Loving Donovan. Bernice L. McFadden
places on the walls, and the doorjambs swelled and buckled.
Even though there were three empty bedrooms in the house, Mamie Ray put Millie in the room with Rita.
“There,” Mamie said, indicating the empty bed next to Rita’s even though there was one on the other side of the room.
In order to better handle the heat, Rita had stripped herself down to her drawers. She stretched out across the bed on her back, her belly and breasts like mountains of flesh.
“That there is Rita,” Mamie said, and walked out of the room.
Millie stood in the doorway, her eyes wide at the sight of Rita.
“You ain’t never seen no naked woman before?” Rita asked as she lifted each heavy breast and wiped at the perspiration that had formed beneath it.
Millie’s hand shot up to her mouth, and her eyes dropped to the floor as she moved to sit down on the bed. Rita’s eyes moved with her.
Rita watched Millie’s head bob and her neck twist and listened to the soft chewing sounds her mouth made as she devoured her cuticles.
When she couldn’t take any more, she rolled onto her side, eased herself up on her elbow, and said, “Ain’t you been fed?”
Millie took a moment to answer. She slowly raised her eyes, and they immediately settled on Rita’s heavy breasts, so she dropped them again. “Yes ma’am,” she whispered.
“Ha!” Rita laughed. “I ain’t nobody’s ma’am, girl!”
Millie said nothing.
Rita cocked her head. “How old you is?”
“Eleven,” Millie squeaked, and her eyes came up again.
“Eleven?” Rita eased her free hand down between her legs and scratched.
“Uh-huh.”
“What’s your name?”
“Millie,” she said, coughed, and then, “Blythe.”
The child was soaked through with sweat. The fine red hairs curled against her forehead and dangled around her ears. She wiped at her face and then the back of her neck.
“Go on and take off your clothes. Ain’t nothing but females in this house,” Rita breathed, and then looked off to another part of the room in order to give the girl some privacy.
Millie looked around the room and then hesitantly started to unbutton the delicate white blouse she wore.
Rita waited until the blouse was off and then the gray pleated skirt. When she turned to look at the girl again, what she saw was a pale thin line of a child with knocked knees and swollen ankles.
“You pregnant?” Rita was perplexed.
Millie’s eyes rolled around in her head and then moved to the tattered window shutters. “Swallowed a watermelon seed.”
“What?” Rita laughed.
“Watermelon seed. Swallowed one.”
“Why you here, then?”
“Mama say Mamie gonna take it out so’s that it won’t grow inside of me.”
Rita bit her bottom lip. “You get your monthly?”
Millie looked down at her hands. “Come January till May, and then I swallowed the watermelon seed and it stopped.”
Rita eased herself up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Who gave you the watermelon?”
“Clyde.”
“Who’s that?”
“My mama’s boyfriend.”
“Uh-huh. Sliced it up for you, took it out of the rind and all?”
“Yeah. Most times.”
“Other times?”
“We played a game.”
“I play games too. What kinda game? Maybe I knows it.”
“He pops the watermelon in his mouth and then pass it to me.”
“Pass it how?”
“He press his lips to mine, and push it into my mouth.”
“I don’t know that game.”
“We play it all the time.”
“That’s how you got the watermelon seed?”
“Uh-huh.”
Millie scratched at her nose and then rubbed her eyes before falling back onto the bed.
“He ever put the watermelon seed anyplace else?”
Millie said nothing.
“Y’all play other types of games?”
“Mama said I wasn’t to talk about those.”
Millie laid herself down and soon after was fast asleep, her loud snores filling the hot room.
Mamie came for her in the evening, just past eight, when the streets outside began teeming with people. There was a jazz club two blocks down, a bar across the street, and a chicken and rib shop next door. A Friday night in July on Pearl Street could seem like Saturday midday anyplace else in the country.
“C’mon, girl,” Mamie Ray called out, and walked away.
Millie stirred from her sleep. “Okay, coming!” she yelled back as she reached for skirt and blouse.
“You ain’t gonna take no bath, you know,” Rita said, suddenly mad. Mad at Clyde, Millie’s mother, and Mamie Ray.
“What?”
“You answering like Mamie just ran your bath water.”
Millie looked confused.
“It’s serious what’s Mamie’s about to do to you,” Rita whispered.
Millie cocked her head. “Mama said it wouldn’t hurt a bit.” Her bottom lip began to tremble.
Rita was already sorry. “I—I . . . Don’t mind me,” she said, waving her hands at Millie. “The heat makes me mean.” She offered her a grin.
Millie leaned forward and looked real hard at Rita’s face.
“Go on, a little ol’ watermelon seed ain’t gonna hurt none.” Rita’s grin wavered behind her lie. There was an awkward moment, and then she stepped forward and embraced Millie.
“C’mon, girl!” Mamie Ray screamed from down the hall.
When Millie came back to the room, escorted by Mamie Ray, she was ashen, almost bleached-looking, and seemed smaller, thinner. Her mouth hung open on one side, and her eyes, glassy and moist, rolled about in their sockets.
Rita shifted her gaze to the floor and then the window. As nice as Mamie Ray had been to her, she hated her at the moment.
Always hated her after the abortions. Hated the smell of ether and the screams that followed. Hated her even more the next day after the sheets (soiled yellow in places where the blood had been scrubbed away) were hung out to dry.
Mamie Ray laid Millie down onto the bed, and without a word turned and left the room.
Rita had heard Millie’s screams, heard the child howl out in pain, the pleas for God and Mama and then the pitiful, confused, Why, why, why!
Millie had lost the very last bit of her childhood, the small piece that her mama’s boyfriend hadn’t been able to kill, the part of her that still looked forward to ice cream, doll babies, and Christmas.
Now Millie lay there, whimpering, clutching her stomach, and whispering for her mother.