1980.
“C’mon y’all, we’re going to Gramma’s,” Mama yells from her bedroom.
The thought makes me choke on my Cocoa Krispies. This is the worst way she can start our Saturday morning, besides chores. Gramma lives two towns over and doesn’t even let us play outside. But she has a full swing set, slide, and merry-go-round in her backyard. She says we’ll kill her grass if we step on it.
Nikky grabs my arm. “Tay, c’mon.”
“I gotta finish my cereal or it’s gonna get soggy.”
“You wanna go to Gramma’s?”
“No.” I frown. Nobody does. I don’t even think Mama does.
“Then c’mon.”
She yanks my arm with her big-sister strength, taking us to the couch where Daddy’s halfway asleep. Nikky smooths Daddy’s hair softly with her hand, and I join her by smoothing his long beard. She kisses his forehead. I hug his big muscular chest.
“Daddy,” she whispers, “can we stay here with you?”
“We’ll be good and quiet. Promise.” I whisper in his other ear.
He gives us a good look-over with his sleepy eyes.
“Please,” we quietly plead, making sure Mama can’t hear us.
Mama finally comes into the living room, all ready to go in her chore clothes. I think she’s going to make us clean up at Gramma’s. “Y’all get your coats so we can go. C’mon, hurry up.”
We look at Daddy, pleading with our eyes for him to save us.
“They can stay here. It’s okay,” he tells Mama.
She looks at Nikky and me suspiciously. “It’s your first day off in three weeks, Bull. I’m trying to let you rest.”
Daddy works nights at a group home, so he sleeps on the couch in the day most times. “They’ll be fine,” he assures Mama.
“But I’m gonna be gone past dinner, Bull. You sure you want the girls all day long?”
“We’ll be good, Mama,” Nikky says in her best big-sister voice. “I’ll be in charge if Daddy goes to sleep.”
I want to put up a fight, but if I do, we’ll have to go to Gramma’s.
Mama wags her finger at us. “I want that room clean by the time I get home. That should keep y’all busy.” Mama kisses Daddy goodbye, and we follow her to the door. She gives us ten cents apiece. “You can go to the store after you clean your room. But still ask Daddy first.”
“Okay, Mama,” we sing like twins.
Mama still thinks we’re up to something. “Don’t be doing all that arguing, you hear? And don’t wake your father up. Be good.”
“Yes, Mama,” we say with a smile.
Mama closes the door and locks it from the outside.
“Why do you get to be in charge?” I pout.
“Because seven is older than six, so I’m in charge.”
“But I want to be in charge sometime.”
“Then you gotta ask Mama and Daddy to have another baby, then you’ll be older than that baby.”
“But you’re only in charge if Daddy is asleep,” I say. But as soon as I say it, we can hear Daddy snoring in the other room.
“Since I’m in charge, let’s clean up the room so we can go to the store.”
“Fine,” I say, stomping to our room.
Nikky is good at cleaning up. She puts all of her toys and clothes away in the right places. I stuff all my things under my bed and pull my bedspread down so you can’t see it.
“Done,” I say proud. “What are you gonna get from the store?”
She’ll probably say a Jolly Rancher Stix. She likes fruit punch the best, it makes her tongue red and then she sticks it out at me. I dream of a Reggie! Bar. It’s named after a famous baseball player named Reggie Jackson and it has peanuts and caramel and is covered in chocolate. I love peanuts and chocolate so much. I can eat peanut butter by the spoonful all the time. Mama says that I can’t do that because if I eat too much of it, I’ll have an asthma attack. I hate those. But the Reggie! Bar is 35¢, and I only have 10¢.
“I want a long pack of red Now & Laters, but I’m gonna get some Jolly Ranchers and some Pixie Stix.”
“With ten cents?” I question.
“I already had ten cents from yesterday. Now I got twenty cents.”
“No fair,” I groan.
“It is fair. You never save your money.”
Now all we have to do is ask Daddy. But we’re not supposed to wake him. But if we don’t, it will get too late and we can’t go to the store when it’s dark. It’s a little scary thinking about waking Daddy up. Everybody grownup calls him “Bull” because if he gets mad, he’ll charge you like a bull. So we have to wake him just a little bit so he doesn’t get mad. We tip-toe closer to Daddy. He’s got little peanut shells in his beard, his mouth wide open, and the monster snore makes me take a step back.
“Ask him, you’re in charge,” I whisper to Nikky.
She doesn’t want to, either, and she’s not afraid of anything, not even Daddy. “You ask him,” she whispers back. “I asked him if we could stay.”
“So, he’ll say yes to you.”
“I’ll buy you something if you do,” Nikky says. “I’ll give you one of my extra nickels.”
“You promise?” I ask her. I still can’t get my Reggie! Bar, but I can get more candy.
“Yeah, I promise. Just do it.”
I take a deep breath and gulp. My hand seems so tiny tapping on Daddy’s big muscle.
“Daddy?” I look at Nikky, then at Daddy again. He’s still asleep. Nikky pushes me to tap him again. I tap him a little harder, but my voice is still soft. “Daddy, can we go the store?”
His head falls back and forward in a snore breath. “I think he said yeah.” I look to Nikky to see what she thinks. She nods. It was yes enough.
We get to go to the corner store by ourselves because Mama works there a few days a week. Mr. Ray owns it, and he’s nice. Sometimes he even gives us candy for free. It’s close to our townhouse, too. Nikky and I kick big rocks on the unpaved sidewalk on our way there.
“Gimme my nickel,” I demand.
“I’m not giving you anything. You have your own money,” Nikky laughs.
“But you said you’d give me a nickel if I asked Daddy. You said it!”
“Yeah, but I didn’t pinky-promise. So I don’t have to. You know the rules.” She was right, you have to pinky-promise if you want someone to have no-take-backsies. “I’ll give it to you if you can beat me to the store,” Nikky taunts.
“A race? C’mon, that’s not fair,” I whine, kicking a rock. Nikky’s always been faster than me. Plus, she doesn’t have asthma.
“I’ll give you a head start,” she says, her dimples creasing as she smiles.
“You pinky-promise this time?”
“Yep,” she says, holding out her pinky to me. I wrap my pinky around hers and we shake on it. It’s official.
Nikky gets in the starter position. “Get ready, Tay. Tie your shoe. Here’s the start line. First one to the store ramp wins.”
I tie my shoe, and get in starter position, too.
Her voice booms, “On your march!”
“It’s mark,” I correct her.
“No, it’s not. On your march! Get set! Go!”
I take off running so fast. My fists pump harder than ever before. I’m getting that nickel! I can hear her counting behind me, “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two …” And just as I think I’m going to beat Nikky for the first time in our lives, I feel her gust of running wind blow by me, almost knocking me over.
“First one takes the last one’s place! First one takes the last one’s place!” I shout at the top of my lungs. When you say that in a race, whoever is the winner trades time with the last person. That way the first person becomes the loser. I’m good at these little tricks with asthma.
I finally make it inside the store, panting. I put my hand on the candy rack, catching my breath. Nikky’s already looking at the candy, rows and rows. She’s calm, making thoughtful decisions. I’m about to pass out.
“I … won,” I tell her in between gasps.
“No, you didn’t,” she says so easily, her breath intact.
“I said … first one … takes … the last one’s place. I said it twice.”
“I didn’t hear you, Tay. It don’t count if I didn’t hear you.”
I give her the evil eye.
“Just get something so we can go,” she bosses me, picking up four 5¢ candies: two Pixie Stix and two Jolly Rancher fruit punch sticks.
I take my time while Nikky’s paying at the counter. The store is empty except for Nikky, the counter man, and me. The counter man is someone we’ve seen before, but it’s usually Mama who helps us. He’s really tall, but not as tall as Daddy. He has red hair, cut short like the men in army uniforms we see when we go to Fort Ord. He has a red push-broom mustache and a dirty white T-shirt with a hole in it on his stomach. He looks like he has grownup problems. Like he doesn’t see his kids or something, and he’s grumpy.
I stare at the Reggie! Bars. I touch them longingly. I decide to get two sourballs. They’re like big SweetTarts; they tickle my jaws in the back when I chew them. They’re 5¢ each, so I can get them on my own, no thanks to Nikky. I put my sourballs on the counter with my two nickels.
“Fifteen cents,” Mr. Grumpy says.
I look at him confused. “Nah-uh, it’s ten cents.” I point to the candy row where the sourballs are marked in black letters: “$0.05.”
“It’s fifteen cents,” he snaps.
I could get in trouble for arguing with an adult if he told my mama, but he’s wrong. I stand my ground, “No, it’s not.”
“It is ten cents. We know because our mama works here,” Nikky says in my defense.
“And we can read,” I add.
“Well your mama should’ve taught you how to count, because it’s fifteen cents,” Mr. Grumpy growls.
“We know how to count,” I tell him. “These are five cents each, and five plus five is ten, and there’s ten cents.”
“That’s it,” he interrupts. “You two little smart-mouths can get outta here.”
“You can’t kick us outta here.” Nikky sticks out her chest. “Our mama works here, and we didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I don’t give a damn if your black-ass granny works here.” Mr. Grumpy comes from behind the counter, grabs both of our arms, yanks us out of the store, pushes us down on the ground, and takes back Nikky’s bag of candy. “Now get outta here!”
Nikky gets up first. She brushes herself off and helps me up. I have little pebbles digging in my palms, and my knee is skinned from the fall. Blood forms around the rocks on my knee. Nikky dusts me off while I cry. My knee hurts really bad.
“C’mon Tay, we’re gonna go tell Daddy.”
We don’t run home. We walk slowly, Nikky’s arm around me while I keep sniffling. When we get home, Daddy is still sleeping on the couch, still snoring. But this time, we aren’t afraid to wake him up. We need him.
We shake Daddy as hard as we can, screaming, “Daddy! Daddy!” He finally opens one of his eyes, squinting from the light.
“That man kicked us out the store, Daddy!” I scream right in his face.
“He took back my candy, and I paid for it, Daddy,” Nikky jumps in. “He didn’t even gimme my money back!”
“He took my money, too!”
“And then he pushed us on the ground!” Nikky shouts.
“He did what?” Daddy sits straight up, his nose flaring.
I show him my pebbled, skinned knee, my eyes full of tears. “He pushed us down, Daddy.”
Daddy stands up like he’s full of fire. He stuffs his feet and sweatpants into his black cowboy boots — no socks. He puts his red plaid coat on over his T-shirt. His muscles bulge. He grabs our hands and charges down to the store. Our feet have to run to keep up with Daddy’s long, angry strides. We’re dragging behind him, airborne from time to time. We’ve never seen Daddy this mad before. All the grownups that call him Bull say, “Everybody knows not to mess with Bull’s girls.” Not too many people do.
When we get to the store, Daddy sits us down outside on the store’s wooden ramp. “You stay right here, I’ll be back.”
“Okay, Daddy,” we say in unison. The open door lets us look inside if we aren’t too scared.
Daddy goes inside. Nikky peeks in.
“Daddy said stay out here, Nikky.”
“Shh, Tay.” She motions for me to peek, too. We stand in the doorway, our faces poking in the store.
Daddy towers over Mr. Grumpy. “You put your hands on my kids?”
“I didn’t touch those kids,” Mr. Grumpy lies.
“They come home cryin’ that you pushed them out the store!”
“Look, they come in here with no money and tried to steal candy,” Mr. Grumpy says straight-faced.
“No, we didn’t, Daddy!” Nikky shouts from the doorway. Daddy glares at her. She steps back.
“My kids don’t steal,” Daddy says. He’s right. “I gave them money to go to the store. They come home cryin’ with no money and no candy — so where is it?”
“Those kids aren’t gonna come in here and steal!”
“I want their money now!” Daddy demands.
Mr. Grumpy doesn’t care. “I’m not giving you a damn thing, James.”
Daddy slams his hand on the counter. “Gimme their goddamn money!”
“You think you’re gonna threaten me?” Mr. Grumpy sneers. “I know who you are, Bull. Nobody’s scared of you, nigger!”
Daddy cocks back his fist and punches Mr. Grumpy square in the face with all his might. Mr. Grumpy crashes to the ground, grabbing his bloody nose.
“I’m calling the police!” he screams up at Daddy.
Daddy grabs the phone shaking it at him. “I’ll call ’em for you!”
I don’t remember what happened next. Everything is loud, sirens blaring. Daddy is sitting in back of a police car, and the police are talking to stupid Mr. Grumpy. Nikky is holding my hand, crying. I can’t speak. I can’t feel anything. I just stare at Daddy in the police car. My uncle got taken away in a police car one time, and he went to prison. My cousins never see their dad anymore. What if I never see Daddy again? Who’s gonna let us braid his beard and put barrettes in it? Who’s gonna cut down our Christmas trees and let us sit on his lap when we’re scared? Who’s gonna stop Mr. Grumpy from pushing us down, taking our money, and lying about us? I need my Daddy.
I start crying with Nikky. We hold hands tighter. The police won’t let us near Daddy. Inside my chest feels like hot nails are scraping it, my breath gets shorter and shorter the more I cry.
I finally feel a grownup arm wrap around me. It takes me a minute to see it’s my favorite aunt, Bobbie Jean, who lives next door. “C’mon Nikky, c’mon Tay. Let’s get you home.”
Aunt Bobbie Jean runs a hot shower, steaming the bathroom when we get home. Nikky gets my asthma pump, and helps me take two pumps. After a little while I can breathe again. I taste the saltiness of the dried tears on my face. I hear Aunt Bobbie Jean calling Mama on the phone.
After the sun is down, Aunt Bobbie Jean makes us pancakes for dinner, hoping to cheer us up. We’re not hungry; we just want Daddy. Nikky helps me get all my toys and clothes I stuffed under my bed and puts them away right.
“So Mama won’t be mad at us about that, too. Okay, Tay?”
“Okay,” I agree. She’s a good big sister.
After forever, Mama finally comes in, looking tired from a long day. Behind her is Daddy, his hand bandaged. Mama and Aunt Bobbie Jean talk outside our room in whispers. Daddy sits on Nikky’s bed. I jump in his lap. Nikky sits on his other leg. Daddy takes a big breath. He hugs us tightly. Nikky touches his bandage. It’s bloody, but dry.
“Does it hurt, Daddy?” she asks him.
“I’m okay, sweetheart,” he tells her softly.
“But it’s bloody, Daddy. Are you sure it’s okay?” I kiss his hand.
Nikky kisses his hand, too. “That better, Daddy?”
“Yes, that’s better.” He kisses our foreheads.
He takes another big breath, like he wants to say something. Nikky speaks before he can. “We thought you were going to jail. We didn’t want you to go to jail, Daddy.”
“Yeah,” I say, leaning on his chest. “Uncle Omar went to jail, and Tanya and O.J. don’t see him anymore.”
“Are they gonna make you go to jail, Daddy?” Nikky is doing her best not to cry. Me, too.
He gives us both a squeeze. “No. Nobody’s gonna take me away from my girls.”
“Are you gonna have to hit him again?” asks Nikky.
Daddy smiles a little bit, but it quickly disappears. “No, he’s not gonna be working there anymore. I’m really proud of you girls. You took care of each other, and you came and got me when someone hurt you.” His face gets even more serious. “That’s an ugly, hurtful word he used today. We are not niggers. We are beautiful Black people. And if we stick together, nothing can harm us. Got that?”
“Yes, Daddy,” we say together.
Daddy reaches into his pocket and pulls out a Reggie! Bar for me, and a long pack of red Now & Laters for Nikky. We give Daddy kisses on his cheeks saying thank you over and over.
“I don’t want y’all going to the store without an adult unless your mama’s there. You hear me?”
“Yes, Daddy,” we say in stereo.
“Okay, off to bed, both of you.” He tucks us in and kisses our foreheads. “Eat your candy tomorrow.”
“Okay, Daddy.” Nikky says, putting her Now & Laters on the nightstand.
Daddy gives me a stern look, “Tomorrow, Shantay.”
“Okay!” I laugh. I was planning to eat it after he closed the door. But I don’t.
2017 Top 10 Finalist for the Still I Rise Grant for Black Women Writers
Tiffany Golden was trained in Motion Picture Production at the Academy of Art University where she found a love for writing. She is the author of the Midnight Story Series, a children’s fantasy series, and currently a Creative Writing MFA candidate at Spalding University in Louisville, Kentucky. In addition to her own work, Tiffany has passionately worked with school-aged youth for over 15 years in an effort to support them in sharing their voices. Find her on Facebook HERE and HERE, and on Twitter HERE and HERE.
