, yellow tee shirt, khaki shorts—cut-off pants really, with raggedy edges.”

“Headgear?”

“What?”

“Hat, hoodie, something like that.”

“No. No hat. Nothing.”

“Relationship?”

“He’s my little brother.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirteen,” I lie. I’m tall for my age. He doesn’t have to know.

“Those yours?” He’s frowning, looking at Jamie’s new clothes.

“Yes. Here’s the receipt.”

He takes it. “You paid cash?”

I nod.

“Where’d you get the money?”

“Babysitting.” Why does he care? My face is burning.

He hands me back the receipt, not looking at me. Punches at his pad some more.

“We need to find him. Please.” I’m shaking now. My insiders are frozen.

“Hold on.”

“Can I go look for him?”

“No, you stay here,” security guy Al says.” If you leave here, and he comes back, he’ll find you gone.”

Those words don’t make sense.

“But what if he’s just gone a little ways? What if it’s only four blocks? What if he’s still waiting at the bar for me to come get him?”

“At the bar? There ain’t no bars in this mall. Are you nuts? Just stay here.”

Watching the guard’s back as he rolls off, looking from side to side, whistle in his mouth.

People milling around, acting normal. Talking to each other, laughing. Kids fooling around. I want to scream, My brother’s lost!

I sit on the edge of the fountain and wait like I was told. Then I see him. He’s with a short, plump woman. She has bluish-silver hair and she’s carrying the tiniest, bug-eyed dog. And there’s Jamie, smiling, holding her hand.

“Does he belong to you?” She asks me.

***

I’m still not talking to him. None of the people on the bus smiles at us this time. His face is tear-streaked, snot is dried on his top lip, and he has ketchup on his shirt. I don’t care. At our stop I take his hand to get him down the steep metal steps. As soon as the doors close with a swish, I let go, and he starts to cry again.

“Stop crying, you hear? It doesn’t matter.”

“What doesn’t?” He wipes his nose on his arm.

“Nothing matters. We don’t matter. Nobody does. People let go.”

“I won’t.”

“Yes, you will!”

He sits down in the middle of the sidewalk.

“She was a stranger, Jamie. You walked away with a stranger.”

He hangs his head. Picks at a hangnail. “I heard you yelling. You were mad.”

“I was scared.”

“You were mad.”

“You’re right. I was.”

“Why?”

“Because I was scared.”

“That don’t make sense.”

“It will.”

***

Mama’s cleaned up some—plate’s gone. Cup of cooling coffee sits in front of her, but I don’t smell food cooking. She’s been crying again. “Where you been?” she says.

“We took a walk.”

“I need cigarettes.”

“Mama, they won’t sell ‘em to me. I’m not old enough.”

“Oh, yeah. Well.”

***

I cut the tags off the new clothes. Jamie folds them neatly then places them in his drawer, putting a separate tee with each pair of shorts. He drops his dirty clothes into the cardboard box beside the dresser, gets into his pajamas and yawns. He’s still got dried snot on his cheek.

I say, “Sit on your bed a minute.”

I wet a washrag with warm water and scrub his face, He grimaces and squirms away.

“What’s school like?” He asks.

I sit beside him. “Fun. It’s fun at your age. You’ll like it.” I take his right hand and wash it. Then the left. They’re small. Not like Daddy’s.

“What will I do?”

“You’ll draw pictures and learn colors, numbers, and letters. You’ll play games. And you’ll line up to go to the cafeteria for lunch.” I look at him. Hard. “You’ll have to hold hands.”

He grins. “I won’t let go.”