An Apple a Day

After four long, grueling hours, the snow-white box braids were finished. Sheila turned fourteen on Monday and wanted to look extra special at school. Her mom, Queenie, grumbled under her breath as she looked at the price on the card reader. 

“$200 for a hairstyle. It ain’t like ya momma broke or nuttin’.”

Sheila ignored her mother, staring at the salon's various mirrors. The white braids contrasted her dark skin beautifully. She looked like an African princess, but she couldn’t be a queen because that was her momma. 

Sheila skipped her way to the bus stop as Queenie trotted behind. Queenie’s phone rang, making her stop to answer the phone. 

“Yeah?” she answered. “Yeah, she got ‘em. She’ll see you later, but she with me now. Well, yeah we takin’ the bus. You won’t come help me fix the car! Oh, fuck off!” She hung up the phone with a huff. 

Was that Uncle Tommy? Sheila wanted to ask but knew better. Queenie could talk her ear off if given the chance. 

Once she was off the phone, Queenie continued walking along the sidewalk. 

Damn, bastard, she thought, if you care so much about Sheila’s well-being, you wouldn’t have shot her daddy at the Walmart. Stupid idiot, pig. 

The mother-daughter duo made it to the bus stop right as it parked. The bus wasn’t that full, yet they sat at the front. 

“Hey, Ms Apple,” the bus driver, Darrel, greeted. 

“Hey, D, how you doin’ today?” Queenie smiled. 

“Oh, you know, same old same old. You look very pretty, Sheila.”

“Thank you, sir!” Sheila beamed. 

Sheila loved it when people noticed her. Positive affirmations made her heart swell and flutter. 

“You ‘avin’ a birthday party?” Darrel asked. 

“At school,” Sheila replied. 

“I have to work,” Queenie snapped. 

Darrel’s eyebrows flew to his forehead, and he quieted himself. 

“You are really pretty,” a boy in the adjacent seat said. Sheila turned to him, entranced by the white boy complimenting her. “I’m Ferran.” He extended his hand towards Sheila. 

Sheila eyed Queenie, who scrolled through her phone; the clacking of her long nails against the screen annoyed Sheila. 

“I’m Sheila,” she whispered. 

Ferran’s eyes flicked up to Queenie and chuckled without a sound. “It’s your birthday?” he whispered.

“I turn fourteen on Monday,” Sheila giggled with glee.

“Well, happy early birthday.”

“Thank you!”

“Say,” Ferran said, “you go to Clearwater?”

“Indeed-y!” Sheila said. 

“My sister used to go there. Her grades were so good that she skipped eighth grade.”

“I can’t wait till I can be in high school,” Sheila said dreamily. 

“I’m a junior.”

“You are!” Sheila’s eyes widened like saucers. “What’s it like?”

“Oh, you know, classes and friends. Nothing really changes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe it, Sheila, these are the best years of your life.”

Sheila sighed with a smile. “Ferran,” she whispered, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No,” he said, “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I’ve never had a boyfriend before. I just wondered what it was like.”

“I think the best way to describe it is a really, really good friend. Someone who you can count on for a good time. You’ve never had a boyfriend? Not even a fake one when you were little? I’m technically married to my best friend from kindergarten,” he laughed.

“Momma would never allow it. Says I’m too young.” 

“My parents have the same rule,” Ferran said, “Doesn’t mean I follow it. Plus, I mean it, there’s a reason it’s called being girlfriend and boyfriend. Do you have a phone?” Ferran asked. 

Sheila nodded, “I’m not allowed to have it out, though. It stays at home and at school.”

“Do you know the number? You’d be awesome next year with a senior as your friend.”

Sheila’s eyes widened in surprise, her jaw touching the floor, “You really mean that?”

“I do.”

“Okay,” she giggled and whispered her number to him. 

He punched the numbers as she said them, sending her a HELLO text. “There, now you’ll have my number when you check your phone. My mom sometimes checks my phone. Does your mom do that too?”

“No, she just disabled almost everything on it.”

“We could still call each other, though, right?”

“Yeah! I FaceTime my friends all the time.”

“I FaceTime my friends too. Especially when I’m bored.”

The bus came to a stop, making Sheila pout, but she wouldn’t let Queenie see her sadness. Ferran waved slightly, and Sheila’s eyes fluttered. She couldn’t rid her mouth of its smile. 

“You really like your hair that much?” Queenie asked. 

“Oh, yes, Momma,” Sheila lied, “I know it was a lot, but I love it so much. It was so worth it!”

“I hope so, you ain’t gettin’ that taken out until it falls off you head.”

“Yes, Momma.”

“Now, ‘member, we get home, I have to go to work. You are to do all your chores while ‘m gone.”

“Yes, Momma.”

Sweep and wash the floors, vacuum the carpets in every room, and wash all the dishes. Start and finish the laundry; don’t you dare leave it, Sheila? Dust everywhere. You know I’m allergic, Sheila.

“You’ll be home for dinner, right, Momma?”

“I don’t know, but you got leftovers.”

“I’ve had leftovers for four nights in a row.”

“You were the one that wanted your hair did, that costs you food.”

The walk from the bus stop to the Apple residence borderlined abuse. The mammoth hill killed anyone who dared to walk its sidewalk. Queenie’s heels clicked on, though. She wore her best wherever she went, heels and all. Sheila wore sneakers, a shirt, and jeans, nothing fancy like Queenie. Her mother always jeered at Sheila for wearing such unladylike things, but Queenie bought the clothes for her anyway. By the time the duo reached the top of the hill, Sheila felt the weight of her new braids. Queenie never wore any kind of hair. She only went to the salon to cut off all her baby hair in the summer. Sheila loved her hair and couldn’t understand how Queenie could cut it away. Queenie had all the reason to keep it short, though. Sheila never knew, but Queenie’s job was as a stripper. She’d put on a wig for a performance and leave it at the club. She never got recognized in public when she cleaned her head. One of her regular’s money paid for her baby’s new hairstyle. She’d hold her pride in having Sheila have a happy childhood. 

Queenie clicked her tongue in disgust, “What you doin’ here, Tommy?”

The white police officer stood on the Apples’ porch with thumbs tucked under his vest. “Queenie, I’m here to help. Hi, Sheila, you look beautiful.”

“Thanks, Uncle Tommy.”

“Tommy, I don’t need your help.”

“You just said on the phone—”

“I know what I said, but I’m gonna be late for work.”

“I can drive you.”

“Drive me? In your cruiser, I don’t think so.”

“Then why don’t I stay with Sheila. She shouldn’t be alone anyway.”

“She’s thirteen, Tommy, she can take care of herself.”

“Yes, but I could work on your car while you’re at work.”

“Just don’t bother, Tommy. Sheila, go inside,” Queenie ordered. 

Sheila bowed her head and toddled off. She used the singular house key on her necklace to unlock the door, leaving the glaring adults outside. Sheila didn’t bother trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. Instead, Sheila turned on the TV to the only working channels. Music blared from the speakers: jazz. Momma listened to this earlier; I don’t know why she likes it. It just sounds like white noise. Shelia found the recent pop station, Lizzo ended right as the speakers caught up to the program. Kane Brown began singing to Sheila, her hips moving with the rhythm. 

“Tommy, get off my porch,” Queenie clicked her tongue again as she heard her daughter’s music from in the street. 

“I’m just trying to help, Queenie.”

“You should’ve thought about that before you killed her daddy.”

Tommy looked up at the sky, pissed off to high heaven. “I didn’t mean to. I had just gotten out of the academy. I was just doing what I was told.”

“Yeah, and a jury believed you too. Hell, even Winnie believed you. But that doesn’t change the fact that Marquise is gone.”

“I know, Queenie. I live with that every day of my life. I’m trying my best to do right by you and this community.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need you to do right by me.”

Queenie stormed into the house, slamming and locking the door behind her. Sheila swayed by the kitchen sink as she sang along with Kendrick Lamar. Queenie ignored her daughter's request to get her work bag. Her duffle bag tucked itself behind Marquise’s old golf clubs. It’s his clubs that made Sheila want to play golf as a sport; high school held more opportunities than grades previously. 

When Queenie left her bedroom and returned to the living room, Sheila sat on the coffee table, staring at the TV screen. She had changed it to the news station. 

“Today, a young black man was held down by police. Bystanders filmed the encounter all the way up to the man’s death,” the white lady on TV sounded so calm. 

Queenie snatched the remote away from Sheila. “No more TV.”

“But Momma—” Sheila tried to argue. 

“No buts. You listen to your thoughts and nothing more.” Queenie left with the remote to boot. 

Sheila had no choice but to continue her chores in silence. 

*DING*

Sheila jumped at the sudden noise. She found her phone in the junk drawer with a new notification. 

Unknown number: Hey, Sheila.

She furrowed her brow but then realized it was Farren. She smiled as she wrote back.

Me: Hey Farren

Farren: How r u?

Me: Im alirght

Farren: Is your mom home?

Me: she at wokr 

Me: she might be back by dinner who knows

Farren: Would it be a bad idea for me to come over?

Me: youd be easy to sneak in

Farren: Send me your address, and I’ll bring some dinner for us.

Me: Really

Farren: Really. 

Me: oky

Sheila sent her address to a boy she hardly knew, but anything would be better than silence and leftovers. She read the book she had assigned to her at school. They were reading The Little House on the Prairie for their Western Expansion unit. Sheila didn’t think it was a bad book; it was tiresome and unrelatable. 

Queenie finished her first set at Venus Nightclub, gathering up the tips of ones, fives, and tens.

“Oh, look, a twenty,” Queenie sighed. 

“Hey, Queenie,” Lucy greeted, coming in for her shift late. Again.

“Hey, Lucy, Billie okay?”

“Oh, yeah, little munchkin just wouldn’t let go of my leg. How’s the guys out there tonight?”

“Not as grabby as last night.”

“Oh, good. I had a hell of a time trying to explain the handprint on my ass to my husband. Some of these boys are just too rough.”

“You ain’t wrong, suge.”

“How many sets are you doing?”

“Just two. I got one left and I’m going home.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I wanna take Sheila to church tomorrow.” And get some free food to take home.

“Oh, I gotcha. It’s Sheila’s birthday Monday, right?”

“Right.”

“I’ll be sure to get her a present.”

“You don’t have too.”

“Oh, please, Queenie, it’s no trouble.”

“Please don’t,” Queenie snapped. “She doesn’t know what I do. I don’t need her asking questions,” she explained quickly. 

Queenie escaped the dressing room to the bar. 

“Water?” the bartender, Jamie, asked.

“Yes, please,” Queenie replied, “and keep people away from me please.”

“You got it.”

Farren walked onto the front porch with a bag of Bojangles in his arms. 

“Farren!” Sheila cheered as she opened the door.

“I didn’t know what you liked so I bought chicken tenders,” his face fell slightly, “Is that okay?”

“Yeah! Come in!” Before someone sees you. 

Farren ducked under the door frame — even if he would never hit the doorway. For Farren’s entire life as a basketball player, he was constantly told how tall he was. In all reality, Farren was only 6’ 2”, but he still curled into himself, ducking down low around everyone. He had to quit basketball that season because his back had severely curved. 

Sheila noticed his hunch and offered to have them sit on the floor to eat. Farren smiled brightly at Sheila and accepted. 

“I got you coleslaw, I hope you don’t mind,” Farren said as he pulled out her chicken meal.

“I don’t mind,” Sheila replied sweetly, “I’ll eat anything.” Farren was nervous, though Sheila couldn’t understand why. Sheila cleared her throat and asked, “Why are you nervous?”

Farren leaned his elbows to his knees. “Well, I just don’t want you to think I’m a bad guy. My sister really wanted chicken so I got her food while I got us food. I’m not trying to be…”

“What?”

“I’m not,” he shrugged and coughed, “I didn’t get the chicken because you’re black.”

“Oh!” Sheila exclaimed, “Farren, it’s okay. I didn’t think anything of it!”

Farren swallowed hard, “I have a buddy who calls me on my shit a lot of the time.”

“Well,” Sheila sighed, “it doesn’t bother me. I love fried chicken!” She made Farren smile and straighten his back a bit. “Can I ask you something about high school?”

“Sure,” Farren said, biting into a wing.

“What are the sports like?”

“Mm,” Farren swallowed, “Well, there’s the basics: football, basketball (my sport), volleyball, soccer, and cheer. There’s the swim team, and the golf team. Track… there’s a lot.”

“I really wanna play golf.”

“That’s cool. It’s kind of competitive though.”

“And basketball isn’t?”

“You just gotta be tall,” Farren sighed. 

“You don’t like being tall, do you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yeah,” Sheila laughed bluntly. 

“I’ve messed up my back real bad. They said I can’t play this season.”

“I’m sorry. That must suck.”

“I still got my friends so… it’s not like I’m a loser all of a sudden.”

Sheila nodded, eating her food quietly. Between bites, she asked, “Where’s your sister?”

“I took ‘em home.”

“Are your parents missing you?”

“It’s date night. Technically, thanks to the twenty bucks I gave Dani, I’ve been taking care of her all night.”

“I wish I had a big brother.”

Farren shrugged, “You got any cousins?”

“Nah, Auntie Winnie’s sterile.”

“Oh.”

“It’s okay, she talks about it all the time. A little bit too much sometimes. Always talki’ ‘bout how the doctors took her whole system because of some itty bitty tumor.”

“She had cancer?”

Sheila looked up at the ceiling, “I don’t know. No one’s ever called it that before.”

“Your mom really tries to protect you, huh?”

“Yeah.” The front door jangled, and Sheila’s eyes went wide. “Shit!” she cursed. 

Together, they gathered all the food quickly and ran into Sheila’s bedroom.

“Sheila!” Queenie yelled from the living room.

“Stay here,” she whispered to Farren. Sheila walked out to the living room, trying to remain calm. Queenie sat on the couch with her legs spread out like a man. “Hey, Momma!” she said a bit too cheerily.

“Sheila, sit down, baby,” Queenie said, patting the couch cushion beside her. 

“What’s goin’ on, Momma?”

“Sheila…” Queenie didn’t know the right words to say, “Sheila, something’s happened and you deserve to know about it.”

“Momma?”

“Tommy won’t be comin’ around here no mo’.”

“Why not?”

“Because the bastard—!” Queenie took in a sharp breath, “That man on the news that got killed today, you ‘member?”

“Yeah, Momma.”

“Well, Uncle Tommy was there. He killed that man,” Queenie’s voice wavered with anger, “Him and those other pigs.”

“Is Auntie Winnie leavin’ ‘im?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. If he eva shows up around here again, you do not hesitate to call the police.”

“But, Momma, he is the police. What police gonna do about ‘im?”

“I want you to call the police and tell them a white man is tryin’ kidnap you. Tryinna break into your house. Something!”

“What if I had a friend come home with me after school?” Sheila offered. “Like… a white friend?”

Queenie laughed, “You gotta white friend?”

“I do. You might not like though.”

“And why not?”

“Because… he’s a guy friend.”

“You friends with a white boy?”

“Yes, Momma, but he’s super considerate and nice.”

“How old is this boy?”

“He’s a junior.”

“In high school?” Queenie all but shouted. 

“Yes, Momma, but—”

“No! No more! My baby girl with a high school boyfriend. What am I gonna do with you?”

“We’re just friends, Momma!” Sheila argued, “He ain’t my boyfriend. I don’t like him like that.”

“How long you been talkin’ to this boy?”

“Not long. Just today in fact. We met on the bus.”

“So he knows where we live?”

“Yes, Momma. He… he even bought me food.”

Queenie’s face fell to her knees. “He’s still here, ain’t he?”

“I’d get the belt if I said yes, right, Momma?”

“No!” Queenie shrugged, “He’d get the belt!”

“Momma, please! He’s been nothin’ but kind to me! We were just talkin’.”

Queenie took a deep breath. “I tell you what,” she clicked her tongue, “I’m gonna go see my sista, and you are gonna that boy out of this house. And if you eva want another man in this house, he betta be here while I’m here. Got it?”

“Yes, Momma.”

“Good,” Queenie tried not to snarl as she slammed the front door behind her. 

Sheila grimaced, walking back to her bedroom. Ferran was gone with the window of her bedroom open. A note was written on the Bojangles bag: I HEARD EVERYTHING. I’LL SEE YOU AGAIN, I PROMISE. Sheila’s heart swelled. She closed the window before going back to her food and Laura Ingalls. 

Queenie arrived at her sister’s to find Winnie sitting on the porch, a cigarette perched in her mouth. 

“You come to gloat?” Winnie asked without looking at her sister. 

“I should, but I got bigger matters.”

“Oh?”

“Sheila had a boy over while I was at work.”

“Oh. Well, Queenie, I hate to tell ya this but you can’t control your daughter. She’s too much like her daddy.”

“Where’s his killer?” 

“Lockup. Listen, sis, you either want to talk about your kid growin’ up and you ain’t liking it or we can talk about the trigger happy husband I chose. One or the other, not both.”

Queenie sighed, sitting on the rickety steps. “What am I gonna do?”

“Not assume the worst. You assumed the worst with Marquise, it’s why you never wanted him to know you was pregnant. And you and I both know that you regret tellin’ him because then he wouldn’t’ve been in Walmart that day.”

Queenie clicked her tongue — even though she knew her sister was right. “He was perfect,” Queenie cried. 

“Tommy was too once. He went to that academy and got all that power. They gonna send him to jail this time.”

“How you know that?”

“Check the news. Tommy’s face is all over the headlines. BLM is all over it. Shoutin’ for justice.”

“They’re not wrong, are they?”

“No. They just don’t know the black woman that he’ll be leaving behind.”

Queenie sighed, “I hate how much you love him.”

“I wish he’d just given up that badge when Marquise died. He couldn’t give up that gun, that taser, those cuffs. He couldn’t give up the power.”

Queenie’s heart heaved. “Sheila’s boy is white.”

“White doesn’t mean killa, Queenie.”

“I know. I just don’t know what his intentions are. Is he gonna hurt Sheila by stringin’ her along for a laugh?”

“That was you, Queenie. You can’t put what happened to you on your daughter. Just like you can’t pin the actions of one person on an entire race. We can’t help who we love, Queenie. Whether that gay or lesbian, or black and white. If Sheila loves this white boy, then you give a chance. And if he hurts her, you know the whole block got you back.”

Queenie laughed. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Go home, Queenie, and apologise to your daughter. Teach her adults can make mistakes, just like her Auntie Winnie.”

“Winnie,” Queenie sighed, “You’re not a fuck up.”

“Thanks, sis.”

Winnie stepped out her cigarette and walked back into the house. Queenie trailed back towards her own home. She told herself everything would be fine if the boy remained. She’d go into her bedroom and leave the two alone. When she got home, the house was eerily silent. She tiptoed to Sheila’s bedroom, finding her daughter on the floor with a biscuit in one hand and her school book in the other. Her mouth hung up as she snored. Queenie left her to rest, one movement, and she’d be awake for ten hours anyway; it wasn’t worth it. Queenie retreated to the living room, pulling the TV remote from her purse. She pressed POWER and watched the TV spring to life. Queenie muted the news anchors, but the subtitles appeared to give guidance. She watched as Tommy appeared in handcuffs. 

HE WAS A CRIMINAL, the subtitles proclaimed, SO I TREATED HIM LIKE A CRIMINAL.

“That don’t mean you kill ‘im,” Queenie hissed. 

The news annoyed her, so she turned the TV off. She leaned back on the couch and huffed. Church tomorrow seemed like a bad idea, but that was probably just from how shit the Saturday had been. Queenie was exhausted; she forced herself off the couch, grabbing her duffle bag of secrets. She entered her bedroom, simply throwing the duffle in the closet. She tumbled into bed, falling asleep as soon as she hit the pillow.