short story

THE FIELD
By
KOSSIWA KIESE KINSHASA WA LOGAN

“Jacob, what is your future?” We were laying in a field where he did his alien hunting. I told him once, when he first told me about his passion for aliens that there weren’t any aliens in Pearstone Louisiana, only parents who took everything from their kids. Jacob Richie said he know those kinds of aliens all too well. “Tell me about your aliens and I’ll tell you about mine.” But he never answered me.
“Do you ever look at the night sky and try to see it. Maybe in the shape of whatever career you can alien hunt.”
Jacob was still silent. I looked at his profile. Pearstone was full of black folks, and we weren’t aliens. I had a friend tell me that I always found the white ones wherever I went. Jacob was the first lover that was my sex. I loved that word lover. It made me older than twenty-one. Older than fifteen the first time I slept with a boy. We loved each other. Or it felt like love. That was what mom said before she said my dad wasn’t eve coming back.
“He’ll be in his world and I’ll be in mine.”
“Do you know why I brought you here?”
“Yes.” I touched his face and thought of the few wonderful times I’d had sex. After the pain of the first time, that rush of love over New Kids On The Block songs. I rolled over on my side and raised up on my elbow. I had condoms in my purse, a CD walkman with speakers and my favorite seductive music for twentysomethings. Or, as my friend said, black twentysomethings.
“Last semester we’re college students. Last year–.”
“How are you getting out Toni?” Toni was my dad’s name. The man who left us. I rolled on my back and said I was changing my name to something that sounded writerly. “That’s my dad’s name spelled with a y.” I added when he didn’t answer. “I’m going to become a staff writer for a San Francisco magazine.”
“Everyone leaves.” Jacob said. “And I’m glad we never slept together.” He continued staring at the sky, seeing many stars.
“That stung.”
“Men and women are awful to each other. And then you’re surprised you were born but not surprised that there’s only one of you.” I thought I heard Jacob’ voice shake and felt the vibrations of his pain. “Born of pain. Born of scariness. Sh.”
“What?” I whispered.
“What we came here for.” Jacob said. I sat up when I felt him sit up. His black pick up truck was parked nearby.
I moved closer to him remembering that I had seduced him into finally bringing me to his field. “Jacob–.”
“Wait, sh. It’s a new noise I hadn’t heard it before. You heard about that space ship that landed here once. Maybe they came back after all these years or maybe they never left.”
“We need to talk.” I tried to say, but he was creeping across the cut grass. I heard him say that the place where the space ship landed in the seventies was still dirt. “No grass has yet to grow.”

“We deserve more than this.” I said when I called him later that night. I sat on the front porch because my mom had her new boyfriend in the house. He didn’t say anything and I wasn’t sure if I knew what I was talking about. “You scared me a little at the field. Just a little.” I added when he didn’t say anything. “Are you still there.”
“Just tired.” Jacob said. “I really think I saw something because I definitely heard something. Felt something to.”
Say something about what you felt, that it had nothing to do with aliens. I thought. Say something about the beauty of him and I. Just say...the phone went dead. I drank tea in my room from mom’s treasure stash, which meant she’d want to talk to me about it in the morning. It was the tea you drank to keep the tears down or help them slide out.

Mom was cleaning the dining room when I walked in the house from my class. It was silent, though we had music on constantly, mo matter what we were doing.
“Mom, is everything okay?” I asked, forgetting about the assignment that angered a lot of us today. We were in the last semester, less than two months and we get to write a huge essay on...I needed to reread the assignment again. Of course, that probably wasn’t why I was really upset. I couldn’t remember sex ever being so complicated. Was love making it impossible?
“Toni,” Mom said, adding, “I’m fine,” when I focused on her. “Just thoughts.”
“About what you’ll do after graduation?” Mom asked.
“My advisor thinks I should pursue writing, but in a city like New Orleans or Baton Rouge or Austin where I interned for a magazine. And I agree.” I looked at Mom. I felt confident. Felt like I was flying. “We’ve already sent out my resumes and clippings to various newspapers and magazines.”
“Just come home,” Mom said after a while and I wondered, as she hugged me, if she was referring to my dad never returning. Stepping back a little to see me, she said, “just hurry up and get there.”

“Hey, what’s going on with us,” I asked, then waited as if I expected the answer machine to pick up. It took a minute longer for me to hang up the phone. I immediately called Ginger, who said, “you only want to experience getting laid again. Everybody does.”
“It’s great when emotions are there or you think they’re there. Because, nothing else matters.” Ginger said.
“It’s gotta be more than just wanting to get laid.”
“What are you going to do when you’re out in California somewhere and he’s still here in Pearstone still chasing aliens? Wait? Nope, you cheated on him last year when you two were just getting together. Long distance? Only if you can–.”
“I get it Ginger.”
“Just think about it.” After a pause she asked if I wanted her to come over. When I didn’t say anything she said, “call me when you do.”
“Jacob and Toni, what is your future?” I asked the silent house, then turned on the music. I had my dad’s old blues records, though they made me want to do more than just listen to his passions.

“I wanted to take you some place that’s as powerful as your field, but I realized it was pointless so I brought all of my keepsakes here.” I said as he stared at me through the screened in porch. I held the box in my hands and stared at him. “And I thought it would be good to end it like this.” I said. I waited for him to say something. I had dad’s picture of him holding me as a baby, then as a toddler. There was a piece of his shirt that always reminded me of the quilts my ancestors made of old clothing.
“It’s difficult not being let in, but how did it feel keeping me out?” I asked though I didn’t expect a response.