Suzanne Beecher

Dear Reader,

I'm still thinking about Halloween last week and how disappointed my husband was that we didn't get any trick-or-treaters. Last year only a handful of kids came to the door, but that didn't dampen his enthusiasm. His candy bowl had bubble gum and Tootsie Rolls in the middle of it, surrounded with carefully placed Tootsie Pops circling the outside rim of the dish. I was impressed.

He opened the front door, turned on the porch light, pulled up the window shades and illuminated the living room; a Halloween invitation to let the kids know that our house was candy equipped, and trick-or-treat friendly. Barry, our always curious, tuxedo cat, was even sitting by the screen door in anticipation. But after a couple of hours my husband gave up. "Well, it's 8 o'clock and that means the biggest hour for trick-or-treaters has gone by, and we still haven't seen any kids."

Okay, I confess. I guess I really did miss the trick-or-treaters, too. When I was a kid it was a big night; it ranked right up there with Christmas. I'd map out the neighborhoods in advance, always starting on the North side of town in the "rich" neighborhoods, because they handed out full-size candy bars. I knocked on so many doors that I'd have to make a couple of pit stops at home to dump out the pillow case I used to collect candy.

Oh well, maybe next year. In the meantime, it's a good thing I like Tootsie Rolls.

Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@firstlookbookclub.com

P. S. This week we're giving away 10 copies of the book Jackal: A Novel by Erin E. Adams. Click here to enter for your chance to win. Theresa R. shared a photo of the book she won, Sweet, Soft, Plenty Rhythm by Laura Warrell.

 

ALICE

June 1985

Tanisha Walker loved the stars. She didn't memorize the paths of the cosmos or their patterns. She just loved the look of them. The fact that she could see them so clearly was the only part she liked about moving to a town as small as Johnstown. Her husband told her their daughter would be safe. After all, the only place safer than the suburbs was the middle of nowhere. They'd moved because he'd gotten a job at the steel mill. With the finite resource running low, he was brought in to help put the place to rest. A full transition would take years, but the town knew men like him coming meant the beginning of the end. The industry had dried up.

Upon arriving, Tanisha didn't trust the place. If pressed, she couldn't say why. The best answer she could give was: It felt too safe. Tanisha had grown up in the city and was numb to loud noises and erratic personalities; her calm demeanor belied her understanding that danger always lurked right around the corner. But they had moved to a town without corners. Danger didn't need a place to hide, it preferred to fester. First it would smile and bring you German chocolate cake. Then it would wait out in the open on your front porch until it felt good and ready.

Tanisha's daughter, Alice, was named for the writer of a book Tanisha had read in high school. The book was banned. Tanisha read it anyway because she liked the cover. Alice was Tanisha's only child.

Born a full two months early, at thirty-two weeks, she was three pounds, four ounces, and fit in the palm of her father's hand.

I think Alice came early because she couldn't wait to see the world.

However, her premature arrival meant they'd kept her in the hospital for those two months while her lungs grew to their full capacity. There the nurses talked to her on their lunch breaks, the residents checked on her between rotations, and every night at 11:00, her parents came to bathe her and rock her to sleep. They were both dead tired but elated to spend time with their daughter.

From the beginning, Alice was loved. She was always loved.

She will always be loved.

Small-town living agreed with Alice. She loved to explore the forest and play "Let's Get Lost." Her favorite meal was sauerkraut and sausage. She had no tolerance for anything remotely spicy. And she had never met a potato she didn't like. Like her mother, she loved the night sky. But unlike her mother, she was not dazzled by the stars. She loved how the darkness between them went on forever. If she stared long enough, she felt like she could fall up into the vast blackness above.

Alice wasn't a picky child, but she did have a favorite jacket. No matter the weather, she'd wear it. Tanisha hated it. Unable to say no to his daughter, her husband got it for Alice anyway. It had unfinished denim edges and its fluffy white shearling reminded Tanisha of the rich white girls who had stuck gum in her hair on her train rides to school in the city. Even so, Tanisha would have lived as that jacket, wrapped around her daughter, for the rest of her life.

When she turned ten, Alice finally felt the differences between herself and her peers. Ever the optimist, Tanisha let her daughter live in blissful ignorance for as long as she could. Of course Alice was aware of the color of her skin, but she hadn't yet mastered what it meant. At first, the differences were slight and revolved around her hair. To get it done, she went to a lady's house, not a salon. She got braids 'before' she went on vacation. And in swim class, she had to wrap her hair in a tight swim cap or else her mother would "kill" her. She forgot the cap once and cried. She told her instructor about her mother's stance on getting her hair wet, and her mom had to have a meeting with a lady from the state that day. Alice wasn't allowed to say "Mom would kill me" ever again, unless she really, really meant it. Alice was beginning to understand how she was different. She just didn't have all the words yet.

Early summer is fickle. On Friday, June 21, 1985, the temperature dipped just enough to be chilly. Still, Alice begged to go exploring outside with her friends, a request Tanisha almost always denied if there wasn't an adult. Mostly because of the stories about the woods. Always some nonsense about shadows. Tanisha hadn't lived in Johnstown long enough to have mastered the adage "if you think you saw something no, you didn't," but she was wise enough to glean the truth behind the lore. Shadows hid danger. Danger for Black girls was different. It didn't obey the boundaries of stories. For them, it was always real.

But so much time in this small town had made Tanisha easy. She didn't always lock her doors anymore. She had stopped interlacing her keys between her fingers when she walked alone at night. After a few years, her guard had finally come down. For the first time, she agreed and offered Alice her favorite jacket.

"Mom," Alice whined, "I don't need it. It's fine."

"If you get sick, you'll be upset," Tanisha warned. "And don't forget to wear your bandana if you happen to 'find' yourself in the woods." Tanisha looked down at her daughter knowingly. "I put it in the pocket. Please, Munchkin."

Alice looked at the jacket and the bandana and for the first time she understood that these two totems were more than Day-Glo and denim, they were her mother's care. Alice took the jacket and did her best to conceal her smile as she ran out the front door and off to play.

With her jacket around her waist, Alice and her friends streaked past houses and haphazard gardens until they reached the last house on the block before the woods began. The dirt driveway extended past the garage and dissolved into an array of Eastern hemlock trees. At the end of the driveway, there was a boy she'd never seen before.

One of Alice's friends whispered, "He said he found a deer skull last night! There're still brains inside."

Another rolled their eyes to the back of their head and let out a zombie groan, "Braaaainnns . . ."

Without a second thought, all her friends took off toward the tree line. Alice faltered. This new boy looked odd. Too young to be out there alone or very small for his age. He looked angry. For the first time, she felt a hint of her mother's worry. She fished around in her jacket for the bandana. In the afternoon sun, its orange hue made her eyes ache. She would look like a total loser and she knew it.

(continued on Tuesday)

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