Jazz Funeral

Wasn’t that supposed to protect you? She felt betrayed by one more thing.
    “Hey, how y’all?” said Joel. “Hey, Daddy. Mama’s waitin’ on you.”
    “Mornin’, Joel,” said the one named Tyrone. “Your uncles act like it’s the end of the world I fell asleep over here.”
    “Well, Mama’s a little bent out of shape.”
    “Ah, hell, how’s that different from usual?”
    Melody couldn’t believe the sleeper was Joel’s father. Joel Boucree had a father as imperfect as hers. She just couldn’t believe it.
    “I better get back to the old lady,” he said. “Joel, you coming?”
    “Naah. I think I might practice awhile.”
    “All by yourself?” said Mark.
    “Where y’all goin’?”
    “Back home awhile. We were over by Mama’s, heard about Tyrone, came over to see was he here.”
    “Hell, you knew I would be,” Tyrone grumbled, and then Melody heard a lot of exit sounds. She came out from under the bed and sat on top, wishing she could fix her hair, but she was afraid to move around any more than necessary.
    Joel knocked. “Hey, Mel?”
    “Come in.”
    “You okay?”
    Great, except for the clap. She nodded, unable to speak.
    “You don’t look so good.”
    “I was kind of upset about hearing that fight.”
    He laughed. “Hell, don’t let that bother you. They’re always like that.”
    “I thought they’d be nice.”
    “They’re just a family, that’s all. You think they’d give Daddy such a hard time if they didn’t care about him?”
    She didn’t answer. It seemed to her a weird way to express affection.
    “See, he likes to get out of the house when Mama’s drinking and yelling. So he goes, and then she falls asleep and wakes up sober enough so she doesn’t slur her words and forgets where he’s gone and starts calling people. They don’t catch on she’s drunk and Daddy won’t tell ‘em. They just think he’s out screwin’ around or something.”
    “Why don’t you tell them?”
    “Oh, man, I stay out of that shit. Here.” He thrust a greasy paper package at her—napkins wrapped around a couple of pieces of toast. “Sorry—this was all I could get away with. I’ll get something better later. Listen, will you be okay for a while?”
    She nodded, feeling somewhat deserted, but also relieved— she needed to be alone, to figure out what to do.
    When he was gone, she went to the bathroom, and was hugely relieved to find it didn’t hurt at all. She ate the toast and felt her energy coming back. She sat and sifted things in her mind. Was there a way to avoid seeing a doctor? She closed her eyes and squeezed, trying to figure a way. But her crotch itched and burned like poison ivy.
    Two things she had to do: she had to get to a doctor, and she had to do it now, before the Boucrees came back and trapped her. There was a tiny triumphant thought at the back of her brain—possibly, just possibly, there was a doctor she could trust. It wasn’t likely, but it was worth a try. And face it, there was no other choice.
    Madeleine Richard, her therapist, was a psychiatrist, which meant she could treat medical problems. Richard might very well turn her in. But it was take the chance or die of crotch rot. Would that be better?
    In a way she thought it would, but voices hammered away in her skull: You have no choice. This is the end of the line. You have no choice. You have no choice. You have no choice.
    Her brain wouldn’t get off it. She hoped it wasn’t a death wish finally getting the upper hand.
    Getting out of Joel’s neighborhood was much easier than he’d indicated it would be. No one cursed at her, or even stared very much. She said “Mornin’” to everyone she saw, so maybe they’d think she was comfortable there, and they answered courteously.
    She was careful to note the address, to watch which streets she walked down. She asked someone for directions and eventually got a bus.
    She didn’t know what reaction she’d expected, but it wasn’t the one she got. Richard took one look at her, did a double-take when she figured out the disguise, flashed a smile of utter delight, and folded the girl to her chest. Melody had never been held like that, had no idea what a bosom felt like; how warm and soft; how comforting. “Come in. Come in, baby. You look terrible.”
    She couldn’t believe Dr. Richard had called her “baby.” She thought only black people did that. Had little nicknames, little pet names for people. When Richard did it, Melody felt a funny