Bertina look down at me. She love me. She say it nap time, right after she take my teeth out. “Sleep tight, Stanley. I love you.” She lean over me, blow soft on my fuzzy white whiskers, say, “Feel the good air.”
I got bad air when I came out. Momma say that. “Don’t mind the people, Stanley. You got bad air.” I get good air now from Bertina. She rub the Vapo on my lip and chest when I get my bad cold, so I get good air up my nose. She always say, “Go out the yard and get some air.” I blow that good air in my harmonka. The good bees come, they hear my music. The bad bees come, I run inside.
Bath time now. Bertina put her chocolate finger in my water. “Ooh! That’s too cold, Stanley!” she say. “Let me run it hot.” She turn the handles and it run hot. She reach over for No More Tears.
I feel the hot on my butt-butt. It feel good, like Bertina. She put my bubbles in, smell like them roses in the back yard. I love my bubbles. I love Bertina. She my best giver in the home, light my ciggie in the yard, pick it up for me. It always fall. Wipe my mouth. Find my harmonka when I lose it. I always lose it. She keep it behind her back and I know how to play the game. I smile, then she smile and say, “What’s the words?” And I say “Pretty-please-thank-you,” real fast, cause I want my harmonka back big time. Then she show it and hand it over, say, “Play me a song.” I play “Love me Tender.” I love Elvis.
***
“Bertina! Get out here. Wendell peed himself!”
Wendell always pee his pants. Stupid butt Wendell.
Bertina shake her head. “You handle it!”
“Half-wit won’t let me take his pants off.”
That Trixanne. Bad giver. Always trouble.
“Shit! Pardon my French, Stanley.” Bertina always talk French.
“You lie tight. Be right back.”
“Sure, Sissy Bert, sure.”
Warm water feel good. I’m a big baby, Bertina say. One of Bertina’s babies. Stanley love Bertina’s others babies too. Beautiful chocolate babies. Alandra and Kiandra. She bring them in the home on the Sunday. They ask me for songs all day. I play “Isn’t She Lovely.” They light my ciggie. They love me. Bertina come out, check on us. I take care of them babies. They play jump rope, we jump hard. I fall down, they get me up. Bertina babies make me laugh.
Trixanne bring her bad vanilla babies sometimes. Big pimple boy Clete. Little sister Tiffany. Clete show me his jackknife, make the sharpie part go on his chest, say ooh and laugh. “You want to feel it, Stanley?” I shake my head fast but he put the point on my chest and press it till it hurts. I don’t say ouch. I look away and he laugh. They make faces and giggle. I cry at my room.
***
It nice and warm now in the tub. Loosey-goosey. I try to lie tight. They shout down the hall. “Little white girl. How you gonna do I ain’t around? You can’t take no man’s pants off?”
“Don’t be calling me white girl. You like it I called you nigger?”
“It ain’t the same. You know it.”
“I know no such thing! Help me pull them down. Hold his leg.”
Mrs. Muldoon come up the stairs. She walk loud.
“You two at each other?”
“Bertina called me white girl.”
“Bertina!”
“She called me nigger!”
Bertina tell me don’t say that word. I say chocolate. I like chocolate. Chunky bar. Bertina. My two favorite.
***
Water run hot-hot now. Feel like them bad bees in the yard. They got yellow stripes. They look pretty. They bite bad. It hurt a long time. Bertina kiss it. Get the twingers out. Take the stingy-thingy out. Put the mud on me.
Trixanne yell out in the hall again.
“Wendell peed on me! He does it on purpose!”
Bertina talk hard to Trixanne. “Shush, you. Go change.”
“Don’t you shush me!”
Mrs. Muldoon say loud words a long time. Bertina come back soon, I know. Chase them bad bees away. Bertina say the good bees fluffy, little pussycats with wings. They fly onto my finger. They don’t bite. They tickle. They buzz in roses.
***
Shit.
I talk French.
Hot-hot water. Many bad bees. Good bees, pretty-please-thank-you, come inside my tub. Smell my bubbles. Kill them bad bees.
Can’t lie tight. Can’t hold my head up. I go down, like when Bertina got me in the pool at the Y. Can’t come up no more. Can’t get no good air. Bad bees bite, bite, bite. I scream, try to get good air. Water come in my mouth. Sorry-pretty-please, Bertina.
Good bees, please come kill them bad bees. Clete’s jackknife press hard inside my chest, where Bertina rub in the Vapo. I shake hard.
Now I lay me down to sleep.
***
Trixanne yell in the hall again, voice far away. “Bathroom’s flooding! Get out here!”
Bertina whisper, “Stanley!” Real far away. Then she scream “Stanley!” many times, come in here fast. She reach in bubbles, pull me up. She crying.
Stanley fly to back yard, be with them good bees. So light now, big bee balloon. Bertina babies there, play jump rope with me all day. Bertina pet my fuzzy bee hair with her chocolate finger. “Stanley’s my good bee now.”
Bertina hands behind her back. “What’s the words, Stanley?”
“Pretty-please-thank-you!”
She show one hand. I fly over. Yay! My bee harmonka! She show other hand. Yay! My bee Chunky!
“Play me a song.”
I play “Wonderful World.”
“And I think to myself.” Bertina always sing that with me. I like them words by that chocolate man with the strong arms. I think too. My harmonka sound just like them good bees buzzing. Bertina smell just like them roses.
Ronald Jackson writes with little regard to genre. His poems, stories, and non-fiction have appeared in The Chattahoochee Review, Painted Bride Quarterly, Tar River Poetry, and other journals and anthologies. From his home and cafés in Durham, NC, you can find him working on a short fiction collection, a dark crime novel, and an occasional side dish of poetry or memoir. Recent recognitions include finalist in the 2016 Lamar York Prize in Non-Fiction and finalist for the 2106 Lascaux Prize in Flash Fiction.
–Art by Felix Lu