Ain't No Sunshine Read online

  "What happened?"

  "It took about three seconds before my throat closed up and I couldn't breathe. Ruthie ran to get the school nurse. After the principal and the nurse were sure I wasn't going to die, Ruthie and I faced suspension for smoking on school property. But I told them it wasn't her. I was alone and she just happened to be walking past to find me choking."

  "You protected her."

  I nodded. "It was the least I could do. I owe her. Without her in my life..." I couldn't finish the thought. I didn't know what my life would be like without Ruthie. I probably would've killed myself by the time I was ten.

  "What did your dad do when he found out you got suspended?"

  "I didn't get suspended."

  Lieutenant Drake looked a question at me.

  "Why not?"

  "My father called the principal. Worked his magic. Got the suspension revoked. But when I got home -"

  "He beat you." Lieutenant Drake said, finishing my thought.

  "He broke my collarbone." I self-consciously touched the slight bump where the bone hadn’t healed properly.

  Lieutenant Drake sighed, then sat back down.

  "I don't know why I'm telling you this," I said. "I guess I feel if you know me, you'll understand me. No one understands me except Ruthie."

  Lieutenant Drake leaned back in his chair. "Why don't you tell me more about her? How did she deal with Matthew's death?"

  Chapter 6

  The next few weeks were miserable. My father tortured my mother. He kicked her in the stomach, pushed her down stairs, and beat her to within an inch of her life. He told the congregation that she had gone to California to visit her family so no one would get suspicious.

  I worried about her. She would go days at a time without eating. My father wouldn't let her. I would sneak into her room and try to give her some food. Sometimes he would catch me and beat me, too. One morning, he left to run some errands. I called Ruthie and had her bring over some of her grandmother's biscuits. I tried to feed Mother, but she was in so much pain it hurt for her to even sit up.

  "I'm sorry, Stephen," she said weakly.

  "Shh, just try to eat something, Mother." I didn't know why she tried to apologize to me. She didn't do anything wrong. She swallowed a couple of bites of food and almost vomited.

  "It's all my fault. I'm so sorry, Stephen." She was delirious. She didn't know what she was talking about. My father had driven her crazy. I tried to quiet her down.

  "Don't try to talk. Just eat."

  "Just remember I love you. No matter what happens, I love you. I did it for you." Her tone frightened me. She sounded like she was giving up. What did she mean, she did it for me? What did she do? She started convulsing and vomiting blood. I thought she was going to die right there in front of my eyes. But she didn't. She survived.

  Whenever someone asked, my father claimed Matthew ran away to join the Navy. I knew that wasn't true. I was convinced that he killed my brother and hid the body. I also knew Ruthie was devastated, but she didn't want to let it show. She tried to be strong. I remember she dragged me to the police station in order to file an official complaint against my father.

  "I wanna report a murder," she said as she marched into the Livingston police station. It was a little country station with only two or three officers comprising the entire force. The building was smaller than my house. At first, no one even acknowledged our presence. Ruthie had to repeat herself three times before anyone even looked at her.

  "What kind of a murder would you like to report, little girl?" Stanley Pender asked as he knelt down, smiling at Ruthie. At the time, I thought he was about 150 years old. I probably wasn't too far off. He was a relic at the police station. I think he was the first officer in the town. These days he never did any real work. He was more of an honorary deputy. "Is it your dog? Did someone hurt your dog?" he added.

  "No," Ruthie said still determined, "someone killed my Matthew. His brother," she added, pointing to me. I had stayed a few steps behind her with my head down. I was a little embarrassed. I knew no one would believe her. They would give her the same look my pre-school teacher had given me when I tried to tell her what my father did to me and my mother.

  "And just who killed Matthew?" he asked, still smiling.

  "Reverend Phillips," Ruthie stated boldly. Stanley's smile melted off his face.

  "Girl, you can't go 'round accusin' innocent people of thangs. Do you know what God does to liars?"

  "The same thing he does to murderers! Thankfully, I don’t have to worry about that. I ain't a liar!" Ruthie yelled with her hands on her hips. "He did it. I know he did!"

  "Stephen," Stanley called still staring at Ruthie. I thought he might take off his belt and give her a beating right there.

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Why don't you go home and teach your colored friend some manners? And tell her your brother joined the Navy. He's not dead."

  "Yes, Sir." I grabbed Ruthie's hand and tried to pull her out of the station. She kept ranting about how my father was a murderer and how we might be next.

  "He wouldn't leave without saying goodbye! He's dead, I know it!" No one listened.

  Ruthie and I sat on the stone steps outside the police station as the skies darkened. We sat there in silence for what seemed like forever. I knew Ruthie was trying to come up with a plan. I thought she'd want to leave as I felt the first few drops of rain. Grandma Esther had just straightened her hair and any kind of moisture would make it curl up again. But Ruthie didn't move. She just sat there. As the rain started to come down harder, Ruthie started to cry. Matthew had been like a father to her. He was another one to add to the list of people she loved that had left her.

  We coped with our grief by searching for Matthew's body in the woods. Ruthie thought that if we found a body maybe someone would believe us. We let Goldie sniff his clothes and run around the woods, thinking she could find where my father had buried Matthew. She was just a puppy, though, and most of the time she'd end up chasing a squirrel while Ruthie and I continued the search. We looked for clues and even dug numerous holes, thinking we had found his grave. We finally decided that we would never find his body and gave ourselves some closure by holding a memorial service for him by the lake.

  We both dressed in black and met at the lake right before sunset. Ruthie drew a picture of Matthew, and we taped it to a tree during the service. Then we both gave speeches, sharing what we loved about Matthew and what we would miss the most.

  "I'm gonna miss the way he'd tuck me in at night and tell me that everything was gonna be okay and the way he made me feel safe," I said.

  As tears trickled down her face, Ruthie said "I'm gonna miss the way he would put me on his shoulders on the way to the park and how he would pick us up from school every day and on Fridays take us for ice cream."

  Then Ruthie sang "You Are My Sunshine" because that was her favorite song to sing with Matthew. I felt the song was pretty appropriate. For our entire lives, Matthew was the only ray of sunshine. Next, we took the drawing of Matthew and buried it in one of the holes we had dug, looking for his grave.

  My life got much worse without Matthew. My mother became just a shell of her former self. She barely spoke, even to me. Sometimes she would just look at me and start crying. Then she would grab me and say "I'm sorry" over and over again. I guess she was apologizing for the way my father treated us. She thought it was her fault that she didn't have the strength to take me and leave. I didn't blame her, though. I could handle the abuse. I had gotten used to it. It was just mind over matter for me.

  Chapter 7

  Every day during the summer, Ruthie and I went swimming in our lake. One day, when I was thirteen, our innocent summer recreation became something more.

  I was sitting on the grass, taking a break, when she sauntered out of the water. Suddenly, I saw her differently. She wasn't a little girl anymore. She was still my best friend on the inside, but on the outside she had changed. I finally noticed she w
as absolutely gorgeous.

  "Are you coming back in the water?" she asked, completely unaware that I was undressing her with my eyes. It wasn't difficult to do, considering the tiny yellow swimsuit she wore. We were so close that we often overlooked modesty with each other. At that moment, I mentally thanked whoever had created the bikini.

  "Stephen? Are you okay?" I realized that I had missed her question because I was too busy staring at her breasts. A flush came over me, and I felt a warm sensation all over my body, especially in my swim trunks.

  "Stephen, why are you all red? Are you sick?" She went to touch my face.

  "No, don't touch me." I jerked away from her hand.

  "What's wrong? Did I do something?" She was starting to worry.

  "No...uh...yeah, I'm sick. I just don't want you to catch it. I think I better go home." I went to stand up but realized that something was going on in my pants. I sat back down and put a towel over my lap. Oh my God, I had an erection. How could just looking at Ruthie evoke such a response? My face reddened even more at the thought of how badly I wanted her to touch me...to touch it.

  "I thought you were leaving," she said, looking at me like I was crazy.

  "I am. I will…in a minute. I...I think I want to watch the lake for a while, first," I lied. All I wanted to watch was her and her soft, caramel skin. Her sopping-wet hair hung down to the middle of her back, touching the little latch that kept her bathing suit top on. I wanted that latch to break so badly. I thought that maybe if I stared at it long enough it would, but it didn't. Ruthie finally got tired of trying to figure out what was wrong with me.

  "Well, I'm going home. Feel better, okay?" She stood and walked away from me. I watched as a single drop of water rolled down her back and over the swell of her butt. It was the luckiest drop of water I had ever seen in my life.

  That day, I distinctly remember missing Matthew more than usual. Not a day went by that I didn't think about him or wonder what he would look like at a certain age. Sometimes I would momentarily forget the sound of his voice or what he was like. I'd try to talk about him to my mother, but she would usually just start crying and leave the room.

  I knew if Matthew were there, I'd be able to talk to him about what I was feeling for Ruthie. Without Matthew, I had no one. I had no one to tell me how to make it stop.

  Usually, I told Ruthie all my problems. We didn't have any secrets between us. But how could I tell her this? How do you tell your best friend that you are sexually attracted to her? I had just decided that this was one thing I would keep to myself when I heard a knock on my door. It was Ruthie. She hated coming to my house. My father made her feel uncomfortable, but she always made the sacrifice if I was sick or if she thought I needed her.

  "Are you still not feeling good? I brought you some soup." She stepped into my room. "I made it myself. Do you want to try some? It's normal, I promise." Ruthie was not the best cook. She was much too creative. When Ruthie cooked, by the time she finished adding garnish and trying to make the food look pretty, it was pretty much unrecognizable and inedible. I was quite often forced to be the taste tester. I would try to be positive, but she always knew when I was lying. Once in a while she did create something truly delicious, but those times were few and far between. Her failures in the kitchen never discouraged her from trying again, though. She always said that one success was worth a thousand failures. My stomach disagreed.

  "Um...no...I mean yes...um." I felt like an idiot. I couldn't even formulate a complete sentence around her anymore. I had to get control of myself.

  "Huh?"

  "No, I am not still sick and yes, I would like to try some of your soup."

  "Good." Ruthie plopped down on my bed and handed me the bowl and a spoon. The thought of her next to me on my bed made me excited again. I closed my eyes and tried to get a hold of myself.

  "Stephen, what's wrong? Why are you acting so strange?"

  I opened my eyes, but when I looked at her, sitting on my bed, so close to me that I could feel her warmth, I had to turn away.

  Ruthie grabbed my chin and gently turned my face toward her. She stared deep in my eyes like she was trying to read my soul. Her striking, light brown eyes were so beautiful. They were the type of eyes that you could spot from across the room. She took her little hand and wiped away the beads of sweat that were beginning to form above my brow. She smelled so good. When had she started wearing perfume? Or maybe it wasn't perfume. Maybe she just naturally smelled like flowers. Suddenly, I had the urge to kiss her. My lips tingled with anticipation. I think she finally figured out what I was thinking. Her eyes expanded to twice their size.

  "I gotta go." She quickly jumped off my bed, nearly tipping over the soup in my hands.

  "Don't go," I pleaded. Now I had done it. I had scared her away. What if she didn't feel the same way? I'm such an idiot, I thought. Ruthie stopped in the doorway and smiled at me.

  "I'll see you tomorrow, Stephen," she said as she bounced out the door. I knew we would be okay.

  I wasn't the only one to notice how Ruthie had changed nearly overnight. Whenever she was around, my father couldn't take his eyes off of her.

  "Ruth, come sit with me for a moment," he said to her as she was trying to sneak out of my house unnoticed.

  "I really can't, sir. I have to get back to my grandmother. She's not feeling well."

  "I'm sorry to hear that. She will be in my prayers. Is there anything I can do?"

  "No, we're fine. I just need to get back."

  "Why don't you sit and talk to me for a while and then I'll give you a ride back. I'll even take you into town and we can pick up some groceries." Ruthie wanted to protest, but he grabbed her hands and led her to the sofa. He sat next to her and started stroking her hair.

  "What did you and Stephen do today?" he asked.

  "We went swimming in the lake, but Stephen got sick and came home," Ruthie replied. She was so tense and nervous; she looked like she wanted to cry.

  "That's nice." He wasn't even listening to her. "You are a beautiful child. Do you know that?" I couldn't take it anymore. I came into the living room as loudly as possible.

  "Ruthie, you're still here. Um...isn't it your turn to walk Goldie?" I couldn't think of anything else to say.

  "Oh, I forgot. Come here, Yellowbird." Recognizing a way out, she bolted off the sofa. "Excuse me, Reverend Phillips."

  My father stared after her. Then he put his face in his hands...and cried.

  Chapter 8

  Ruthie and I got a lot closer that summer. Our hugs became longer and more meaningful, and we would hold hands when no one was around. We had this unstated commitment to each other. Once, my father caught us watching TV together. We weren't doing anything wrong. I don't even think we were touching, but he could sense that there was something between us and he didn't like it. Maybe it was the way she smiled at me or the way I would move the loose strands of hair out of her face when they got in the way.

  "Ruth, please leave," he said. Ruthie could tell from his tone of voice that he meant business. She was practically off the sofa before he finished the sentence.

  "What's going on between you two?"

  "Nothing, Father; we're just friends. She's my best friend." She's my only friend, I thought.

  "It better stay that way. Anything else would be inappropriate and I will not allow that. Do you understand?" When I didn't answer right away he grabbed my neck forcefully and squeezed.

  "I said, 'do you understand?'" He had such a tight grip on me that I nearly passed out.

  "Yes, I understand." But I really didn't understand. I couldn't quite tell if he was angry because I was getting close to a colored person or if he was angry because I was getting close to Ruthie. I saw the way he looked at her when he thought I wasn't paying attention. And he continued buying things for her. It was like he was obsessed. If I didn't know any better, I would think he was in love with her. But that was absurd. She was just a child in comparison to him. But I had heard of pe
ople like that who were obsessed with little children and who abused them. If he ever touched my Ruthie I didn’t know what I'd do to him. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe he just liked Ruthie. She was a likeable girl. As racial barriers had slowly started to melt away, people in town had become more accepting of colored people, especially Ruthie. Everyone loved her. Maybe he liked Ruthie as a person, but just didn't ever want a colored person to be a part of his family. That definitely wouldn't fit the picture-perfect family image that he had worked so hard to create.

  Soon after that I went on my first date. Unfortunately, it wasn't with Ruthie. Mary Elizabeth Myers invited me to the Sadie Hawkins dance. She was a pretty blonde girl who attended my father's church. It was probably her parents' dream for their daughter go to a dance with the perfect Stephen Phillips. I bet my father even talked to them and arranged for her to ask me. He was trying to get Ruthie off my mind. "Did you have a good time, tonight?" she asked as we ate ice cream after the dance. We stopped at the same little ice cream shop that Ruthie, Matthew, and I used to frequent on Friday afternoons before he died. I didn't like going there; it reminded me too much of Matthew and made me miss him, but Mary Elizabeth insisted on extending the date. She said they had the 'best chocolate malts' in town. She failed to realize they sold the only chocolate malts in town. Her question was the first time in thirty minutes that she had given me the opportunity to contribute to the conversation; even so, she barely gave me time to respond.

  "It was okay." It was not okay. The dance was just an excuse for all the rich white parents in town to pair off their children. All the girls wore what looked like the same white dress and all the boys wore tuxedos. When we walked in, we were introduced as "Ms. Mary Elizabeth Myers and her escort, Mr. Stephen Andrew Phillips." It made it seem like I was just one of her accessories. The whole evening felt like a betrothal.

  "I thought it was wonderful. They really did an excellent job turning town hall into a formal venue. I mean, did you see all the twinkle lights? It must have taken them hours to do. And the purple lilies were just exquisite. And everyone looked just lovely. Did you see Mary Louise Roman? Didn't she look great? We were both wearing empire-cut dresses. What are the chances of that? Isn't that funny? And our names are so similar. Did you notice that? She is Mary Louise and I am Mary Elizabeth. I wonder if our parents did that on purpose. They’re friends, you know. We could practically be sisters except that I have blonde hair and she has red hair. I usually don't like red hair, but hers is nice. It’s a darker red, not that bright, hideous red like Julia Jordan. Ugh, her hair is so disgusting! If Mary Louise's hair ever got that color I would have to insist that she dye it to an appropriate shade. I would not be able to tolerate it. Wouldn't that shade of red be just disgusting on someone with Mary Louise's complexion?"