Malla Nunn - Sugar Town Queens

When the Ground Is Hard

White stars dance across my field of vision. The blindfold is tied too tight and I want to rip it off. Instead, I sit and try to rub the goose bumps off my arms. Its cold inside our one-room house, the cracks in the corrugated-iron walls wide enough to let the air in from outside. Its winter, so we have stuffed rags into the spaces we can reach. I shiver and wait patiently for the two surprises that my mother has planned.

The thing is: not all surprises are good.

Happy fifteenth birthday, Amandla. My mother, Annalisa, who refuses to be called Mother in any of South Africas eleven official languages, unties the blindfold and hands me a bowl of lumpy porridge decorated with multicolored sprinkles, icing sugar, and whatever canned fruit was in the cupboard. This years fruit is pears in syrup, a step up from last years ancient mandarins. Loaded porridge is the closest I will ever get to a birthday cake: a blessing. Annalisa is a terrible cook and a worse baker.

Thank you. I take the bowl (surprise number one) and our fingers touch, hers pale, mine brown, both with long fingers, elegant, waiting for jewelry, or a piano. In another life, maybe. Our room is too small for a piano, and there is no money for jewels.

Today is extra special for two reasons. Its your birthday, plus... She takes a deep breath and cups my cheek with a shaky hand. Last night, I had a vision. It was wonderful, but we have to do our part to make it come true.

The lumpy porridge sticks in my throat and stops me from cursing. Annalisas visions have taken us into the cane fields to sing to the stars at midnight. They have told us to eat eggs, and only eggs, for four days in a row. They have led us into the heart of a storm to wait for the lightning to send us instructions. The instructions never came.

My mother is out of her mind.

The lightning was eight months ago. Every night since, I have prayed for the spirits to leave Annalisa alone and go whisper directions to someone else.

Tell me what we have to do. I use a fake calm voice to mask the anxious feeling gathering inside my chest. I have to stay cool and make my next move carefully. But hurry. I have to get to school.

Hands over your eyes, she says. Here comes the second surprise.

I cover my eyes and peek through the space between my fingers as Annalisa walks across the cracked linoleum floor in black tailored trousers, a white silk shirt, and a cropped leather jacket with silver buckles. This is her best outfit. This morning, she will disappear into the city of Durban and come home with bags of the basics: socks, underwear, soap, and a special something for my birthday.

Open your eyes now. She pulls a piece of blue material from her wardrobe and holds it up with a flourish. Look. Isnt it beautiful?

It is a folded bedsheet with two holes cut in the fabric for the arms and another larger hole, for the head. The material is stained and held together by stitches that zigzag in different directions. She drapes the sheet dress across the foot of my cot as if it is made of raw silk and sewn together by cartoon birds with golden needles.

If you wear this... Her pale skin glows like theres a fire burning out of control inside her. All our dreams will come true.

No. All my nightmares will come true.

Which dreams are you talking about, exactly? Annalisas dreams can be anything. A brick house with ocean views. A holiday under swaying palms. Cold lobster rolls chilling in a fridge for when the temperature rises... if only we had a fridge instead of a cooler.

Wear this dress, she says. And your father will come back to us. Blue was his favorite color. You see?

No, I do not see.

My father is not an actual person. He is a collage of blurred images thrown together by Annalisa in the half hour before we go to bed. Less now than when I was little. She would whisper that father was tall as a lala palm and black as a moonless night. He wore a sharp gray suit with a blue tie, iridescent like peacock feathers. He loved to dance, and he stole her breath away when he kissed her.

No matter how pretty a picture she paints of him, there is only one thing that I know for sure about my father.

He is doing fine without me.

Is he here in Sugar Town? He isnt, but I ask just in case. I have to be sure, even though I hate that there is still a tiny shred of hope left in me that he is out there somewhere.

Annalisa smiles wide, and her lips stretch tight across her teeth. Hes not here yet, but hell come when he sees your blue dress. She grabs my hands and squeezes tight. The wind will carry the message to him quicker than a text. Get dressed now. Its time to leave.

Today is Friday, a school day. On school days, I wear a uniform. Blue skirt or pants, white shirt, black shoes, and white socks. A black sweater or a black blazer for now in winter. Nothing fancy, but Miss Gabela, the principal, is clear about the rules: No uniform, no school. Annalisas magic sheet will get me suspended,