No Laughter Here (7 page)

You do not apologize when you are not sorry.
You do not pretend that you've learned your lesson even if you are allowed back into class by saying those two little words. Even if Vice Principal Skinner promises to take your reasons into account. Even if your mother orders you to apologize and is humiliated and angry when you will not. Even if Miss Spenser uses your refusal to apologize as a weapon against you and your mother. Even if you will face an unimaginable punishment when you get home. You do not apologize when you know that you would do it again.

My mother was furious. Too furious to speak to me as we walked home.

“Go upstairs,” she said. “Don't come out for any reason whatsoever.” She sounded like Auntie Cass telling my cousins, “Go get me a tree switch.”

 

I was called downstairs for dinner later.

I could bear my mother's anger because it made me brave, like a warrior going through a trial. That was how
I felt fighting for Victoria. Like the true Girl Warrior my dad always says I am.

What I couldn't take was my father's disappointment. His woundedness. His face.

“Why, Akilah? Why?”

“I can't talk about it,” I said.

“Why?” he persisted. “You don't have to be afraid of Juwan.”

His babying me made Mom fly into a rage. “She better be afraid of
me
! She better be afraid of what
I
might do!”

I was sent to my room to reflect.

 

The doorbell rang. I peeked out of my window and saw the top of Victoria's head. She had brought my books and homework and probably my classwork for today and tomorrow. That's what your “class buddy” does when you are sick. Nelson stood at her side.

I wanted to love Nelson once again and feel myself falling over a cliff at the sight of him. I kept myself steady, remembering that Nelson didn't stand tall when Victoria needed him. Only
I
was prepared to do that.

I watched Victoria and Nelson walk past the elm trees and out of view.

 

For the next three school days I had to stay with Miss Lady while my mother went to work. Miss Lady seemed pleased to have something to do besides walking Gigi and picking bugs off her rosebush. She sat on a stool and watched as I
converted decimals into fractions. She watched as I read two chapters of
Last Summer with Maizon
. Then she watched as I wrote my book report.

“None of that staring into space, young lady,” she said whenever I paused to collect my thoughts.

“I have to think before I write,” I explained. This is true, because my mother goes through my reports and essays and writes, “What do you mean by this?” whenever she thinks I'm talking out of my head.

“No dawdling, Akilah. I want your mother to see your progress.”

Mom made it clear that I was not to enjoy myself in Miss Lady's home. There was to be no TV, no radio, no long talks about nothing, and no playing with Gigi. Obviously Mom knows nothing about Gigi. That fussy little pom-pom doesn't like kids and doesn't play with anyone.

At noon Miss Lady made lunch for us. Tuna salad with mustard, no mayo. She said mayo was too oily and unsettling. She gave me an apple instead of cookies or chips. Miss Lady said young people were too fat and full of junk. That made me laugh, the way she said it. Full of junk.

Miss Lady is slender. Never had any kids. At least I didn't see any pictures anywhere, only framed ones of her and Gigi. Right then I decided that twenty years from now, I'd forgive Nelson and marry him. I didn't want to have a house filled with only dog pictures.

I got started on science, my last subject. All I had to
do was read a chapter, but Miss Lady didn't believe me.

“Then tell me about these”—she squinted to get a better look—“sharks.”

Miss Lady followed along as I told her about the evolution of sharks over 400 million years. When she was satisfied that I had been studying and not making stuff up, she said, “That's good. Continue reading.”

I was glad she didn't quiz me afterward. My eyes might have been following the words in the chapter, but my mind was on Victoria. I was missing her. Our silences together. Her shoulder next to mine as we sit in the school yard. Then I missed Ms. Saunders, and school activities, and recess. I missed the lunchroom smell on pizza days. The unmarked surface of my desk. The intercom announcements in the morning. Working with stencils in art. Learning a new song from Kenya.

When you start to miss people and things from the depths of your soul, you can taste, see, and feel every good thing you're missing. You don't recall the bad parts. That is for sure. After three days of sitting in Miss Lady's house, reading and writing and eating mustard tuna sandwiches, I didn't have one thought of Juwan. Not one. Even the details of Victoria's horrible operation started to cloud up in my mind.

I understood why people are sent to prison. It's so they will miss everything good around them and regret what they did to be incarcerated. That would have made a good word of the day for Victoria and me.
Incarcerated
. I was tired of being incarcerated.

By my last day of being away from school and cut off from my privileges, I didn't feel like a warrior standing tall for Victoria.

I wanted to play video games with my dad.

I wanted to sit up under my mom while she scratched my scalp and braided my hair. We hadn't done that since I was nine and declared myself old enough to do my own hair.

I wanted to be with my 5–2 classmates, raising my hand like a maniac.

I wanted to get back into my world.

 

The doorbell chimed at a quarter of six. For the last time Mom had come to collect me. Before we left, she opened my loose-leaf binder while Miss Lady reported my activities and confirmed that I hadn't enjoyed myself one bit.

I said thank you and good-bye to Miss Lady. Gigi was glad to see me go. She jumped and barked, showing more excitement than she had during the entire three days of my incarceration. Mom also thanked Miss Lady and gave her money, which Miss Lady said was not necessary. Then we walked down to our house in silence.

I washed up, made the salad, and set the table. Then Mom, Dad, and I sat down, said the blessing, and passed the food. For the fifth and final time Mom asked, “Are you ready to explain yourself, Akilah?”

For the fifth and final time I told my parents, “No. I am not.”

“I hope you've used this time out productively,”
Vice Principal Skinner said. Today he wore his blue suit.

“Oh, she has,” my mother spoke up. I felt a little sorry for Mom. It was hard for her, suddenly being the mother of the bad kid.

Mr. Skinner was also sympathetic toward her. “I don't doubt you, Mrs. Hunter,” he said. His eyes were kind.

To me he was stern. “Akilah, we do not solve problems with our fists,” he said. “Violence is never a solution.”

A framed portrait of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. hung on Mr. Skinner's wall, just above his head. You couldn't look at Vice Principal Skinner sitting behind his desk without seeing Dr. King.

While Mr. Skinner talked about problem solving, I thought, Maybe I wouldn't have punched Juwan if I hadn't known what they did to Victoria in that doctor's office. Maybe I could have outsmarted Juwan, or told Mrs. Anderson on him.

The fact was, I knew what had happened to Victoria
and I was mad. Sick, angry, and mad. I
told
Juwan not to mess with her, but he wouldn't stop. He just kept on and kept on until he hit her. Then I stepped up to defend her. I had to. No one else would.

Suddenly I felt stronger. Not broken down, like when I sat in Miss Lady's house. I knew why I hit Juwan and why I wouldn't apologize.

“Say something, Akilah,” my mother urged. She was still humiliated and embarrassed that Miss Spenser had outmothered her.

“Can I return to my class now?”

 

Everything looked the same when I entered the classroom and took my place next to Victoria. Juwan snickered at me, but I couldn't care less. Only Ms. Saunders's opinion bothered me. I was glad to be back in class, but I could barely face her. If I did, I would have seen the betrayal and disappointment in her eyes, even behind her glasses.

Ms. Saunders and I were supposed to be starting over on a clean slate, but I had gone back on our deal. I was not the Akilah she knew I could be. I was a bad kid who got suspended for fighting.

Still, I was determined to keep my vow to Victoria. I wouldn't try to explain myself. Not even to get on Ms. Saunders's good side.

 

Victoria and I found our usual spot during recess. Jerilyn came over as soon as we sat down.

“I hope you know I can't play with you anymore,” she said to me. “Because you've been suspended.”

Jerilyn had pink teddy bears in her scrunchie. She waited for a response, but I wouldn't give her one. She left us alone.

 

“Did you get my e-mail?”

Victoria nodded.

“I didn't tell them,” I said.

“I know.”

“How are you sure?” I asked.

Victoria looked me over from head to toe, then said, “I thought you might tell if your mother beat you. But I see you have no welts or bruises on your legs.”

“My mother'd never beat me. And even if she did, I still wouldn't tell.”

“I'm glad,” she said. “I thought you might start to tell a little, then tell everything.”

“I know,” I said. “But I didn't. I kept my lips zipped. And I won't apologize, either.”

“I know.”

We had four more minutes before recess ended. Victoria didn't say another word while we sat out by the hopscotches, but she didn't have to. I replayed her saying “I'm glad” and “I know” in my head like songs. Besides those one-word answers she gave in class, I was the only person she really talked to. I was honored.

I was still on punishment, although Dad had
long ago caved in. I felt sorry for him. He had no one to play with, so he raised our basketball hoop up to NBA height because it was about time I learned to shoot a proper jumper.

Nothing had changed as far as Mom was concerned. She was determined to teach me a lesson. I knew she felt betrayed after all of our backyard tea talks. When we were down in Silver Spring, she bragged to her sisters about how we talked openly about everything. In reply Auntie Cass said, “Mark my words, Baby. That will soon change.”

In spite of being on punishment, I didn't miss TV like I thought I would. Besides, everyone talked about what was on TV in the lunchroom the next day. It was doing stuff on my computer that I missed. I could use my computer, but “for educational purposes only.” Mom made herself perfectly clear. While I was up in my room, there was to be no playing music, no endless surfing, and no computer games. “No amusement whatsoever” were her exact words.

She didn't want to hear any laughter, period. She was still mad that I wouldn't talk or apologize. As always, Dad tried to jolly me at the dinner table that evening. Mom gave him a look.

My homework was done. Plus the extra-credit work. Everything checked and rechecked. My school clothes were ready for the next day. My backpack was loaded. I had two hours before bedtime. Two whole hours, with nothing to do but stare at the paint on the walls. How many times could I read the same books on my bookshelf? I was going to die of boredom.

I wanted to talk to Victoria, but even if I could call her on the phone, I'd have to do all the talking. I'd slip in something funny to make sure she was listening on the other end. And then she'd hang up on me.

It wasn't fair that we couldn't laugh together. I mean, I understood why she didn't laugh out loud, but we should be able to laugh, just between us.

Then I realized I had a purpose for being on the computer. Mom said I could use my PC for educational purposes, and finally I had one. My search wouldn't involve laughter or amusement of any kind.

I powered up my computer and turned down the sound controls so I couldn't be heard. Instantly I was out on the web. All I had to do was search, but for what? Girls with no laughter? It wasn't like looking up menstruation, where all you need is a topic and correct spelling. I didn't have a name to start with.

I thought hard. What they did to Victoria was cruel,
so I typed in
cruelty
. That was too broad. I tried
extreme cruelty
and got links to animal rights articles, stuff about the death penalty, and a heavy metal band. Then I said to myself, “Akilah, use all the clues. Use what you know,” so I typed in
cruelty to girls in Africa
. It took a couple of seconds for the search engine to pull everything together, but
ka-bang
!—236 sites found. I was in the right place.

At first all I saw were links to circumcision web sites, but that couldn't be right. Circumcision is for baby boys. There's nothing to circumcise on a girl. We don't have extra skin covering our privates. We just have what we have. But then the next link said, “Female circumcision.”

Female circumcision?

Then another link said, “Female genital mutilation, another term for Female circumcision.” I knew
genital
, from the backyard tea talks and from
Paths to Discovery
, but
mutilation
gave me trouble. It had to be a form of mutation and mutant. You read enough comic books, you know about mutants. Things that change. I right clicked on the word
mutilation
. “Maim, disfigure, destroy.”

That was what they did to Victoria. They mutilated her.

That sick feeling came over me. I wanted to understand, but I didn't want to know. I was stalling. Scrolling to see which site I would enter.

One said, “FGM practiced in the United States.” I couldn't believe it. It wasn't just in Africa. It was here, too. And in other countries. But no one was talking about it. It wasn't in the newspapers or on the evening news.

I was running out of hiding places. I couldn't believe
there were so many sites. If I was going to learn more, I had to enter.

Then one link caught my eye, probably because the summary began with quotation marks. A real person talking. I clicked on it. I read aloud, but in a whisper:

“I am nine. My name is Ayodele.
Ayodele
means ‘joy.' I do not have joy. I do not laugh. I do not run and play like my little sisters, Ife and Aya. Soon they will not have joy either.”

There were quotations from other girls. Some younger than I am. Some older. I couldn't believe it. All of these true stories. Most of them written by another person who told a girl's story for her.

I could do this, I thought. I could go into these sites and find out why. I could tell Victoria that she wasn't the only girl that it happened to. There were hundreds of girls. No, thousands. No, millions!

I clicked on the site that began, “Over two million girls mutilated each year.” There was also a warning about graphic pictures on the site.

I wasn't afraid. I could enter for Victoria.

 

“AKILAH!”

I froze.

Mom stood in the doorway. She was mad. “Which part of ‘No amusement whatsoever' do you not understand?”

Behind me was the screen. A black background with large, white letters flashing, “Over two million girls muti
lated each year. Caution: The following pages include graphic material.”

I couldn't move. I just stood there, hoping my body blocked the screen.

“You are out of control, young lady. I am yanking this thing out of here now.”

She moved me aside and went for the power switch, but then she stopped in front of the screen. She made a sound. Not a scream, but like a cry. Like how I felt inside when Victoria first told me what they did to her.

She grabbed my hand. “Why are you here? In this site?”

I couldn't speak. Then I started to gather myself, and
couldn't speak
turned to
wouldn't speak.
I swallowed my spit.

“Why are you here?”

Not even my lips moved.

“Akilah, tell me now. Why are you looking at this web site?”

Not if my mother beats me. Not even to God in my prayers.

She exhaled and put her hands on her face, I think to cool down. She sat on my bed and said, “Sit here with me.”

I obeyed, but I didn't make a sound.

“Akilah. Remember our talks in the backyard? You know that you can tell me anything.”

This was the part where I was supposed to say, “I know,” but I didn't answer.

“Does this have anything to do with Victoria?”

My eyes must have jumped or shifted in a way that only she could read.

“You can tell me,” she said softly, even when I felt her struggling to keep from screaming.

I wouldn't budge. Anything I would say was as good as telling.

If I should tell, then I will die.

My mother left my room.