Long Division Part 14

Part of me thought it was just Evan and Shalaya Crump who could time travel. But if Shalaya Crump could time travel and Evan could time travel and I could time travel, and now Baize could time travel, I figured it must be the hole.

"I ain't gonna lie to you," I told her. "I think it's the hole. Can we go inside? I'm hungry."

Baize's house and porch were so raggedy that I didn't really wanna walk in. Super nasty houses always made me itch even if nothing was crawling on me. The TV in their living room looked like it belonged in Richie Rich's house, though. It was nearly as tall as me.

"Why your TV so big and nice but your house is kinda, you know..."

"To' up from the flo' up?" she said, and started grinning.

"Yeah, how do you..." I paused to try to get my words right. "How much is a TV like that? Like $2,000?"

"More like $35 a month."

Baize sat in the one chair in the living room and I sat on the floor. She turned on the TV with one of the three remotes.

Before the TV came on, all these lights went from red to green. When it finally came on, a new version of Soul Train was on, and it was the sound as much as the screen that I couldn't understand. Soul Train on that TV sounded like life. You know how in life, there's hardly ever just that one sound you're listening for? Like even when I imagined Shalaya Crump telling me she loved me, I imagined hearing the wind whistling and a few different car horns behind us and maybe a freight train miles away and definitely some barking dogs. That's how the sound was on that TV. You could hear people moving their feet and snapping their fingers and it sounded like the Soul Train line was happening in your room. If everything you saw in real life had the best light behind it, and was polished super s.h.i.+ny, that's how Soul Train looked on that TV.

Baize gave me the remote and told me that she was gonna make something to eat. "Even if we had a lot of money, we wouldn't waste it on the outside of our house. That could be gone in a second if another storm came. You want oriental ramen or chicken ramen with your french fries and b.u.t.ter beans?"

"What's ramen?"

"Noodles, boy. Y'all don't even have ramen in the '80s?"

Baize walked through the other room into the kitchen.

The first thing I did with the remote was check how many channels the TV had. When I pushed below 1, the TV went to channel 1,975. Back in my time, we'd watch TV and say "Ain't nothing on." I didn't know how anyone could ever say "Ain't nothing on" in 2013. The Flintstones was on. Basketball was on. Soap operas were on. Andy Griffith was on. The Cosby Show and Good Times were on. And PBS shows that looked exactly the same as they looked in 1985 were on.

And on more channels than you could imagine, there were black women with real JET-centerfold booties yelling and fighting each other.

Baize came back in the room and just sat on the floor next to me.

"What?" I asked her.

"What, what?" she asked me. "Don't 'what' me in my house."

"Why you sitting next to me so close?" She didn't answer, but her hip was touching my left hand. So I moved it and asked, "Is the ramen ready?"

"Almost. I warmed up the biscuits to go with the b.u.t.ter beans and french fries."

"Okay." I kept changing the channels. "What happened to real actors and comedians? On all these stations, you see people you would see at the mall fighting. And when did McDonald's start using black folks on their commercials?"

"I don't even know, Voltron," she said. "That's a good question." I could tell she wasn't really listening to me. "Um, do you wanna smoke?"

"Smoke what? Aren't you like twelve?" I asked her. "I'm good. You ain't never heard of 'Just Say No?'"

"Wow," she said. "I'm thirteen. You should have your own reality show. Keep doing you, Voltron. I'm smoking before I eat."

Baize walked back toward the kitchen and I just sat there in front of that TV. I hated Baize for smoking without me even though I didn't want to smoke. After a few minutes I got really curious, though. I had seen plenty of folks smoke weed and cigarettes, but I'd never seen a girl younger than me smoke.

I walked toward the kitchen and saw that there was a screen door. Sitting on the step on the other side of the screen was Baize. And she had a square in her mouth. Right in front of her was the area where I had seen those two Dobermans doing it. And next to that was a huge, grimy work shed.

"You ever wonder what happened before you in the same place you're standing now?" I asked her. "Like, I saw this talking cat right around the corner."

I looked at her and waited for her to ask me to explain myself. "Look," she said, "let's talk, but don't be coming out here messing up my high. Don't say nothing to me about how I shouldn't smoke, either. I'm thick and I'm extra and I smoke. Leave me alone."

"You're extra what?"

"Just extra." She took a puff and exhaled it.

"If you ask any girl in Melahatchie about me, they'll be like, 'Baize, that b.i.t.c.h is extra,' especially after my song blew up on YouTube. It's a compliment. I know myself."

"That's nice," I said. "You don't mind people calling you that name, though?"

"What name? 'b.i.t.c.h?' Yeah," she said. "I mind hating-a.s.s b.i.t.c.hes calling me 'b.i.t.c.h.' But my girls, they could call me 'b.i.t.c.h' and I could call them 'b.i.t.c.h' and it wouldn't be a big deal."

I just looked at her.

"If you called me 'b.i.t.c.h,' I'd get you," she told me. "I'm just keeping it one hundred. Somehow, some way, I'd have to get you, 'cause it's hard for boys to really love girls anyway, so I can't really see letting a boy get away with calling n.o.body a b.i.t.c.h. Mama taught me that a long time ago. And if a boy did love me, knowing how much it hurt..." she started trailing off. "I don't know what to say. A n.i.g.g.a who loved me wouldn't call n.o.body a b.i.t.c.h. But I don't even like boys like that anyway."

"Oh," I said. All I could think about was how Shalaya Crump whupped this boy, Damon Frazier, to his knees for calling me a "yap-mouth b.i.t.c.h" the summer before last. The whole time she was whupping him, she kept saying, "You gonna respect me." I thought it was weird she would say that after I was the one that Damon was calling a "yap-mouth b.i.t.c.h," but it was all making a little more sense now.

"Seem like you thought a lot about that word," I told Baize. "Can I switch subjects? You ever wonder why people smoke with their hands so close to their lips? Like if your fingers were more off your lips, smoking wouldn't even look right."

"Then you'd burn your fingers," she said. "Look Voltron, no offense, you messing up my smoke, though, for real."

"Oh. My bad. People still say 'for real' around here? You know, you talk like you're way older than thirteen. Sometimes you call me 'mayne' and sometimes you call me 'boy' and sometimes you call me 'Voltron.'" Baize inhaled more but actually took her fingers away from her lips a bit. "You know why I think you sound so old to me? Because your TV has every age on it. Every age! Like my TV back home, we get four channels including PBS, and you gotta watch all the commercials because you can't be flipping a lot or your mama and them claim that'll break the TV."

Baize looked like she was listening, but she wasn't. "Whatever," she said. "You know what was weird when I went back to the past? I was on this same road in my same hood, but no one cared."

"Why do you just switch subjects like that? I bet when you watch TV, every time a commercial come on, you get to flipping, don't you?"

"Shut up. I was tired of talking about music."

"Wait. You walked around back then?"

"h.e.l.l yeah, I walked around."

"Girl, that was dumb. Why would anyone back there care? You ain't even born where I'm from."

"That's what I'm saying." She lit another cigarette. "It's hard to go back because you see that there was a time when people in the same s.p.a.ce where you are ain't even care or think nothing about you. But somehow, I'm still related to those folks. When I went back, I wanted to see what the music was like and to see if I could find my parents."

"Did you find them?"

"I was scared to look."

"Where they at now?"

"Dead," she said. "I mean, I think."

"Both of them?"

"Dead."

I had never had someone tell me that both of their parents were dead, and I wasn't sure what to say. I didn't want to say something to ruin her high, but since I'd never ruined someone's high before, I wasn't sure what kind of stuff could ruin your high.

"Man, having dead parents must be like, um, like having to eat dessert first for the rest of your life and having that dessert be something like, um, pears when everyone around you is eating greasy fried catfish platters and hot peach cobbler, huh?"

That's all I could come up with.

Baize didn't say anything. She just kept smoking. "Naw," she finally said. "Having dead parents ain't nothing like eating pears." She blew smoke right in my face. "I only half knew them. They had me when they were young and they died when they were young. But they loved me."

"You're still young," I told her. She just looked at me and didn't say a word. "They died together?"

"Yep. We had come back from the swings over there at Gaddis Park. And everyone knew that the storm was coming. So me and my little brother was gonna go stay with my cousins and my grandma up in Jackson. So they dropped me off, and went back because... s.h.i.+t, I don't know why they went back. Never made much sense to me."

"Then what?"

"Then nothing." She blew smoke like a professional smoke-blower. "I never saw them again."

Baize threw what was left of the cigarette on the gra.s.s and mashed it with her Nikes. "They got swallowed up by the water, I think. Or the wind."

"Why don't you know?"

"I know."

"How do you know?"

"Because they wouldn't have left us." Baize got up, looked down at me, and walked inside the screen door. I followed her. "If I had my computer, I could play one of the songs I made for them."

I figured I'd read the words to Baize's song, but I didn't want to hear her rap it. It would have embarra.s.sed me too much if she couldn't rap a lick. I knew I should have been thinking more about her dead parents and what kind of storm could just make people disappear, but I wasn't. I was thinking of that talking cat and those two Dobermans who just earlier in the day were right where I was looking now, and I was thinking about what Shalaya Crump and Evan were doing. I didn't think they were kissing any more. I knew that they were trying to stay alive or fighting to not disappear together, which was even worse.

"Baize?"

"What?"

"What happened to your brother?"

"He disappeared, too."

"Oh. Wait. Can I ask you one more question?"

"What?"

"That wasn't a real cigarette, was it?"

Baize liked to control the remote, and she never left it on one channel for longer than five minutes. "I usually don't watch this much TV, but since you stole my computer and my phone, I don't have a choice."

"You could read that book. What's it called?"

"Long Division."

"Yeah, you could read Long Division since you were so pressed about getting it back," I told her. "Have you read that book? All of it?"

"I read some of it and it made me feel weird."

"Me too. I like that part where they all got together and listened to that boy talk about that kid LaVander Peeler's fade. Who wrote it?"

"I don't know. I told you that I just found it in the woods."

"Don't you think it's weird that there's no author's name on it? Is that how they do books in 2013?"

She just looked at me. "That's what I'm saying, Voltron. There's something painful in that book. Real painful. And I just don't feel like reading to the end and finding out what it is."

"Then why'd you want it back so bad if you weren't gonna read it?"

"Because it's mine," she said. "Whatever is wrong with that book, I wanna be the one to find out before anyone else does."

"Do kids read a lot in 2013?" I asked her. "Like, in my time, I read a lot because if I don't, I get my a.s.s whupped. I usually hate whatever I have to read, but when I finish something, I feel so happy. I can't even lie, though. I probably only finished two books in my whole life."

Baize was laughing at me. "n.o.body around here really reads unless it's something on a computer, but n.o.body writes to folks around here either. But that's the thing about that book. If I gave it to the most illiterate fool in my grade, I bet he'd at least get through the first chapter, you know?"

"Yeah, I do know," I told her. "I got through the first chapter."

"No comment."

"Why no comment?" I asked her. "I would have read even more of it if I didn't have your computer to mess with. It's hard for us in 1985 to finish books, and we don't even have a thousand channels or phones that look like calculators or laptop computers." I waited for her to ask me something, but she didn't. "You know what else? I never typed on a typewriter before. But when I typed on your computer, I felt like what I was typing was famous. It just looked so famous on the screen, like I could have written that Long Division book."

"Voltron, you dumb. I bet you only wrote a few sentences. That's a big-a.s.s book. I ain't trying to hate, but you couldn't write something like that. You have to really have gone through a lot and then have a lot of time on your hands to do something like that."

"I'm not that dumb," I told her. "Look. We could turn the TV off and you could just write in a tablet, or we could watch a movie," I said. When I started talking about watching a movie, Baize muted the TV. I don't know why, but her turning down the TV to listen to me took my like for Baize from 20 MPH to around 50 MPH. I tried to keep talking and not look as thankful as I was.

"Are you one of those people?" she asked me. "My father used to be like that. I remember he was always telling my mother to turn the TV off so he could watch a movie or tell some ol' silly story."

"Were they good stories?"

She started smiling. "Yeah, they were. You would have liked them." I knew I was supposed to ask why, but I didn't really want to. Didn't matter, though, because she kept talking anyway. "He said a lot in his stories, kinda like you do."

Right after she said that, there was this picture of this white woman with stringy black hair and big eyes and a nose that reminded me of a tiny paper boat.

"Who is that lady? Turn it up."

"That's Michael Jackson."

I got closer to the TV and watched different scenes with this person dancing and sounding like Michael Jackson. But nothing about the person looked like the Michael Jackson I knew.

"Wait."

"Yeah," she said. "He died four or five years ago." She started scratching her head. "Sorry."