CHAPTER 17
Cherie wiped her eyes in disbelief as she drove home. How was this even happening? How? Nothing worked out for her. Nothing. “I’m sorry,” she cried as she drove. “I’m trying to change things! I’m trying!”
Ever since she’d moved to Breaux Bridge, nothing had gone right for her. This had to be a curse by God. He’d given her the dream to go there so he could punish her for her sins. She could accept that if she was sure that’s what it was. But she was never sure about anything anymore. She lost her third job within three months because of her mouth. Why couldn’t she just keep it shut? A closed mouth is food, rent money, electricity!
She replayed her ex-manager’s sexual come-on and the anger that got her fired returned hot as ever. No, it wasn’t her mouth, it was their mouth. What was it with white men and black women? Did they have pussy for hire written on their forehead? Apparently black women from up north were seen differently by white men down south, at least in this town. She’d paid attention. Other black women didn’t get looked up and down by white men like she did. She’d expected it from her color but of course they didn’t do right either. They looked at her like a mutt. She was a lot of things, but a mutt wasn’t one. She was thoroughly black, blacker than many of them, inside and out.
Screw all them jackrabbits. White, black, and whatever other colors looked at her funny. She was sick of being judged by outward appearances. If her voluptuousass wasn’t getting her into trouble, her mouth or the color of her skin was and none of those were her fault. Except her mouth but she wasn’t going to take that kind of treatment. Not ever again. Not. Ever.
She took her turn too quick right as a man on a bicycle crossed the small road. She slammed her brakes and screamed as she plowed right into him sending his body crashing into her windshield. “Oh no! No!” She flew out her car looking around for help then at the man, motionless on her car. “Sir? Sir, are you okay?” she sobbed. “Oh no,” she whispered, seeing blood on his forehead.
Oh God, the police. If they came, she’d be done for. She fought to get him off her car and managed to slide him onto the ground, crying when his head hit the cement again. “I’m sorry,” she wailed, wiping her eyes. “I’m gonna pull you to the side of the road and call an ambulance when I leave, okay?”
Finally managing the feat, she hurried back to her car and got in. “Oh God, please, help me.” She couldn’t leave him there. She couldn’t add more crimes and sins to her stupid life.
She hurried out of the car and opened the back door. She’d bring him home and make sure he was okay. That’s how they did things back in the day, right? If she saw he was seriously injured, she’d…she’d figure out how to help him, that’s all.
It felt like ten kinds of wrong to thank God that nobody happened by while she got the man in her car. She put his banged-up bike in her trunk and spotted a bag. She hurried over and looked, seeing plumbing pieces. Had to be his. She threw the bag in the car and got in, hurrying toward home while keeping her eyes on every mirror, waiting for sirens to show up any second.
Mumbling came from the back seat, and she glanced several times. “Sir? Are you okay? I’m taking you to get help,” she said. “You were in an accident.”
“What…where…”
“You’re in my car. My name is Cherie.” She couldn’t hold back a sob as she went on. “I’m so sorry sir. I accidentally hit you, I…I didn’t see you. I’ll get you another bike, I swear,” she said, wiping her eyes.
“My head…”
“I have stuff for that,” she assured. “When we get to my house, we’ll call your family. Who’s your family? What’s your name?”
“No…family,” he muttered.
No family? “We don’t have to call family maybe you have friends.” Would be more than she had. “What’s your name? Do you remember your name?” Please don’t let him be too injured.
“…Revelator.”