We Rip the World Apart

Violet

When I get the call, the first thing me think of is Femi. Why she and not Ella? Who to say, except that she be the first. The first time one of me babies, who supposed to outlive me, did not.

And now me grandbaby. All shot up.

Femi. Me girl. All burned up.

That was before the store, so I been out working, cleaning some fancy lady house, morning to night. Ella be cooking, watching the young’uns. Something distract her, and she come back to the stove, flames licking the walls. So she throw the pan out the window, forgetting that where Femi like to play, tending to her little garden, making villages for the mice and the fairies.

Ella say she hear the scream, and just like that, she know, before she even see she sister running down the yard, across the field, arms flailing. She scream for the girl to stop. But Femi don’t stop. She run. And Kingsley, playing nearby, he run after her. And even though Femi younger than he, she legs so long, she so fast, he say, she fast like she crazy. The pain, he say, musta make her lose she mind. Why else she not run toward the house, the well?

So it take him too long to get to her.

He tell me this, tears in he eyes, looking so guilty, like it he fault for not being faster, stronger, though he only six. A baby heself. “Me catched her, Mammy,” he say. “Me knock her down. Me pull off me shirt. Me beat the fire.” And then he stop. He can’t tell me no more, he tears too heavy. He tears take he voice away.

It don’t matter. Me know the rest. Me little baby. Me precious baby. Blacker than black in spots. Skin crusted ash.

She held on. That the worst of it. That the fire didn’t take she quick.

She held on three days. No crying. Just whimper. Like an injured animal you know you need to put down. But I couldn’t put down me girl.

And now this. Antony.

At least he, me first grandbaby, be gone quick.

There be comfort in going quick.

Ella went quick.

Ella and Antony. The rest of us, we go slow.