Kashmira

Kashmira

The way the sun leaked through the blinds it must have had something to say. Lil’ Miss shifted beneath the covers and let out a sigh. Her hands lay folded in prayer between the cushion of her cheek and the bounty of the pillow. The scent of bacon crept beneath the crack of her bedroom door and made her alert with its smokiness. Still in the midst of a dream, she began to conceive the world outside her bedroom. She drew a kitchen and a stove. A woman, tall, thick and swollen at the belly stood by the stove with one hand pressed into the small of her back and the other holding a skillet over a focused crown of flames. She drew a living room with a borrowed sofa and a man with coarse features and dark eyes of silent torpor. The man sat with his feet propped on a footrest. A steaming cup of coffee fixed in his lap, the Sunday New York Times open to the ‘Arts’ section beside him.

Lil’ Miss’ eyes peeled open. The way the sun leaked through the blinds it drew lines in the air like a musical staff. Through the walls she could hear Papa talking in his improvised, jazz inspired habit—indulgent and thoughtful. Mama responded:

“Fine, then I’ll wake her up myself. I don’t want her to sleep all day when there’s work to be done.”

Papa grumbled.

Lil’ Miss sat up in bed. She rubbed the crust from her eyes and shuffled out into the hallway. Papa’s head barely lifted from the page as she walked past him to the kitchen.

She sat at the kitchen table, burying her head in her folded arms.

“How come you slept so late?” Mama said without looking away from the stove. “Were you staying up playing with them dolls Uncle Curtis brought?”

Lil’ Miss lifted her head. “No, mama. I’m just tired.”

“Well it’s not your birthday yet so don’t go spoiling it by opening your presents too soon. The only thing else you’re getting is a cake.”

“I don’t want a cake.”

“Too late. Once your father finishes the paper he’s gonna pick it up from Carvel. And if he knows any good he’ll go before three to avoid the line.”

Papa grumbled from the living room.

“What about Aunty Necee, is she coming? She can pick up my cake?”

Mama tipped the skillet and a strip of bacon fell into a plate. She cut a section of cantaloupe and placed it beside the bacon strip. As the kettle let out a high whistle she lifted it off the flame and emptied its belly into a bowl of oatmeal She put a lid on the bowl and brought it to the table.

Lil’ Miss sat with her face pressed into the butt of her hand, propped up by her elbow.

“Wait a minute for it,” Mama intoned as she slid the bowl toward the girl.

Mama dug through the refrigerator and withdrew a cluster of red grapes. She placed the grapes on a plate beside the cantaloupe and bacon.

Lil’ Miss removed the lid from the bowl and began to eat.

“There’s so much to do today. I still haven’t put up any decorations. And you know your Aunty; if she comes to anything she’ll invite the whole world and promise them everything. As if I’m cooking for a crowd.” Mama wiped sweat from her brow. She brought the plate of fresh fruit to the table. She lifted a single grape to her mouth and tasted its shape before crushing it between her teeth.

“Wouldn’t it be great if the baby was born on my birthday?” Lil’ Miss said without looking up from her food.

“Child are you insane!” Mama laughed. Papa chuckled from the living room.

“No, really. We could have the same birthday and I’d give her all my presents because I’m almost ten and that’s too old for presents.”

“Well, I’m glad you think so,” said Mama. “You’re becoming a lady already.”

Lil’ Miss lifted Mama’s shirt to reveal a light brown and swollen belly. Lil’ Miss pressed her hand to it. She felt a thump and jumped back.

“She’s moving.”

Mama nodded.

[2]

The way the sun shone in the sky, Harlem looked like a city of gold. The wind undressed the flowering trees, lifting pollen from their stamens. The sidewalks and streets hid beneath this golden dust of fertility and within it a group of young girls jumped rope. The girls at either side of the jumper spun the ropes and sang songs they learned from their sisters:

Uno, dos-ee-ay-say Said east, west,
met my boyfriend at the candy store
He brought me ice cream, he brought me cake
He brought me home with a bellyache
Mama, mama, I’m so sick

A car horn buzzed abruptly. The girls let the ropes fall and rushed to the sidewalk. After the car passed by they had no interest in resuming their game. Instead, one girl ran up her stoop and came back with a container of sidewalk chalk.

Lil’ Miss sat on her stoop, her knees kissing, her feet pointed at each other. She had many questions for Mama: When would the baby come? Would it look like Mama or Papa? Or would it look like Aunty Necee and have her high cheekbones and Asian eyes?

The baby couldn’t come soon enough. Already, Lil’ Miss felt its absence. What would she name her? It’s a girl for sure—Mama said so. Denelle is a good name, and Kashmira is even better. Precious, Brie, Monette. So many names for a baby girl who hasn’t even been born yet.

[3]

The sun dipped in the sky and with it the sidewalks cleared and the laughter trailed off. Lil’ Miss spotted Aunt Necee from a distance or rather she heard the click of her heels and saw a tall silhouette of a woman walking down the street. In the twilight, Aunt Necee could have been an apparition, hauntingly beautiful, young and single, adventurous and amazonian. Lil’ Miss scrambled down the stoop, her pig tails lifting like wings, a glean in her eyes that very few people ever saw—only Aunt Necee and Mama, sometimes.

Lil’ Miss and Aunt Necee embraced, the young girl’s head peaking at the woman’s waist.

“Look at you, sweetheart, all grown up.” Aunt Necee lifted the girl’s chin gently with her hand and studied her face.

“Yes, they’re coming in,” she said.

“Really? Are you sure?”

Aunt Necee moved her head at an angle, “Mmhmm. I see them. You’ve got them sparkles in your eyes.”

Lil’ Miss shivered with elation. Aunt Necee took the girl’s hand and they walked toward the brownstone.

“How’s your daddy?”

“He’s fine.”

“He play any gigs yet?”

“Yes, but just small stuff.”

“Did your Mama cook?”

“Just a little. Not enough for a crowd, I think?”

Aunt Necee laughed. “Why did she say something? I guess she doesn’t like too much company.”

With her free hand Lil’ Miss twirled a pigtail braid, “The baby’s almost here. I felt it kickin’ in Mama’s belly this morning.”

“Yes, it’s coming out sooner than later.”

They ascended the stoop. Lil’ Miss walked ahead of Aunt Necee. She turned the knob. The apartment was dark. All of the lights were off except for a wavering orange glow in the living room. Lil’ Miss tiptoed toward it. She felt Aunt Necee’s hand upon her shoulder.

A small square cake sat on the living room table. There were ten lit candles sticking out from it. Papa sat on the couch and beside him Mama lay with an ice pack on her head and their next-door neighbors, Mrs. Williams and her husband, at Mama’s feet. Mrs. Williams held Mama’s hands, rubbing them reassuringly.

Lil’ Miss’ eyes danced from the cake to Mama and back.

“Hurry, baby.” Aunt Necee whispered.

Mama looked on in silence. Her eyes held the light of the flames. They quivered a bit. Sweat beaded above her brow. Her lips parted to speak but instead they sucked in air and let it out in a gentle breath.

Mrs. Williams turned to Lil’ Miss. “Go on, child. It’s ok, we’ll wait.”

Lil Miss knelt before the living room table. She opened herself to all the air her young lungs could hold. With her eyes shut and lips pursed, she blew at each candle. The way the flames danced upon the wick, as the light in Mama’s eyes, a wish had been granted.