The rest of that evening resembled the night she had waited for Billy to come home, though it ended in a terribly different way. She waited, while my little brother lay totally still on the floor, for movement that never came. But still she waited, not fearing the worst just as she had listened out for Billy’s footsteps up creaky stairs. She waited, even though when she got up the courage to put her hands on it hours later, the body was already ice cold. She waited, for the men in blue to come knocking at her door again, and this time they would be right. She decided not to wait for her daughter to wake up and discover what the mother who was no longer any use to her had done. A gospel quartet was singing on the radio when she made up her mind.

No more weeping and a-wailing
No more weeping and a-wailing
No more weeping and a-wailing
I’m goin’ to live with God

I want t’ to meet my mother
I want t’ to meet my mother
I want t’ to meet my mother
I’m goin’ to live with God

The crush of rushing water against the stained enamel tub soon drowned out the voices. The water was near freezing when she got in, as she had forgotten to turn both faucets, but she didn’t notice the temperature. Her mind was occupied in memory, lost in a vision, of her husband coming home sweaty and rank from hauling garbage before lifting his son from her breast to make love to her. Insanity had overcome her and she didn’t think to wonder what her daughter might do or see or feel when she had to pee in the morning; she had only locked the bathroom door and assumed the girl might just pee on herself. She waited, after Billy’s razor had sliced softly into her wrists, for a sleep that was permanent for her and temporary for me. But though one child sat on her breasts already in death sleep, and another bled out of her into water filled in a dirty bathtub, Tawana thought nothing of what would happen to the one she was leaving behind.

TWELVE