We scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. We couldn’t get it clean. It didn’t matter though. We was gon’ be baptized.
We scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. We couldn’t get it clean. It didn’t matter though. We was gon’ be baptized.
“God made dirt and dirt don’t hurt,” that’s what Grammy used to tell us when she was here. So, after a few hours of relentless back and forth with our thick bristles and mop cloths, dumping suds in, tossing buckets out — we decided it was finished. Even with a little black still charring the edges, lining the cracks, gathering in little corners that wouldn’t be touched anyway.
We put our sponges and cloths and bristles away. We filled the pool with clear water. Cool as cucumbers, we laid next to our vessel as it filled up in the Louisiana sun.
Hours later, when it was high enough for us to hang our arms over the ledge and dip our fingers in without trying, we shut off the faucet. Then we just stared. As if we wasn’t dripping with sweat. Like our hot feet wasn’t just itching to jump in. The calm before the storm. We sat and watched that water smooth and blue without a ripple or a leaf or a bug or a blink. We couldn’t even see that little bit of black we once was worrying bout’ how to disappear. We was that little bit of black… being baptized.
Momma jumped in first, then my older brother Jimmy. Then Paul and Diana, the twins. Then daddy. And there was just me standing there still froze, still staring, still never blinking. Only thing I was doing for sure was breathing, because I had peace and I was still here. I wasn’t dead.
“Come on girl,” daddy reached his hand back to me. I wanted to jump in. I wasn’t scared, but I wasn’t moved either. I was stuck between the hot I felt and I thought of the cool I wanted to feel. Seemed like I only wanted to watch. Must’ve been scared of life after the water. I ain’t never been in no pool, but I knew I could swim. Just like I ain’t never been in no church, but I prayed my ass off.
“God, please don’t take Jimmy away. Let him stay. Help him. Heal him. God, please help daddy find a job. He don’t know nothing about life without work and when he drink he don’t know nobody. Don’t know love. God make mama happy.” I said prayers like that all the time.
When I was four years old, Jimmy held my head down in a bucket full of water at the family reunion. We were bobbin’ for apples. It was fun at first. I loved getting my hair wet. I usually wasn’t allowed to get my hair wet ever. So at first, I didn’t mind the stinging in my nose when a little water rushed in. I was feelin’ free. I could feel the bubbles on my scalp as I swished my head around looking for fruit. Didn’t hurt that I loved apples neither. Must’ve been the reddest, shiniest, juiciest apples I ever seen. They was almost glowing in that sweet water.
I remember my eyes was open when I felt a hand on the back of my neck. I was silly about it at first. Choking and giggling, waiting for that hand to let me up and reveal itself. Waiting for it to dry me off and hug me and hand me one of those apples I must’ve won. I lost track of time, but that hand never did let me up. Least not that I remember. I remember saying another one of them prayers to God. He didn’t answer this time neither. This time I got mad and ready to fight. Ready to scratch and bite that hand, but I couldn’t. Every second that passed, I grew weaker and more weary until the blue faded into red.
Next thing I could remember, I was waking up in Momma’s bed. She asked me what I knew to happen and I said we was playing, but that Jimmy tried to drown me and I died. Momma ask me how I knew it was Jimmy when I passed out with my head in that bucket. I didn’t know. I just knew it. I slept in momma and daddy’s bed rest of the week. Said I wasn’t going back to my room, but after seven days they made me.
“You got nothing to be afraid of baby bird.” Momma patted me on the head and tried sending me off to my room. I wanted to walk down that narrow hall to the last door on the left, but my body wouldn’t move. I just stood there, staring. Frozen like I be sometimes. I thought about taking a step. I thought about taking a hundred steps, running down that hall. I counted the steps it would take me in my mind. 56. Seemed like a lot of steps, I thought. I must’ve been standing there too long cuz momma began to lose her patience. “Girl, I know you hear me talking to you. You not a baby anymore. I let you sleep in this room all week. You got school in the morning and you need to take yourself to bed. You can’t stay hidden up under my wing forever.”
Daddy came over and scooped me up in one arm. I let my skinny legs dangle. My long johns looking like they belonged on a limp baby doll. “Breathe baby,” he said. “Everything’s gonna be alright. I promise. You’ll see.”
I started up another prayer. “God please don’t let anything get me. Please keep me safe. Keep my brothers and my sister and mommy and daddy safe. Keep my Grammy safe. And God, please make mommy let me sleep in her bed again.” Some of these words I said in vain, knowing more often than not that God wasn’t listening and if he was, he wasn’t just granting any old wish. Uh-uh. He must’ve been saving up for something good. You know? Something big, one day when I really needed him. If he didn’t answer my prayers tonight, must not be that bad. Must be okay.
“You want your pumpkin?” Daddy asked as he set me down and tucked me in my bed with the ballerina looking like me, dancing on the sheets. I nodded. He brought my stuffed jack-o lantern over and kissed me on the forehead. “You know you’re my pumpkin?” he said. “And Momma loves you too. She just wants you to be strong. She just knows how strong you already are. She just wants you to see yourself. Strong.” I held on to daddy’s scent just like I held my jack-o lantern and before I knew it, I’d drifted off to sleep.
God must’ve been listening that night. I spent the whole night in my momma and daddy’s bed, snuggled right between them. After that, I wasn’t scared to sleep in my room no more. I knew I was never alone when I didn’t wanna be. I held my pumpkin and dreamt of the safety of mommy and daddy’s arms.
That was a long time ago.
Now, I stays that little bit of black in the pool. Tucked into the creases. Watching people swim and laugh. Now, it’s always Summer and momma and daddy and the twins is always filling up my bucket and playing in me. Jimmy always the last one scrubbing, still tryna get all the black out. He don’t get in no more though. Now, Jimmy just stand where I used to. Stuck like I used to be. Sometimes I wink at him and he almost smiles, but when I put my hand on him he never feels me. Lest I put it on back of his neck. Then, he just set there looking like he wanna cry.
The twins make faces at him, tryna tease him in. Daddy go give him a couple dollars and send em off on errands, I guess to get him moving or maybe to just get him out the way. Momma barely looks at him, but she sees me though, in them creases. When I wink at Momma she do a full smile. She don’t smile at Jimmy though. And Jimmy don’t smile at no one. I keep on saying my prayers.
“God, please help Jimmy smile. Help him forgive himself. Please make momma nice to him. Maybe make her let him sleep in her bed like you did for me. Make sure the twins know I love them and I’m always watching. Tell Daddy I miss him calling me Pumpkin. And God? Can you ask Grammy if she wanna come watch them play in the pool with me one Summer? Amen.”
This story was written by Jay Norflett. Jay Norflett has been reading the prompts for our short story contests for YEARS. Each time she imagines a story she’d write and on few occasions writes that story and then imagines submitting it. On the rare moon of a submission she soon after cringes at the thought of having the confidence to dare share her work. As she reads the work of past winners she decides of course, that she wastes her time and in fact, surely wastes the time of the team Reedsy forced to parce through her literary attempts at peace and innocence. To follow her for some reason or any reason, search @pjtb1 on Instagram.
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