Read Online Second House from the Corner by Sadeqa Johnson - Free Book Online

came in heat.
    Gran was down on her knees praying hard and loud, no doubt for my salvation as well as her own sanity, when I snuck away from the carnival. By then Crystal had been excused from Sunday services on account of her job at Payless shoes in the Gallery mall. I was shocked when Gran allowed that, but Crystal was pregnant with little Derell, needed the money, and according to Gran couldn’t be saved.
    â€œThat chile always had the devil in her. Don’t you follow in her footsteps,” Gran would say, thumping her Bible at me. Crystal was crazy but it wasn’t the devil. She was an ornery teenager with raging hormones and I would soon relate.
    *   *   *
    I was in the church corridor, dipping my head for a drink of water from the fountain. My hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and my white ensemble fit me well. When I came up wiping the dribbles with the back of my hand, Martin was there. Smelling like a dream. Smiling wide. Standing too close. Eyes lapping over my curves. Gran had finally let me wear shoes with a little heel to church, so I was tall enough to look up at Martin with my Cleopatra eyes.
    â€œHow are you today, Young Sister?”
    â€œFine.” I tried to back away but there was the concrete wall.
    â€œYou okay?”
    I nodded. He kept his eyes on me until I gave him a shy grin and then looked down at my ankles.
    â€œI wanted to give you something,” he whispered and then pressed a strip of paper into my hand. His thumb flicked against my palm, like a match to the striking surface. The friction turned my hormones inside out, and I leaked with love or lust or both. At fourteen, I didn’t know the difference.
    *   *   *
    I kept the paper tucked in the bottom of my shoe until I reached my bedroom and could savor it alone. It simply read, in blue ink, “I’d like to get to know you better, Young Sister.” I blushed all week whenever I pulled the note from inside my pillowcase, where I kept it.
    Next Sunday I sat in our pew trying to keep my nerves under control through all the hoopla that led up to the sermon. As soon as Daddy Gracious One said “Let us pray,” Martin nodded to me and walked toward the side door. I took that to mean he wanted me to follow. Gran’s eyes were closed, so it was easy to get away. He waited for me at the fountain.
    â€œYou look pretty today,” he greeted me the first week. “Like your hair,” the next. By the third Sunday we had worked up to, “That dress is wearing you well, Young Sister.”
    He always called me Young Sister. And I liked the way it sounded from his mouth. Like we were in the middle of a revolution and he recognized the part I played. On our fourth meeting we went from talking by the water fountain to leaving out the side door of the sanctuary.
    â€œYou want to see the inside?” Martin asked, with a wink at Daddy Gracious’s car.
    Everyone referred to his Cadillac as “that Fat Hog.” It was the finest thing in all of South Philadelphia, at least on the black side of town, which ranged from the trolley tracks down to Oregon Avenue. So asking me, a fourteen-year-old orphan girl, if she wanted to get inside the car when I was used to catching the bus, was like asking a kid if she wanted to board an airplane to Disney World with her twenty closest friends.
    I followed him down the alley to where the car was parked. It was a cool day, so the top was up. Martin opened the door for me, and when I got inside, we were completely isolated. The leather was smooth against my back and easy to snuggle against. Martin turned the radio on and we sat next to each other. He hummed the song on the radio, something by Force MDs. I felt grown.
    â€œYou sure are pretty. Tender.” His smile gave me tremors and I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I had dressed more thoughtfully since Martin began showing attention, wearing Crystal’s