I reach across the table, rip a soda from the pack. “Soda shotgun race me for old times’ sake?”
She laughs. “Boy, we haven’t done this since your dad was alive.”
“He was the king, no doubt,” I say, nodding. “But you were always the best.”
She picks up her keys from the table, then takes the soda from my hand. She turns the can horizontally, and with the keys she punctures a hole into its side. She hands me the keys and I do the same to another can. And we pop our tabs and we’re chugging, chugging—foam dripping from our mouths, I can barely drink for all the laughing. And yeah, Mom destroys me.
“Looks like I still got it,” she says, punching the air in front of her like a boxer.
“Yeah, you do,” I say, and I grab her arm and lift it straight into the air. “Tonight’s winner and still the heavyweight shotgun champion of the worrrrrrlllddd . . . Simoneeee “Mad Dog” Barrantessssss.”
Mom cracks up, and I drop into the seat next to her, the tile wet and sticky.
“Hey, Mom?” I say.
Her face is still beaming. “Now what?” she asks.
“How much time do I have left?”
Jamal
24
When Whit and I get home, Autumn’s on our porch steps.
“You two okay?” Whit asks, looking at us. But she doesn’t stick around for the answer. She’s already walking into the house. “Don’t mind me, I’ve just gotta pee for the eight hundredth time today.”
“I’m sorry,” I say as soon as we’re alone.
“You seem to be saying that a lot lately,” Autumn shoots back.
Which, fair.
“But you know what’s better than apologizing after you screw up, Jamal?”
“Not . . . screwing . . . up?”
“Okay, so if you understand that, how come we keep ending up here?”
“Because I . . . suck?”
“Jamal, this isn’t funny.”
“I wasn’t being funny. I promise.”
“Stop.” She waves me off. “No more promises you can’t keep.”
“Autumn, if you understood everything that’s been happening, you’d know that I was trying my best to do the right thing by everyone. That I’m trying and trying, but it’s a lot. It’s so much.”
“Well, then, tell me what’s going on, Jamal. We talked about this. Let me help you.”
“Autumn, I want to tell you, I swear, but . . .”
She holds up her hand. “You know what? Whatever dumb excuse you’re about to give me, just save it. I came over here because I wanted to fix things. Because I believed you wanted to too. But clearly, I was wrong.” She steps off the porch, fishes her keys from her pocket. “Catch you later maybe.”
“Autumn.”
“Please, just stop.”
“Autumn, wait. This isn’t like before. This is something entirely different. This is something you wouldn’t even believe if I told you. Damn, I barely believe it.”
And she turns around, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Try me.”
I wipe her face, dry her eyes. “Okay,” I say. “Okay.”
Autumn’s basically a bobblehead of sheer disbelief.
“Well, damn,” she says. “Damn. Like . . . damn.”
“Fucking crazy, right?”
“So this is what you’ve been keeping from me?”
I nod. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to.”
“And no one besides like five people even knows that he’s . . .”
“Yep. It’s wild.”
“There’ve been stories that they were getting close. But close in scientific terms means maybe we’ll figure it out in thirty, forty years. But this . . . this is . . .”
“A total mindfuck.”
“I know you’re not lying, but also, I’m one hundred percent confident you’re lying.”
“I wish I was. I wish none of this were true. Like reanimation is dope, obviously. But also, it’s super confusing. I mean, I’m so sad and angry that he’s . . . and I want to grieve him, I want to mourn my friend, but also this chance he’s gotten, to say goodbye, to do whatever he wants, is like the most beautiful thing ever, and I just want him to enjoy every second of it. I want to celebrate his life with him.”
“Crap, I barely know him, but I know I’m gonna miss him.”
I stare at the grass. “You’re not alone.”
“So, in a couple days Q’s just gonna . . . he’s just gonna, like, turn off?”
I glance at my watch as if it’s the official timekeeper for Q’s remaining life. “Less than two days now. Maybe only a day. He has a four-hour window.”
“Four whole hours? They brought someone back to life, you’d think they’d be able to narrow the window a bit.”
I shrug. “Apparently, reanimation isn’t an exact science.” I take her hand. “So, what have you been up to?”
“Nothing as cool as raising the dead.”
“Underachiever.”
She laughs, and we both wipe our faces, because, allergies.
23
“You sure this is cool? Your grandma isn’t gonna hit me with a broom or something, is she?”
Autumn shakes her head. “She’s watching Judge Keenan. She won’t even notice you’re here. Trust me.”
We abandon Autumn’s car in her driveway, and slip into the front door just in time to hear Judge Keenan deliver his trademark quip: Nuh-uh, you better get outa my courtroom with that buuuulll-ish.
We walk through the living room—its walls covered in family photos, its furniture zipped in protective plastic—and into the family room.
Nana’s sitting in a bright blue recliner chair, her wheeled walker to the right of her, her back to us, staring ahead at the television. She doesn’t even flinch as we creep behind her, start the ascent up the stairs.
“Autumn, baby.”
We stop in our tracks.
“Yes, Nana?”
“I know you not bringing nobody up in my house without a greeting.”
I shoot Autumn a look. She shrugs. “It’s just Jamal, Nana.”
“I know who it is, girl. I’m old, not dumb. And Jamal, I know you got better manners than that. Now both of you get over here and let me see you.”
We walk back down into the living room, walk around to face Nana. And I’m not trying to be weird or anything, but I see where Autumn gets her looks from; Nana is old but still beautiful, regal. You can tell by the way she holds her head that she’s used to mesmerizing a room.
“Hi, Nana,” I say. “I’m sorry for being rude. It was Autumn’s fault.”
Nana holds out her hand, and for a second I wonder if I’m supposed to kiss it, but I shake it instead.
“Mm-hm. Maybe if you came ’round here more often, my granddaughter wouldn’t feel the need to sneak over to your house at all hours of the night.”
Damn. Nana came out swinging. I want to laugh, but also, I’m kind of scared. “Huh? Oh. Ummm . . . I’m s-s-sorry . . . I . . .”
“Mm-hm. What are your intentions with my granddaughter, young man?”
I smile, look over at Autumn, and then back to Nana. “I have nothing but the best intentions, I promise you.”
“Yes, well, maybe you’ll come over here, now, too. We’d be happy to have you. During regular business hours, of course. Only thing open after midnight are legs and hospitals, and neither of you are to be at either place.”
“Umm, yes? I mean, no. Not going, um, there, yes ma’am. As in, no ma’am.”
“Well, which is it, child?”
Autumn cuts in. “Nana, please.”
But Nana’s not at all vexed. “Please what? Did I say something that wasn’t true? Last time I checked this was still my house.”
“Yes, Nana.”
“Okay, now, Judge Keenan’s about to come back on. Y’all go chapsnat or play e-bingo on the dark web or whatever it is you kids do nowadays.”
“Thanks, Nana,” Autumn says, pulling me toward the stairs.
Autumn flops on her bed. “So, I don’t mean to be hella forward, but, uh . . . all this heavy stuff you just dropped on me has me feeling pretty mortal right now, so . . . maybe you should come kiss me.”
“Maybe I should.” I fall onto the bed beside her. She flings a few decorative pillows onto the ground.
I look at her for a moment. And then I kiss her. Again and again I kiss her.
Her fingers tug at my shirt, pushing it up, up, up. “What if your nana comes up here? Legs and hospitals, remember? As in she sees your legs, I see the hospital?”
Autumn laughs. “You saw her walker, right? I think we’ll hear her.”
I laugh. Give her a long wink. “Or she’ll hear you, you know what I’m saying? You know what I’m saying?”
“Ewww, don’t do that anymore. Please.”
“No? I took you back to the Fresh Prince.”
“Well, it can stay back there, thank you very much.” She smiles. “Besides, if Nana’s going to hear anyone, it’s gonna be your ass. I’mma have you hitting those high notes, you know what I’m saying? You know what I’m saying?”
I laugh. Pick up a pillow and throw it toward her head. She catches it and throws it back, hitting me in my chest.
“Not gonna lie, it’s funnier when you say it,” I tell her, sliding back over.
She’s lying on her back, and the way her coily hair springs out, it’s like constant motion, like fireworks erupting in every direction. How can anyone be so beautiful, I think to myself. And then I say it.
“How are you so beautiful?”
“Shut up,” she says, looking away. The dimple in her right cheek is a trampoline, it goes concave, then bounces right back.
“I’m serious. I don’t know if you realize how much I’m into you. I don’t know if I always realize.”
“Why, though?” she asks, turning her face back to me. Tears slip down both cheeks. “Why me?”
“Depends. How cheesy do you want me to get here?”
“Go full cheese.”
“Okay, you asked for it.” I wipe her cheeks. Take her hand. “Autumn, you’re my favorite line in my favorite song. Autumn, you are the melody that never leaves me. You are the refrain that my brain can’t get enough of. I see you, and it doesn’t matter what mood I’m in, all I feel is happy. You’re the chorus stuck in my head, and my heart. Autumn, you are the one song I add to every playlist.”
“Stop,” she says, wiping her eyes. “This is so terrible. So cheesy.”
“I gave you a choice. You said maximum cheese.”
She nods. “I did. It’s all on me.”
“Hey . . .”
She stares at me. “Hey, what?”
“Hey, I . . . I love you, Autumn.”
“You sure? You kinda hesitated there,” she says, smiling.
“I did a bit, didn’t I?” I take her face in my hands. “Better try that again then.” Our eyes lock. “I love you, Autumn.” I kiss her forehead. “I love you, Autumn.” I kiss each of her eyes. “I love you. I love you.” And then her cheeks—“I love you”—brushing my lips against hers, down to her chin and the side of her neck—“I love you so much”—down the trail of black-ink hearts tattooed on the right of her stomach, down, down, down.
“I love you, too, Jamal.”
So down.
22
I lean my bike against the side of the garage, walk over to the stack beside the couch, all of those photo albums still where we left them.
I pull out my phone, take a few pictures of a few pictures.
This was the last birthday we were best friends. Our fourteenth. Our arms around each other’s shoulders, cheesing. Born only five days apart, we always combined our parties.
A photo of us on our bikes, age ten.
At Cedar Park for the first time, standing in front of the Gemini, age eight.
In the back seat of my mom’s car, on our way to our first school dance, age twelve.
I pull up the pictures we took during Carpet Denim too.
The last one, Whit and Ms. B and Autumn and Q and me squeezed into a selfie, the row of trees thirty yards behind us.
I tap Send.
Q: OH WOW. You know I’m already hella emotional right. You tryna make me break all the way down huh.
Jamal: I just wanted to tell you thanks for always having my back, even when I didn’t deserve it.
Q: Friendship isn’t a bandwagon you get on and off.
Jamal: damn that’s deep. And hella true.
Jamal: who said that?
Q: You’re texting with him right now.
Jamal: I’mma steal that.
Q: Go ahead. Not like I’ll be around to call you on it.
Jamal: damn I don’t even know what to say.
Q: I’m just fucking with you, man. My bad.
Jamal: fuck don’t do that.
Jamal: had me sweating bullets.
Jamal: I was tryna google something to say.
Q: Yoooo I wanna know what you typed into the search.
Jamal: how to reply to your friend’s uncomfortable jokes about his impending death.
Q: lmfao
Q: you get a lot of hits?
Jamal: yeah but like zero were relevant to this situation so thanks for nothing googs.
Q: googs???
Jamal: yeah, that’s my pet name for google.
Q: what does googs call you?
Jamal: big dick j.
Q:
Jamal: lol.
Q: Hey, I’m sorry for disappearing like that.
Q: I just had to get away.
Q: like with a quickness.
Jamal: no dude I get that
Jamal: but on the real I thought your mom was gonna kick my ass!!
Jamal: I was srsly afraid for my life
Jamal: but also she has a right to hate me
Jamal: if I was her I’d hate me, what I did
Q: Nah. She wants to apologize to you, too.
Jamal: apologize? really?
Q: Yeah. She had good reason to be mad, because she’s my mom, and she was doing what she hoped was best for me. But she also knows you weren’t trying to hurt me. That you thought you were doing something good.
Jamal: I’m sorry for lying to you in the first place.
Jamal: Autumn was asking about you.
Q: What did you tell her?
Jamal: The truth, finally
Q: Good. She should know.
Q: I told Bri, too.
Jamal: Fr??
Q: Fr!
Q: She didn’t believe me at first
Q: Tbh I’m still not sure she really believes me
Jamal: I don’t blame her
Jamal: Shit’s a lot to work through
Q: She said if I think telling her I’m gonna die soon means she’ll hook up with me, I’m gonna be hella disappointed lol
Jamal: Damn, I like her
Q: Me too
Q: Wyd
Jamal: Honestly, I was tryna figure out what to say to you
Q: About
Jamal: I thought you were pissed at me
Q: That’s what I don’t get. Why would I be pissed for getting more days to live?? Lol I mean I am pissed that no one asked me first but
Jamal: Okay, well, when you put it that way lol
Q: What other way is there
Q: Lol I mean, seriously, I’m really pissed no one asked me first
Jamal: You weren’t exactly around . . .
Jamal: Okay, I’d rather stop joking about this. I’m happy you’re coming to terms with it and you’ve mostly wrapped your brain around it but I hate it, I hate everything about all this
Q: YOU hate it? How you think I feel
Jamal: I didn’t mean it that way
Q: I know
Jamal: Whit wanted me to tell you you’re invited over for dinner tonight. Your mom, too, of course.
Q: Tell Whit thank you but I sorta think me and Mom both need some mother-son time
Jamal: Yeah, ok
Jamal: Listen, I don’t quite know how to say this but like, I wanna make what I did right. Or at least make it up to you, to your mom
Q: Yeah? What are you proposing?
Jamal: I have no idea lol
Jamal: Yet! YET! I’m working on it
Jamal: but when I figure it out you’re gonna love it
Q: Yeah, well, don’t take too much time
Jamal: shit man I can’t tell if you’re being funny or introspective right now
Q: def funny
Q: lol
Jamal:
Q: gotta get you back right lol
Jamal: not cool man
Q: oh you mean like lying to your friend not cool lol
Jamal: well played sir
Jamal: lol
Q: TY!
Q: But do me a favor j
Jamal: Yeah?
Q: Next time I die just tell me right away okay
Jamal: I got you
Q: J?
Jamal: Yeah?
Q: you know what the worst thing about being dead is
Jamal: what
Q: I was just starting to live
21
I consider calling.
Or even texting.
But in the end, I know I have to fix things the same way I broke them.
Face-to-face.
Mano a mom-o.
Q lets me into the house, and we hug tighter than probably we’ve ever hugged.
Stay that way for longer than the last fifty hugs I’ve been a part of combined.
We don’t even talk.
She’s in the kitchen, her back to me.
I clear my throat and say her name softly—hi, Ms. Barrantes—and she pauses for a second, but she doesn’t stop doing the dishes, she doesn’t turn around.
“I’m sorry I went against your wishes. I know that was wrong even if I thought it was right. I know you were trying to protect Q. That you love him more than anything. That you’d do anything to keep him safe. I respect you even though it doesn’t probably feel that way to you. And I don’t think I ever thanked you. For the stuff you did for me and Whit when Mom and Dad . . .”
Ms. B snaps the water off.
“For the casseroles. And for the cards. And for doing our laundry. And for talking to my teachers and helping Whit figure out the tax stuff and . . . for all of it.”
Early Departures Page 21