Free Sweet Bye-Bye by Denise Michelle Harris Page A

Keith Rashaad Talbit. He was the goody-two-shoed, sickly little grandson of Sister Edna. She started bringing him to church just weeks after he was born. His parents died in a fire when he was just a baby, and Sister Edna raised him alone, with the help of the church members. By the time he was a year old, Keith Rashaad Talbit had become the unspoken godchild of every member of the church.
    This little boy was always a runt for his age, and a bookworm. His semisweet-chocolate brown skin was usually dry, ashy, and itchy. He kept hive ointment handy in his pocket just in case he got too nervous.
    Pastor Fields and the rest of the congregation always kept an eye out and an ear open to make sure the kids weren’t teasing him. They did the best they could to protect him. But sometimes, the little girls made jokes with Keith as the punch line. More times than not, it was me spearheading the “make-fun-of-Keith” sessions after church let out, or during church, upstairs, after Mother Ola Rose Pearl had dozed off.
    Some Sundays, Mother Pearl would bring a ten-pack of Freedent gum to church with her—the kind in the light blue wrapper that advertised it didn’t stick to dentures. She’d open a few packs and give us all a stick. Those were some good times. The parents always dreaded those days, and they could tell them right off because they’d glance up to the balcony and see all of our jaw muscles working in tandem, almost uniformly, much like little cows grazing. After a couple of minutes, one of the parents would always come upstairs, get the wastebasket out of the corner, and make sure that every child made a deposit.
    In my dream, I vividly saw Mother Pearl go to sleep. Her chin slowly lowered and covered up her neck, then she suddenly jerked her head back up again. Her silver, fluffy hair was parted in the middle and combed straight downward. She wore thigh-high stockings that she rolled down just below the knee.
    Pastor Fields was speaking, and Mother Pearl sleeping. I pulled out a new deck of cards from my shiny little black purse. I gathered three other little girls from the pews and found a nice corner. We spread the cards out on the floor and proceeded to play my favorite game.
    “Okay, ladies,” I said, “let’s play some Concentration.”
    I was darn good at it too. The best in first grade. I gave them the rules.
    “Okay, whoever loses has gotta kiss Keith Talbit and wear his Coke-bottle glasses! Molina, it’s you and me. You’re first.” I gestured my hands toward the cards like the ladies on Grandma’s favorite show,
The Price Is Right.
    “I’ll go,” said Molina, “but I’m not kissing Keith, Chantell. Noooo-no!”
    “Look,” I said, “rules are rules, and if you’re not going to play fair by them, then you don’t get to play!” I looked around at the other girls to see which would take her place.
    “Chanteeell,” she whined. “I want to play, but boys are gross! They make me tho’ up.”
    “I know, Molina. Life is hard, though. Sometimes we don’t get to make the rules. Sometimes”—I shook my head—“we just have to live by them.”
    And I almost felt sorry for her. After all, we were talking about the always-coughing Keith Rashaad.
    Molina stared at the cards on the floor. Resigned, she said, “Okay.” She turned over a queen and a six of diamonds.
    “Hah! No match. My turn,” I said, as the two other girls watched.
    We continued to play until we got down to the last six cards. Molina was happy because she had thirteen matches and I’d only had ten. If she got one more, then there would be no way I could win. I told myself, Forget that! I wasn’t kissin’ nobody.
    Molina flipped over a three, then over another three. “Yaayy!” she said out loud.
    “So what, Molina!” I said. “Anyways, I’m not kissing anyone, because you shouldn’t be kissing people in church. That’s wrong! We’re here to learn about God and Jesus!”
    Molina ignored me and matched up the last