Soul Caress. Kim Shaw
waste my breath talking to your sister about anything other than shoes and men.” Skyy smirked.
Skyy stayed in town for the remainder of the week, spending the days seated by Kennedy’s bedside, reading to her. They finished the Eric Jerome Dickey novel Kennedy had been planning to read before the accident, as well as a half a dozen gossip magazines and the latest issues of Ebony and Essence magazines. They listened to the news on television every evening and the daily talk shows in the afternoon. Skyy fed Kennedy the nutritious, yet tasteless hospital meals that were delivered three times a day, and snuck in cheesecake and other sweets in between meals. It was also Skyy’s job to deliver the twice-daily medical updates to Elmira and Joseph, who threatened to fly back up to D.C. in a moment’s notice. At Kennedy’s request, Skyy kept them at bay with glowing reports of the patient’s progress.
Kennedy was, in fact, improving. The bruises on her skin had begun to scab over and peel away. She could now move her left arm without feeling any pain, although she was somewhat limited by the full arm cast extending from the center of her right hand up to her elbow.
Her shattered right knee was still held immobile, sealed tightly in a cast made of fiberglass and hanging from a trapeze above her bed. Skyy gave Kennedy a French pedicure, after sponging and applying lotion to her size nine feet. She did the fingers on both of her hands to match, trimming and shaping the nails first. Finally, she made her way to Kennedy’s hair, using a sponge and the aloe-scented latherless shampoo she’d purchased at a local beauty supply store. She combed the once glowing mane, freeing it of its tangles and dry patches where various liquids had settled since the accident. Carefully avoiding the bandages that were wound around the nape of her neck and across her forehead and eyes, Skyy parted Kennedy’s hair into small sections and wiped the shampoo through. Next, she brushed it until it began to shine again, braided it into a long, tight French braid and wrapped a ponytail holder securely around the end.
She helped Kennedy change out of the ugly blue hospital gown that had been placed on her damaged body by the nurses into a pale pink, Victoria’s Secret nightshirt made of pure silk.
“Now, you’re beginning to look human again,” she remarked when she had finished her spa treatment.
“What do you mean?” Kennedy exclaimed.
“Girl, I hate to say this about my one and only best friend, but you were extremely torn up when I got here. Crusty, ashy and wild don’t even begin to describe the way you looked,” Skyy replied.
As much as Skyy rejected the attitude of the bourgeois black class to which her parents wholeheartedly subscribed, she did appreciate the finer things in life. She was a woman of taste. The standards she set were high, but they were her own. She believed a woman should look her best at all times, but rejected the belief that good looks could only be achieved with a lot of money.
“Oh, great Skyy. Way to kick a sister when she’s down,” Kennedy lamented.
The hardest part of the past week had been the fact that she didn’t have the use of her eyes. She couldn’t wait until the bandages were taken off so she could get a good look at herself—her body and her injuries. From touching her face, she could tell that it was no longer swollen and with the exception of the gash on her forehead, which the doctor had told her had required twelve stitches to close, there were no other injuries to her face.
Skyy had told her that the bruises to her arms and legs, as well as the scratches that had come from the broken glass, were all healing well. Despite this, she longed to see herself for herself. She was impatient for the moment she could look into a mirror, stare into her own eyes and confirm that she was really all right. She needed to see for herself that she had really made it through the worse ordeal of her entire life. However, she’d have to wait a few days longer. The ophthalmologist had conferred with Dr. Moskowitz, reviewing the initial X-rays and optical images taken of her eyes. They agreed that Kennedy’s eyes simply would need time to heal and that no medical interventions were warranted.
As promised, Madison returned to D.C., although it was Sunday afternoon when she finally made it back down from her jaunt in New York City. A mere ten minutes in her presence and Skyy shook her head dismally, excusing herself from the room. The next day, with Madison on the road again, headed home to North Carolina, Skyy finally voiced what had been eating away at her brain.
“Kennedy, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your sister is headed for a fall. Now, let me know if I’m overstepping here, and I’ll just shut my mouth.”
“Of course you can say whatever you have to say, Skyy. You know you’re family. And, if I don’t like it, I’ll just curse you out…like family.” Kennedy smiled.
“I just don’t understand why your parents allow that girl to rip and run, not working or going to school…doing whatever the hell she wants. She looks like crap and she dresses like a five-dollar hooker.”
Kennedy winced at Skyy’s words, but every part of her told her that they were true. Skyy was the one person in this world who she could count on unequivocally to tell her the truth, no matter whether she wanted to hear it or not.
“Does she get high?”
Skyy’s question was raised in a tone that suggested that she already had her own beliefs on the matter.
“I think she’s dabbled a little in the past, but I don’t think it’s heavy. I mean, you know that Liza girl she hangs out with and the rest of those spoiled rich kids playing artists up there in New York they associate with.”
“Well, she looks like she’s doing more than dibbing and dabbing. Look, girl, I know you’ve got enough to deal with here, getting yourself healed and whatnot. However, the next time you go home to Carolina, I suggest you sit that girl down and have a talk with her. She needs to get her butt back into school or something constructive and in a hurry. She’s too old to play the rebellious teen role. It isn’t cute anymore.”
Madison had dropped out of Spelman College after her first year. This had been especially shocking since she had begged her parents to allow her to go there, although they had expected her to follow in Kennedy’s footsteps and attend Princeton.
They’d relented, unable to deny the fact that although Spelman was a historically black university—and in their minds accessible to all types of people who were of questionable backgrounds—it had graduated countless successful African-American women of high caliber and social standing. When Madison had returned home after her freshman year, having maintained a low B average, and announced that she wasn’t going back, it was puzzling. It eventually occurred to Kennedy that the only reason she’d wanted to attend Spelman in the first place was to piss her parents off and now that the thrill of that was gone, she was ready to make a fast exit.
Madison had spent the past three years finding herself, whatever that meant. From Kennedy’s standpoint, all she’d managed to find since leaving Spelman was more and more trouble for her parents to bail her out of.
First it was the apartment she begged them to rent for her, and then was summarily kicked out of after breaching the complex’s rules with wild parties and unregistered overnight guests. Then there was the time she was detained in a jail cell in Mexico after getting into a bar fight in Cozumel, Mexico, with the daughter of an elected official. Her father had paid dearly to make that little indiscretion disappear. The girl blew through more money than a category five tornado through Kansas in the height of storm season.
Kennedy agreed with Skyy, promising that as soon as she’d recovered enough to travel, she’d head home to spend some quality time with her baby sister. In the meantime, she had to concentrate on getting herself out of that hospital bed. The sooner she got on her feet, the better off she’d be. When Skyy finally left, planning to make a quick pit stop in North Carolina to see her parents before returning to her work—and the distinguished Italian gentleman she was dating—in Rome, it was a tearful farewell. Each woman realized how much they relied on their friendship and the truth of the matter was that they had come very close to losing that, had Kennedy’s accident been worse than it was. Skyy left with the promise that she’d be back in another couple of months to check