Chapter 3 - Bitty

-o-o-o-o-

It was a Saturday afternoon in April when he got a call out of the blue. Sonny sat across from his father, eating lunch – no idle chat was had – as usual. Hank answered the phone on the second ring, and when he heard a voice he didn't recognize politely ask to speak to Sonny, he eyed his son suspiciously from across the table.

"It's for you," he uttered, chewing around a piece of sandwich then swallowing it with a smack of his thin lips.

Sonny was flabbergasted, his incredulous reaction to the news showing plainly on his face. Who could be calling him? Once the thought crossed his mind, he cursed himself for being such a pitiful guy as to not have expected a call a day in his life. Even so, someone had called him, and it couldn't have been a mistake because the person on the other end knew his name. They wanted to speak to him – he tried not to smile triumphantly at that, like a goof. His father Hank never smiled, neither did Buck. Sonny was starting to think the grimness of facilitating Death Row was getting to Hank, and tending to Grandpa's ailing needs has hindered them from having their own lives. Sonny bashfully excused himself from the table and said he was going to take the call in the den. When he takes the den's phone off the hook, he knows his dad is still listening in the kitchen in vain. Most people would find eavesdropping invasive, but Sonny had never gone about having a private tête-à-tête so he was slow on this particular uptake.

"'Lo?"

"Sonny?"

The voice was female, distinctly so. "Yeah. Who's this?" There was a moment of suspense, then the low, unmistakably feminine voice said:

"Bonnie."

"Ah, um. Hi."

Seconds passed before she pushed out, "...I'm returning your call."

Sonny wet his lips and began to rake his mind. Some three weeks ago he was going through his pockets before he did laundry and came across the number she given him after he'd gave her a much needed lift home. It took him another day to actually dial the digits, and when he did he got an automated answering machine, but he hung up before the tone indicated to leave a message, and apparently after Caller ID recorded his number. "That was weeks ago."

"Yeah, well... I was sort of tied up at the time. Sick something awful. Now I'm not. So here I am." She sounded very matter-of-fact as she gave her reasoning. Sonny nodded to himself as if that explained everything. Truthfully, the snafu three weeks ago left him thinking that the number was phony and he'd never hear from her again, and he was a fool to think it'd ever work. Nevertheless, there has to be something said to make contact well after the time that's considered polite.

"So you're tellin' me you didn't fall off the face of the earth?"

"I didn't mean… I was wondering…"

Sonny's grip tightened on the phone's receiver.

"I'm planning to go to a friend's house this afternoon, I was wondering if you wanted to join me."

Sonny didn't know what to say to that. Out of the blue this girl he's met once when she was trespassing, and another when she was broke, calls him to spend time together. He couldn't help but have doubts that there was an ulterior motive.

"So, how 'bout it?"

"And how're we gon' meet this friend'o yours?"

"We drive." Ah-ha, she needed another ride.

"You mean I'll drive." Sonny grumbled, absentmindedly worrying his thumbnail.

"…I don't have my license yet. Is that okay?"

Sonny thought about saying no, but if it were seeing the elusive Bonnie again or staying home with the cantankerous Buck and wishing he'd went out, he decided to choose the lesser evil. "I guess."

On the other end Bonnie made a sound of relief. "Okay." And she proceeded to give him directions to her house whether he remembered the way or not. "Don't honk when you pull up outside. I'll be waiting."

"A' right."

And they hang up. Sonny hears a telltale clang from the kitchen. He passed Hank on his way up to his room.

"Where're you off to?" He blocked his son's way to the stairs, looking down his nose at his son, a near impossible feat since Sonny was the tallest by a few inches. The piercing stare used to intimidate Sonny but it lost its authoritative affect when Hank had to tilt his head up to do it. Hank liked to pride himself on striking an imposing glare, albeit useless at times. A real ball-buster, Sonny's dad was, he could recall even as a kid his father never really stopped being a jailhouse guard even off the clock.

Sonny may have gotten his height from his mother's side of the family, but he got his pigheadedness from his paternal roots.

"Never you mind," Sonny said out the side of his mouth, brushing past his dad to go racing up the steps two at a time. He changed shirts and brushed his teeth for the second time that morning. He looked in the mirror, quickly combing back his hair only to have it curl back up around his ears and the nape of his neck like a spring a minute later. He gave up slicking his rebellious mane back the fourth time it recoiled of its own violation. He debated as to whether or not he should put on a hat, and opted for both; tucking his favorite trucker hat in his back pocket just in case – it was dark blue and fitted with white mesh in the back, the oval white patch somehow got ripped off the front, a lighter blue oval is the only remnant of what once was there. Back down stairs, Sonny grabbed his jacket and keys hanging on the coat rack next to the door.

"I'm going out!"

*

Bonnie hopped in the truck and gave Sonny an obligatory hug. There was no other way to describe it, it was the same way you'd embrace a weird relative: an arm around the shoulders, pat the back, pull apart. She did all the talking, pointing out landmarks on their way to this mysterious friend. He caught the name Tabitha, and some of his apprehension eased when he found out this friend was a girl-friend. A short drive later they were pulling into a driveway of a forest green, one-story house with white trimming on a quiet street. The only sign that someone was home was an old Volkswagen bug parked in front. A strange feeling crept inside Sonny and settled in the pit of his gut... but he couldn't quite place his finger on why he had been getting the strange vibes yet.

A petite girl with red hair and a fair complexion appeared at the door. Sonny purposely dragged his feet getting out the truck, while Bonnie ran up the porch steps to slam into the red-headed girl. They squealed, he winced; they embraced one another in the doorframe for a long time, he dutifully stood back and let them share a moment. Then, Bonnie turned and reached out to him, Sonny came closer and she wrapped her slender fingers around his. It was so unexpected he tensed and inwardly fought to regain control. He resisted the urge to let go.

"This is Sonny," Bonnie told the red-haired girl, beaming, and her eyes went all sparkly. He wondered where'd that look had came from, had Bonnie been talking to this friend about him? And what could she have possibly have said about him? That notion left him on the fence between flattered and insecure. "Sonny, meet Tabitha, otha'wise known as 'Bitty'."

Sonny could easily discern why she was pegged such a nickname. His first impression of this girl was that she was tiny -- standing less than five feet, maybe a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet with boots on (literally)... In dress, she was the polar opposite to Bonnie's clothing, she wore denim overalls cut off at the knees and a black sleeveless t-shirt that didn't cover much. Sonny's inquisitive appraisal ended on the black combat boots Bitty sported probably to appear taller than for style. Now that he was up close he could see her hair was done up in some kind of twisting plaits, and the locks that weren't in twists were spiked, the color was a deep auburn red.

Bitty looked unperturbed by Sonny's flagrant ogling, as if she'd gotten this reaction all the time, and was tempted to lift his jaw off the floor. In return, her wide, hazel-green eyes drifted down to give him an assessing once-over, and she had to crane her neck up to meet his eyes. Finally, the line of her pink lips curved up into a humble smile.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sonny."

She didn't sound like a kid either, Sonny noted. He looked down to see her extended hand and without thinking he let go of Bonnie's hand and shook it. Good manners had been instilled in him since birth. He knew this girl was odd looking in a good way, and he wondered if all Bonnie's friends were this interesting. Before he knew what was going on, Bitty was pulling him over the threshold and into the strange house. Bonnie brought up the rear, clandestinely smirking, shutting the door behind her.

*

Clothes and girly things were discarded on every surface of Bitty's cramped, messy room, even in the sofa chair Sonny presently lazed on drinking a coke, wondering if it'd be bad form to have a smoke inside. He pretended to not notice that Bitty's laundry basket apparently exploded, why she used her entire room as a closet was her business. Let it be known, the room was far from filthy or gross, just... cluttered. The red-headed girl sure seemed to maneuver the room well even in its state of disarray; Bitty insisted the radio be on, explaining that loud music was how she concentrated, she sung and bounced around the room to every lyric of every song, even going as far as filling in the curse words the radio station censored.

"Sonny, do you know who sings this?" Bitty teased.

Sonny looked momentarily ill at ease, he didn't expect to be put on the spot. However, he found that when he listened to the raunchy lyrics of the hip-hop song, he knew exactly whom the artist was, and said so. Bitty smiled appraisingly, her assumptions confirmed, and Bonnie appeared to sit beside him, looking mildly impressed. He surmised Bonnie's expression was due to the fact she probably didn't expect him to know the answer, and – hell – if it weren't for Willie and Darryl getting him into what Buck called "cRap," he probably wouldn't have the slightest clue. It was safe to say he liked all genres of music, contrary to the social stigma that white folk like him preferred hoe-downs and country love ballads or guitar-heavy head bangers and sappy numbers where the crooners droned on and on about anarchy. Admittedly, hip-hop was far from perfect too, it is an acquired taste.

Bonnie produced a photo album, bursting at the seams with pictures. Most pictures contained Bonnie and Bitty as children in Easter Sunday dresses, opening presents on Christmas, dressed as the pink and yellow "Mighty Morphing Power Rangers" on Halloween. The girls seemed to have been joined at the hip since they were knee-high to a grasshopper. When she got to a Polaroid of her and Bitty on their first day of school, a woman was staring back at him from the glossy page, she looked to be in her early 30s and was holding their hands on the school's front steps, smiling ear to ear.

"Yer' mom?"

"Yeah." Bonnie sighed solemnly. "She's dead now." She said it like it didn't mean anything, but Sonny knew firsthand what it took to admit your mother's death with such apathy.

Bonnie was suddenly tired of show-and-tell, and put the album back on Bitty's bookshelf, crossing paths with her friend and whispering something in her ear - Bitty nodded and left the bedroom promptly. Bonnie mis-calculated a step over one of Bitty's shoes she had lying in the middle of the floor and went over, accidentally falling on Sonny's lap with an "ouf!" His hands instantly went around her waist to keep her from hitting the floor. Bonnie brought her head out the crook of his neck, her cheeks flushed beet red. Sonny's lips parted, but he couldn't form any words because she'd knocked the wind out of him.

Bitty waltzed back in carrying an oversize tote bag then, her carefully arched eyebrows shot up to almost disappear in her hairline at the sight. She'd taken her army boots off at some point and her feet barely made a sound as she padded across the floor. "When you proposed the idea, Bonnie," she boisterously announced her return, successfully getting the two's attention. "I didn't expect him to accept it with open arms, literally." Bitty stage whispered to Bonnie, who went rigid and pushed up and away from Sonny like he was something icky.

Bitty, seeing Bonnie's response, looked from one to the other of them. "Oh. Did I say somethin' I shouldn't've said?"

"Always." Bonnie huffed, turning to avoid eye contact with Sonny, who was trying not to look like a kicked puppy. Bitty had the decency to look mildly embarrassed and shifted to hide the big bag behind her back to no avail, it stuck out on either side of her like a sore thumb.

"What is it?" Sonny asked cautiously, the only one not in on the secret.

"It's nothing. It's stupid," Bonnie said hurriedly, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes deceived her and wandered to the bag Bitty was still holding.

"No, it's not." Bitty said in an innocuous timbre, as if it weren't the first time they'd had this discussion. She addressed Sonny next, giving him a thousand-watt smile. "All you need is a... demonstration."

"I'm lost," is all Sonny could say. Whatever the girls had planned had something to do with that bag. He imagined by the bulkiness of it that it contained make-up or clothes. Did Bitty and Bonnie want to put him in an evening gown and paint his nails like some faggot? He didn't know if girls actually did that to their guy friends, but girlish accessories being in that bag was more likely than another one of Bonnie's girl friends.