Pigtails
We were sitting in the car, my mom and me,
All the windows rolled up
Even though it was hot enough inside
To fry an egg on the dashboard.
I’d clambered on to the armrest
Between the front and back rows,
Waiting for my dad to come back and drive us home.
There weren’t many cars in the lot at the strip mall;
It was late, and starting to get dark.
Young men were gathering on the benches
In front of the nail parlor and hairdresser.
They wore long t-shirts and belted pants,
Closer to their knees than their hips.
And brand new baseball caps with perfectly flat brims,
Cocked to one side.
They drawled out their words, and laughed and shouted,
And one of them pointed at us.
He had long hair, fine, thin dreadlocks
Pulled into pigtails like a little girl
And a crooked set of teeth with one missing at the front,
And eyes with red lines shot through them.
"Look at those bitches," said Pigtails,
"They all up in here, thinking they own the place.
Shit, you own this place, white girl?"
My mom was sitting in the passenger seat, shaking,
Looking over her shoulder for my dad.
"I said, you own this place, white girl?
What, you ain’t gonna talk to a black man?
Afraid you gonna get some color on that white skin, bitch?"
Pigtails kept talking, saying things to me and my mom,
The same awful, dirty, nasty things, over and over.
I remember moving into the middle of the back seat,
Away from him, but he kept coming closer.
Closer and closer until he was right there,
On the other side of that thin window.
He put his hand on the hood of the car,
"You gonna talk to me now, bitch?
You want me to come in there with you
And that pretty little girl of yours?"
My mom started crying, frantically twisting in her seat
Looking for my dad. Pigtails rattled the door handle
And smacked his open palm against the glass.
"What you gonna do, fuckin white whore?"
I curled up on the floor,
Squeezing my body into the tiny space between the seats,
And hid my head under my arms,
Not knowing what else to do.
"What you gonna do, bitch?"
And then a new voice, from the driver’s side,
Right above my head.
"Get yourself the fuck away from that car."
Pigtails stopped talking and stared.
"I said, get the fuck back."
I uncurled my arms, and peeked at the new arrival.
He was tall, and big and had short, light hair and a tattoo,
An eagle that peaked over the collar of his Army uniform.
"You get the fuck back, you son of a bitch."
The big man's words didn’t need to threaten.
His voice did that all on it's own.
"Get the fuck out of here." Pigtails took a step back,
Holding his hands out in front of him, scared,
Then turned and took off, running across the lot,
Reaching down to grab his belt as he went.
The soldier turned to the men on the benches.
"Find some place else to be." They sat there. "Now."
One by one, they slouched away,
Disappearing into the dusk.
The soldier turned and tapped on the window gently.
"You okay, m’am?"
He leaned over the door, looking in at Mom, who nodded,
Still wiping at her eyes, and sniffing.
"You waiting for someone?" Another nod.
I crawled out from behind the seat
And climbed into my mom’s lap.
"Holy shit, you got a kid in there with you? That bastard."
Mom opened the door and slid her feet onto the pavement.
The soldier squatted down in front of us,
One hand on the door.
"If you don’t mind, I’m gonna wait with you."
I slid off my mom’s knees
And wrapped myself around his neck.
One of his big arms wrapped around me,
His hand on my head
Pressing my face tight to the scratchy fabric of his BDUs.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he muttered into my hair.
"I need a smoke. I’m just gonna stand right over there,
If that’s alright, m’am?"
Yet another nod from Mom,
Who pulled me back into the car
And pushed me towards the back seat.
The soldier stepped a few feet away from the car and lit up,
Shaking his head and swearing.
A minute later, Dad was back,
Climbing into the driver’s seat.
The soldier took off his hat, and ran his hand over his hair,
Scratching hard at his scalp.
He didn’t say a word about what had happened,
And neither did we. He just stood there,
Smoking that cigarette, as we pulled away.
I crawled across the back seat, and leaned out the window,
And waved until I couldn’t see him any more.
Right before he disappeared into the darkness,
He raised his hand and waved back,
The burning tip of his cigarette
Like a tiny beacon in the night.
I agree with Robyn. You have more than one novel in you waiting to come out - that is, if one or more have not come out already.
My! You write so well that you had me on the edge of my seat this whole tale!
Wow! What a story. Don't think I even breathed through that. Great section for a book... Magnificent tension... Sad what happens... so many facet to power games
Thank you for your story. There are many 'angels' in the world...and most don't have wings. It is good to celebrate them!