Clutching the jar of peaches tightly, I went to
the door and listened. There were definitely two
people talking very low. The girl laughed again. I
tried the doorknob, and it clicked open. Very slowly, I
pulled the door back and gazed into this part of the
basement. Two windows in the foundation provided
enough light for me to make out what looked like a
living room thrown together with old furniture: a sofa,
a chair, a table. There were cartons and pieces of other
furniture all around, including armoires, dressers, and
chairs, some piled on each other.
At first I saw no one. Then a head lifted over
the wide-armed sofa and I saw a girl. She pulled back
even farther until she was sitting up.
She was naked to her waist, and her jeans
looked unfastened. Her bosom was small, but perky.
She had a silver cross on a silver chain that sat
between her breasts.
A boy, who had been beneath her, appeared
quickly, turning on the sofa.
He was wearing only his underwear. The sight
stole my breath.
They were both African Americans. The girl
noticed the light pouring in from behind me and
turned my way.
"What is it? Why you stop?" the boy asked her. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded, looking
at me and not bothering to cover up. She put her
hands on her hips.
I closed the door quickly, my heart thumping so
hard that I thought I wouldn't be able to catch my