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*
The last time she saw Mama and Daddy, they were shadows inside of a beaten-down truck.
Two glowing figments of smoke shrouded in dimness.
Go on home now... go on! Don't you bother 'nd open up neither store across until we back by mornin'. Y'understand me, little girl?
Mama wants things done her way and isn't afraid to say it. Truthfully, Lisa does too.
Instead of doing her chores, she sleeps.
*
A little before dawn, Lisa wakes nauseated.
Lisa's skin, slick and hot. As if it had been set aflame overnight.
Coffee helps.
She pays 5 cents for a cup while visiting Black Bird Cafe, nodding politely to every greeting. They've known her since Lisa was knee-high. Lisa prefers sitting and nodding along to the camaraderie, tasting roasted chicory root. Coffee tastes better here than on the white side of downtown.
(It's safer here, in general. Lisa doesn't trust the white folk much. They're always haggling prices, sometimes stealing extra coins left out.)
Black Bird Cafe's owner, an elderly Black woman, squeezes Lisa's arm while Lisa quickly thanks her for the helping of pecan pie.
Anythin' you be needin', child... you holler!
Be good for your mama and daddy!
Lisa nods, going for the exit, then running back in after a moment of forgetfulness. Lisa's cheeks reddens.
She remembers to kiss the owner on her cheek.
*
While heading over to the Delta Grocery, not needing to check the locks unlike the Bo Chow & Co. side, Lisa notices another shadow.
"Nah, we ain't open yet," Lisa mumbles and folds her arms impatiently.
A boy, around Lisa's age, mumbles back. His voice rasping.
"You, Lisa?"
She huffs, but not unkind. "Guilty as charged."
"They're dead 'nd gone... they're all dead, m'sorry."
Lisa squints at him as the dimness fades into sunlight illuminating over bloodied, brown features.
The corners of her eyes start to water.
"Who?" she breathes.
*
Put it away. Me 'nd your Mama are allowed to smoke. Not you, baby.
Daddy would be absolutely furious... Lisa never did her evening or morning chores. She had cream in her coffee along with a dessert, without brushing her teeth afterwards. Lisa sits alone with a boy, inside, and puts one of Mama's unlit cigarettes between her quivering lips.
"Give me a damn match, will you," Lisa croaks, her face freshly tear-stained.
The boy, Sammie Moore as he himself told her, apologizes and hangs his head down. The match-box, untouched.
"I... I thought somebody oughta say somethin'... I didn't want to."
Furiously, Lisa lights her own match.
She holds it to the cigarette glowing red before blowing it out. "Didn't want you to neither," Lisa snaps.
When one of Sammie's hands grasps hers, apologetic, Lisa breaks out into another sobbing and coughing fit, accidentally inhaling too much smoke. She determinedly holds out the cigarette to a blood-stained Sammie, face half-gored, and Sammie tentatively accepts her cigarette.
Lisa's fingers re-grasp around his, tightening.
Be gracious to folk, Lisa, baby. They will love you and they will accept you, as long as you extend that courtesy right to them.
Daddy...
"Will you stay with me?" Lisa asks, growing frightened to hear an answer. A 'no'. She can't be alone. "I can... patch you up. If you stay."
Her chest lightens, Lisa's eyes fills with tears of relief, as Sammie nods wordless.
She washes out the large, cold-water vegetable tub after he has used it.
She stitches him up.
She lies on the floor of Delta Grocery, beside Sammie slightly jerking and whimpering through a nightmare.
She sleeps.
*