“Hey, Jeff,” I finally said, “is your brother Humphrey back yet?”
“What brother?”
“Oh, I saw your mother on the corner last night yelling ‘hump free.’”
Jeff lunged, but I slammed my books into Tim and took off. I jumped over the white wooden fence that surrounded the nearest house and tore through the yard. Panic already shot me off my plan. Still, they were going to have to work for this butt whupping. I wished I had an older brother, someone to look out for me.
While Tim gained on me, Jeff struggled with the fence. The yard was fairly small, and bushes taller than me lined it. An oak tree grew near the bushes, a path I’d mapped during a previous chase. I scampered up the tree without missing a step, climbed past the bushes, and leaped. Landing hard, I tucked into a roll. Moms was going to be upset when she saw the state of my clothes.
I ran behind the garage of the next house to escape the stares of my good-for-nothing classmates. A Doberman strained against its leash when I darted by. A church faced the street that bordered our neighborhood. I’d have to double back to make it to my house. I would be better off waiting them out.
I climbed down the stone-lined basement steps of the church and hid. I waited for the boys to pass noisily by. If they were to peer over the edge of the steps, I was cornered. After a few minutes, I held my breath, and peeked above the concrete wall of the steps. The boys headed down the road. I jogged back down my street. Some of the straggling kids shouted as I passed. Tim and Jeff turned only to see me standing on my front porch. Home.
Later that day, the doorbell rang. Three times. I hated it when people pushed the button more than once as if it were there just for show. When I yanked the door open, this little kid with his shirt only half-tucked in reached into his backpack to hand me my forgotten books.
“You dropped these.” Nehemiah picked at his budding Afro.
“Thanks.” I left the door open while I wandered into the family room. The kid couldn’t have been too bad. He did bring my books for me, so I figured I owed him. Plus he looked like a stiff breeze could carry him off. Closing the door behind him, he followed me. I plopped down in front of our old television set. It was almost time for Yu-Gi-Oh! “You want to stick around? My mom just popped out to the store, but she’ll be back. She’ll make us some sandwiches.”
“Sure. Then I have time to show you these.” Nehemiah took several comic books from his book bag.
“Oh, man, you don’t buy any of that crappy DC stuff, do you?”
“DC? Heck no. I wouldn’t waste money on that crap. I got Black Panther, Hulk, Luke Cage, Fantastic Four, Avengers, Thor, and X-Men.”
I picked through the stack. “How’d you get all these?”
“I skip lunch and use my lunch money.”
After a two-hour block of cartoons, Nehemiah was still on the couch. Moms hinted around about him going home, but Nehemiah dodged the issue every time. She resigned herself to fixing dinner for three, but insisted on a phone number to check with his folks first. After a few minutes on the line with them, she stared at our phone like it was an alien tongue trying to lick her. She told us that she wasn’t in a rush to drop him off.
“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Nehemiah asked.
“I don’t know.” I flipped through the channels, bored with everything. “Maybe a cop or something.”
(I have a theory that every boy goes through a cop phase. I’m certain mine was due to the amount of cop shows Moms watches.)
“I want to do something great, you know?” Nehemiah’s voice faded off. “Something where I can be rich and famous.”
“Wouldn’t it be cool to have superpowers?” I interrupted.
“I guess.” Nehemiah’s hands fidgeted in his lap. His elbows were ashy. He never quite met my eyes when we talked. He’d either stare past me like he was focused on something just over my shoulder or study the carpet.
“I mean, if I had my choice, I’d be big and strong, like the Hulk. And no one would be allowed to pick on anyone smaller than them. I’d protect all of them.”
“I’d choose flying. I’d fly all the time.” Nehemiah almost looked directly at me when he said that. “When you fly, you’re free.”
I knew right then that I’d found my brother.
The next day, we were out at recess. Nehemiah and I chilled out by the kindergarten double doors. For all the time we’d been in class together, it was the first time we’d ever hung out at school. Some middle schoolers milled about during their Discovery Time. I spied Tim on the monkey bars. He teased some girl. She squealed, telling him to leave her alone. It sounded like a cry of help to me, so I trotted over there.
“Quit bothering her,” I said.
“Mind your own business, Spea—” Tim checked himself since we weren’t alone.
Not that it mattered. Just knowing that I wasn’t by myself anymore made me see myself different. I was sick of him calling me names. Leaping up at him, I grabbed a hold of his dangling leg. Unprepared for me to lunge at him, he overbalanced and tumbled right off the monkey bars. It had rained overnight and the grass was still damp. The girl held her hands to her horrified face.
“You’re. Dead.” Tim brushed himself off as he stood up. Jeff hopped up from the nearby picnic table to back him up. I found myself boxed in.
Nehemiah used a rubber band to shoot a paper clip at Jeff. It hit him just above the cheek and left a bloody slash as well as the beginnings of a welt. Cupping his face, Jeff barked in pain. His face flushed red, as if caught in a steam blast. Jeff charged toward Nehemiah.
“You’re both dead!” Jeff wiped his bleeding cheek.
The two of them chased after us like twin lions about to pounce on a herd of sleeping gazelles. Nehemiah followed my lead. We ran from them, but not at full tilt, only fast enough for them to keep up. I wanted to lead them away from the girl. Once I thought back on it, I don’t think she was in any actual trouble. They simply teased each other the way boys and girls who liked each other do. But I’d already committed, even though I had no real plan for dealing with them.
On the other side of the playground, an area of wet, worn grass glistened. A glimmer of an idea formed.
Motioning to Nehemiah, I changed directions, Tim and Jeff close behind, and headed toward the muddy grass. As my lead foot hit the fringes of the mud slick, my traction gave. I silently cursed my cheap shoes. Nehemiah wasn’t faring much better. Tim and Jeff were dangerously close behind him, but he was locked into this gambit. We wobbled from side to side. Then I quit running. Instead I gave into the terrain and sort of slid across the top of the slick. Nehemiah reached out. I steadied him as he did the same thing. Sparing a glance to check our lead, the trailing duo never quit running. Greedy, Tim reached out toward Nehemiah, who had slowed down. His sneer gradually collapsed once he found himself slipping in the mud. His outstretched hand wavered, even grabbed after Nehemiah a few times before he went down. He latched on to Jeff. The more he tried to regain his balance, the more off-balance they became, until Tim pulled the two of them into the cool embrace of the mud. They flailed about in frustration. The rest of the class ran over to make fun of them.
The teachers came over to yell at us. I told them about them picking on me, on us, and the name calling (the adults were horrified by the words they called me). But we still got in trouble for instigating that fight. Tim and Jeff weren’t problems again. In fact, they went out of their way to be nice to us for the rest of the year. At first I thought that they were playing up their innocence for the teachers to let the heat die down and then really get even with us. Every day we got off the bus ready to be chased or ambushed.
But nothing came. Not a name call, not so much as a lunge in our direction, not a gesture to make us flinch. They were the next two families to move out of the neighborhood.
Nehemiah has been my dude ever since. I had to do something to make things right between us.
It’s hard for me to be patient when there’s so m
uch going on. Even if it’s just in my head.
Sitting on my couch, I flip through the television channels, not really paying attention to anything in particular. I’m not sure if my mind can’t focus or if I just want to distract myself. I know what I need to do, but to put my plan into action I have to wait on Moms. Of course today she wasn’t already home to greet me. Finally the key jostles in the lock. Ahrion bounds into the room. She doesn’t understand how big she’s getting. If she does, the realization doesn’t stop her from a running start and leaping onto the couch to tackle hug me.
“Want to play video games? I have a new racing one,” Ahrion says.
“I’d love to. When I get back, okay?”
“Where are you going?”
When I stand up, I make sure Moms isn’t watching us and I pass Ahrion a pack of Twizzlers. She loves the stuff, but Moms limits her candy intake. I press my finger to my lips.
Ahrion touches her lips with her finger and then promptly yells, “Moms, Thelonius gave me some Twizzlers!”
“Thelonius, you know better,” Moms scolds without any heat.
“Sorry, Moms.” I bend over to Ahrion. “You’re the worst at secrets.”
I’m careful to smile at her so that she recognizes that I’m kidding.
“I know.” She jumps up to hug me. “I’m the worst.”
Once I untangle myself, I slink to the kitchen. “Moms, can I ask you something?”
Something about the way I ask the question, maybe my tone since I was trying to let her know I was serious, causes her to freeze. She turns off the stove and gives me her full attention. “What is it?”
“I need to go over to Nehemiah’s.” Moms doesn’t like me walking over to his stretch of the neighborhood. All those cop shows she loves watching so much convinced her there was a serial killer or child molester behind every bush. I quickly laid out my case. “I won’t stay long. I’ll call your cell when I get there and right before I leave so you’ll know when to expect me home. And if I spot RaShawn, or his sister, I’ll make myself scarce.”
“Why? Did something happen? I was wondering why he wasn’t here.” Moms tilts her head, examining me.
I hesitate. The word catches in my throat and I barely squeeze it out. “Yes.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
“We . . . had a fight. I need to make things right with him.” My eyes brim with the beginnings of tears but I refuse to let one fall. I plead with them, hoping she’ll see that I have to do something, this one thing, on my own.
Her eyes soften. “All right, but be careful.”
The entrance to our housing addition serves as the dividing line of the entire neighborhood. The subdivision mirrors itself along the main street. It cuts through the houses like a giant smile, all the courts and lanes branching from it. What was worse was that only the main street had a sidewalk running alongside it—even then, just on one side. Moms is pretty good about giving me space to do my thing. Though she gave her permission, once or twice along the way, I swear I spot her cutting through people’s yards to keep a watchful eye on me. I keep waiting for Ahrion to leap out of a stand of trees and yell “Here I am!”
I want to be more independent and all, but I hate coming over to Nehemiah’s. It isn’t because I have crossed some invisible dividing line and suddenly find myself in a bad area of town. That’s how so many people react whenever the idea of coming here pops. Actually, it’s because whenever I spend time there, I’m struck with an overwhelming sadness. Nehemiah’s house is a brick-trimmed, cream-paneled, two-level home. Our housing addition only had two floor plans to choose from: our ranch style and this one. Weeds grow too high along the building’s side. I ring the doorbell twice and step back on the porch. The curtain covering the door pane flutters. A lone, careful eye checks me out before the curtain falls back in place. Finally the door opens.
“Hi, Mrs. Johnson. Is Nehemiah here?”
“You know he is. Where else he going to be?” Mrs. Johnson is a dragon, but also Nehemiah’s grandmother. She wears misery for makeup and chugs bitterness for vitamins. Nothing is ever done right or satisfies her. She tugs her gray sweater tighter around her like she suspects I might attempt to mug her. “Who are you?”
“Thelonius Mitchell, ma’am.” I hate the way she never bothers to remember my name, as if I’m beneath her notice.
“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me. Showing up on my doorstep, looking all raggedy. You the one that got Nehemiah into all that trouble, right? I saw you down at the school hiding behind that teacher like he was your momma’s skirt.” She dangles her hand out like she’s clutching an invisible cigarette.
“Can I talk to him?” I lower my head and kick at the loose rocks along the doorframe.
“Now you trying to ignore me like I ain’t even here? I’m talking to you. I’m the one whose day got interrupted to come see about Nehemiah.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Yeah, you are.” Mrs. Johnson slams the door so hard that the knocker clatters against it and the frame shudders.
I jump at the sound and remain on the porch, not certain what to do next while the thud echoes. My mouth twists up. I nearly swallow my lower lip while I debate on whether to knock on the door again. Voices rise on the other side of the door.
“I wasn’t being rude. I just don’t have time for foolishness. Yeah, he still out there looking all pitiful,” Nehemiah’s grandmother says to a voice I barely make out. “Like I care what some boy who still smells like his momma’s milk thinks.” She pauses again. The curtain shivers. A loud huff follows. The door opens, Nehemiah’s grandmother’s backside walks away from me. “Come on in here, boy. I ain’t got all day to mess with you.”
I putter behind her. The inside of the house stirs even more sadness. The house suffers from neglect like no one cares about anything and anger has seeped into the walls. Scuff marks scrape the dingy and chipped paint. Holes in the plaster have been mortared over in crude swatches when covered at all. Chunks are missing from the ceiling tiles. Cracks splinter the doorframes as if they had been kicked in once or twice. The trim around the bathroom door shifts loose. The carpets, which once had been green or tan, are worn to a dull gray.
“Why’d you come around here?” Nehemiah meets me at the end of the hallway, cutting me off from the rest of the house. A bandage wraps his wrist.
“To make sure you’re okay,” I whisper.
“Now you worried?”
The words sting, but I deserve them. Perhaps a part of me still hopes that Nehemiah didn’t see me freeze. Didn’t see the fear on my face. That Nehemiah doesn’t know what it feels like to be completely alone, abandoned even by his best friend. I think that’s part of the reason I had to come. To hear Nehemiah yell at me, saying what he needs to say. He turns on his heel and stalks into the next room.
“Well, well, well. Look who decided to come down from the mountaintop and pay a visit to little ole us.” The source of the mystery voice who kept yelling at Mrs. Johnson is Nehemiah’s mother, Rhianna. Shimmying down the stairs, she acts like she’s not that much older than us and wants to be seen as cute. Not too much older than Nehemiah—she should still be in college or something. I have to admit, she is kind of pretty. Most times, though, she just seems tired. I can almost hear Moms’s voice say that Rhianna can’t make up her mind which person she wants to be:
1.a young woman with a dream she doesn’t know how to make come true. She still has time to go back to school, get a job, get her own place; she just needs to act like a grown-up.
2.a young woman who wants to forget she has a kid and live the life a girl her age should be living. Her world should be all parties and boys.
“This visit can’t make your moms happy.” Rhianna always acts as if there is some beef between her and my mother that I can’t possibly understand. It’s on both sides, since Moms hates for me to be around her. The two of them all but growl whenever they near or mention each other. “You looking to get my boy in more tro
uble?”
“No, ma’am. I came over to apologize. To you and to him.”
“Oh?” She moves toward the kitchen to get a glass, wandering about, deciding what to fill it with.
“Yeah. I haven’t been a good friend. Haven’t stood up for him like I should. I already spoke to Mr. Blackmon about how the fight on the basketball court was my fault, not Nehemiah’s. And I brought his schoolwork so he won’t be behind.”
“You want something to eat, baby?” Rhianna riffles through their cabinets. “Nothing fancy like what you and your moms have all the time. At least to hear the way Nehemiah tells it. Probably why he’s always staying up by you all so much. We do have them microwave pizzas and fries.”
“I love pizza.” It never occurred to me that anyone thinks we live high and fancy. Or that we believe we are better than anyone, especially Nehemiah. I wonder if we are seen as putting on airs. I don’t know. I’ll leave that one for everyone else around me to figure out. All I care about is my friend.
I slump down on the couch next to the chair Nehemiah’s curled up in. A series of fine lines, where the glaze no longer held up, stress the mismatched lamps stationed on either side of the couch. I grab a cushion and hold it in my lap. Frayed at the edges, they have been turned backward to hide the tears in their fabric. Nehemiah has already changed into a pair of shorts, showing off his ashy knees. He works a screwdriver into his toenails, to pick them clean.
“You hear all that?” I ask.
“I guess.” Nehemiah doesn’t glance up from his toe-jam operation. “You ain’t falling in love with me or no mess like that, are you?”
I hadn’t realized how tense I had been. Every muscle tight, braced for a punch. With that single comment I could breathe again. A smile fills my voice and I slowly begin to relax. “You need to shut it.”
The two of us enjoy a brief silence, as much as there is to be had with the clanging of the microwave door and the banging of dishes. What I like most about me and Nehemiah is that we don’t have to talk. We just understand each other.
The Usual Suspects Page 11