I follow Luisa to the bathroom and close the door behind us. “I need to ask you a favor, baby.”

“What’s that?” she asks while turning on the shower. She’s looking for the soap, but there’s only three white curled-up slivers left, which she’s gotta settle for. The blue towel she’s gon’ have to use already been used by Melody three or four days ago. I need to go to the Laundromat, that much I do know.

“Did I tell you my mama’s in the hospital?”

“No you didn’t. Is she all right?”

“Well, sorta. She lives in Vegas, and I need to go see her today. She’s got asthma real bad.” I let out a long sigh. “Anyway, I had to pay my child support last week, and you know my car ain’t running, and all I got is $4.52 to my name and I was wondering if you could lend me forty or fifty bucks so I can catch the bus up there this afternoon. I’ll pay you back next week, I swear it. I got a little job loading furniture for a few weeks, so I’ll have some cash.”

“Don’t worry, since it’s for a good reason, I’ll lend it to you, Lewis. But just remember, Easter’s coming up, and I’ve got things in layaway at Kmart, and if I don’t get them out by the seventh, they’ll put them back. Comprende?”

“ Comprende. And don’t worry. I wouldn’t do that to your kid.”

“Kids. Did you forget about Elesia and little Rocky?”

I had. But, hell, most of the women I deal with got at least one, so why should I be so surprised? “Naw, I didn’t forget,” I say. “I just ain’t met ’em yet, that’s all.”

“Don’t worry,” she says, stepping into the bathtub and pulling the shower curtain closed. “You will.”

“I can’t wait,” I say. I leave the steamy bathroom and go sit on the edge of the bed, praying she’ll be quick. My head is tight. Burning. Like I got a baseball cap on too tight. I look down at the floor and spot her black vinyl purse. I would love to go in it and get the money and walk to the corner to get her kid a box of cereal, buy a newspaper, a new crossword book to do on the bus, a pack of Kools, and just one forty-ounce to get my day started. But that wouldn’t be too cool. And, besides, I ain’t that desperate. So I just fold my hands. And sit here. And wait.

Track

“Why’re you so quiet?” Shanice is sitting in the back seat of the Jaguar with a book up to her face, which is also pressed snugly against the window. She’s already cracked and devoured at least two hundred sunflower seeds on the drive here. The bulk of the shells are piled on top of the plastic bag in her lap. I keep telling her these things are full of fat and high in sodium, but she doesn’t care. For somebody who runs track, she eats way too many of them. It’s a nervous habit. Like a chain smoker. But I can’t stop her. She sneaks and buys them. Sits up in her room and reads book after book and cracks and sucks on those nasty things until her trash can is full of crumpled-up paper towels.