Page 3 of Truth

I rubbed my arms as the cool air clothed my skin. We made do for the most part, but the temperature had dropped, and the thin walls of our home didn’t make it any better.

“Hey?” She smiled and pulled me in for a hug. “Go in the room with Germaine. When the food is done, I’ll call you. In the meantime, I’ll try to get this heater going.”

“I think I should sit with you for a minute.” I wasn’t so sure if any of this was right. “Mama may be here any minute anyway, Chelly. I think we’ll be fine.”

She pursed her lips with a tilt of her head. She was always the daredevil, the bold, sassy one out of the two of us, even at fourteen. She was barely a year older than me but lightyears ahead when it came to confidence and what she wanted out of life, which was marriage, children, and the white picket fence.

“Suit yourself.”

She busied herself in the kitchen, pulling out the pot filled with joumou soup. I took a seat at the small dining room table anxious to taste some. Joumou was a Haitian soup we made in our culture for the first of the year. I felt my mouth watering at the sight of it.

“It’ll be a second, but you know what I decided?”

I smirked, wondering what else she was about to suggest that may be a bad idea.

“I’m not struggling at all once I’m older. You know my Wally won’t let me.”

Oh, God. My eyes fluttered then rolled around as I prepared myself to hear her talk about her Wally. I called him Wild Boy Wally. For some strange reason, she had an obsession with the bad boy of the neighborhood who was three years her senior.

“What about him?” I muttered.

“He has plans that will prove I chose right.”

Right like how when every girl in our neighborhood liked him? Why? I had no clue.

He was a tall, scrawny ass boy with butterscotch-colored skin and thick, wavy hair he barely brushed. He also had acrooked smile they all thought made him sexy. If you asked me, he looked like he had a stroke. Go figure.

“And you know he likes racing cars. Yup, makes a lot of money when he wins.”

“Yeah, his money,” I tossed out.

I was far from a hopeless romantic, but I secretly became excited when Chelly talked about love. Just not with Wally.

“And guess what?”

I would ask “what,” but I knew she would tell me if I sat here like a mute anyway.

“He won his last race, and with his winnings, he bought me this.”

She reached into her nightgown and slowly pulled out a chain on her neck. How I missed it, I had no clue.

“Chelly!” I reached up from the chair I sat in and dragged my finger across the flower. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is. And you know what else?” She squealed and clapped her hands.

I moved my hand in a forward, circular motion, suggesting for her to keep going. That was Chelly, though. She was an animated, suspense-filled storyteller. There was never a dull moment around her, and even though I could be an asshole, I lived my life through her life, even her dreams, including her constant declaration of love. I just didn’t feel pretty, and judging from the way I was often teased about my rather tomboyish looks, it was never happening.

“We kissed and did… uh… some other stuff.”

My eyes bulged, and she giggled.

“Not that, but he’s huge, Merci. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready, but the things he did to me made me want to…” Her voice trailed off, and I quickly stood up.

“And on that note, I think you can call me when the soup is ready.”

“Don’t be like that. You’re such a prude.”

“And you’re going to be in a crap load of trouble fooling around with Wally. You already know Mommy and Daddy can’t stand him and those boys that always holler at us when they see us leaving church or the store.”

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