Harbor Me

by Jacqueline Woodson

  We were sitting on Holly’s queen-size bed, combing her dolls’ hair. Holly had white everything on her bed—sheets, comforter, pillowcases—because she had insisted on dark purple walls. Kira wouldn’t say yes unless everything else in the room was white. On the floor beside the bed was a round white shag rug. The doll I had was wearing a green nightgown. Holly’s doll was in overalls, and we had changed their outfits twice already. The dolls all had stories and books that came with them about how they had gotten to be true Americans. They were expensive, and while Holly had all of them, I only had one, a doll who had escaped slavery and gotten free in Philadelphia. We could go months without even looking at the dolls, then other times we played with them for hours.

  You haven’t told them about your dad—or your mom, Holly said. Are you going to? She stopped braiding her doll’s hair and looked at me.

  But I do talk, I said. I talk into the recorder at night. In my room. I’m on there too.

  I don’t know . . . , Holly said. I don’t know if that’s fair for everybody. Everybody else is spilling their guts and you’re talking in private. Are you ashamed of your life?

  No! Of course not.

  But Holly kept looking at me. She blinked slowly.

  I don’t have anything to be ashamed of, I said.

  Then how come you don’t talk about your dad. Or tell them about your uncle. All the times Amari’s called me ‘rich girl,’ you just sat there.

  What did you want me to say?

  Holly shrugged.

  No, Holly. Tell me. What did you want me to say?

  I wanted you to say, ‘I’m a rich girl too!’

  But I’m not.

  Holly shook her head.

  I’m not. I felt my voice getting high.

  Haley, listen to me. Your uncle owns that whole building you live in. He drives a nice car. He works at home doing tech stuff when he wants. But he doesn’t have to. Not like my dad. Not like Amari’s dad or all the other kids’ parents either. When your grandparents died, they left your uncle and dad all their money. When your mom died, they put all the insurance money in the bank for you. When you turn twenty-one, you get it.

  How do you even know this? I said. I mean, I knew some of it—like about the building and stuff—but I never thought of us as rich.

  Your uncle and my mom talk, that’s how. Grown-ups tell each other things and then they talk to other grown-ups, and sometimes us kids are around listening.

  I didn’t say anything. It felt strange. Weird. Rich? My uncle never bought me expensive clothes. We never went on fancy vacations, and most of our furniture was stuff my uncle had bought from thrift shops. He found the coffee table on the street. One leg was shorter than the other three.

  Holly put her doll on the pillow and leaned against the wall behind the bed.

  I’m not trying to be mean to you, Haley. I know sometimes it sounds that way because I just . . . say stuff.

  I know you’re not being mean, I said, but I kept my eyes on the doll. Her tiny earrings sparkled.

  I think sometimes, Holly said slowly, as though the idea was just now coming to her, life gives you stuff you don’t want, but you have to take it anyway.

  Like my hair, I said. Or what happened with my mom and dad.

  Holly nodded. Yeah. But your hair is amazing.

  And all the stuff you know is amazing, Holly. After a minute, after thinking about what she said about me being rich, after knowing that she was right and that maybe somewhere, buried with a lot of other stuff, I knew it too, I said, And you make us think.

  Holly shrugged, then grabbed up a bunch of her braids with both hands. But sometimes my mouth hurts people too. Like, I hate that I can’t stop it from saying things—and can’t stop my body from jumping up and moving around when Ms. Laverne tells us to stay in our seats. Sometimes I just want to be regular . . .

  But you’re not regular. You’re Holly. I love your big mouth and your jumpy body. And how you make us all laugh—in a good way!

  Holly got up from the bed and started walking fast, back and forth, across the room.

  I used to think ARTT started mostly because of me and you, she said. I know that’s crazy. I mean, think about it. She stopped pacing and looked at me. If I hadn’t met you, it wouldn’t be the six of us. We’re lucky the way we all got dropped there, the way we all ended up in Ms. Laverne’s class together, right? All of that happened because a, b and c happened, and that led to d, e and f and so on, until basically your life is the whole alphabet. And the alphabet is people meeting people, leading to other people meeting, until we’re old. And then we die.

  Or sometimes we’re not old and we die, I said quietly.

  Yeah . . . Holly climbed on the bed and put her arms around me. That’s true too.

  I’ll talk, I said. Next Friday.

  And I’ll be there right next to you, okay?

  That night, as always, we slept with our backs to each other, our spines, as always, touching.

  33

  The following Friday, Holly sat next to me and nodded toward the recorder. My own hands were sweating as I pressed the button and looked up at the others. I was surprised how nervous I was. No one had ever said “don’t talk about your dad,” but for some reason I had buried the story deep, and now I was going to tell it. To my friends. I kept saying that again and again in my head. They’re your friends, Haley. They’re your friends.

  But just as I turned on the recorder, Esteban said, I have another poem from my papi, and Amari said, Yes! Holly nodded at me. Esteban climbed down from the window seat and pulled the poem from his pocket. It was as wrinkled as his uniform.

  I have to keep it on me, he said. Crazy baby cousin always takes my things and messes with them. I put the other poems up on a shelf, but he can climb. Esteban smiled and shook his head. He looked tired but happy as he unfolded the poem, holding the page at its edges. His hands trembled as he read first the Spanish and then, more slowly and beautifully, the English.

  And when darkness came and the night

  felt like it wanted to swallow me

  the echo of ‘Lights out!’ was thrown

  back at the guards in so many beautiful languages

  that it sounded like the song the world

  has been trying to teach us

  since the beginning of time.

  He folded the poem carefully and put it back in his pocket. It means that there are all these different kinds of people in detention with my papi. And when the guards tell them that it’s time for lights-out, they all yell it back in their own language, so my papi hears all the languages and it’s like they’re singing him to sleep. Esteban touched the pocket with the poem in it. That’s all I have to say for now. He climbed back onto the window ledge and wrapped his arms around his legs, resting his head on his knees.

  After everyone told him how beautiful the poem was, I stood up.

  I want to talk now, I said. You guys have all told your stories about your families, and there’s a story I haven’t told you. I looked over at Holly and she nodded again. It’s about my . . . life. It’s about my father. Esteban turned to me. And my mother, I said, my voice cracking. It’s about what happened to me when I was little and when I first met Holly’s mom, Kira . . .

  34

  The first time I met Holly’s mom, I was seven years old, and Holly and I had only known each other for a few months. Kira, Holly’s mom, had asked my uncle about doing my hair and he agreed. No, he hadn’t agreed—he nearly jumped into her arms before she could even get the words out.

  So the first time I was at their house, when I was sitting in their kitchen with my hair washed and dripping onto the towel, and Kira asked about my full name, about my family . . .

  The rest of the group got so quiet, I stopped talking. My throat felt like it was closing up.

  You got this, Red, Amari s
aid to me. His smile loosened the words.

  I looked at Holly helplessly. It’s okay, she said. I’m here with you. I can help if you need me.

  Everyone nodded. I smiled at her, relieved, and Holly put her arm around me.

  The thing I’ve never told you guys is that my dad’s in prison.

  Your dad’s in prison?! Tiago and Amari said at the same time.

  I nodded.

  For what? Tiago asked. Did he rob somebody?

  He was driving, I said slowly. He was driving a car. My mother was in it.

  The room felt like it was breathing for me. As I told the story of the accident, Esteban’s eyes filled and Ashton put his head down on his hands. When I got to the part about my father running home for my uncle’s help, Amari said, Jeez, Red, I didn’t even know. He said it quietly, almost under his breath, but in the words there was so much love that it felt like he was reaching across the circle and hugging me.

  Holly was holding on to my hand now.

  Is he in jail for life? Amari asked finally. And plus, I’m sorry about your mom.

  He’s going to be coming out soon, I said. I’m not exactly sure when.

  This is too deep, Amari said. No wonder you so quiet, Red. You all kinds of still water.

  When I first met Kira, she asked me about my people, and I told her my mom died. I waited for her to say something like ‘I’m so sorry’ or ‘you poor baby’ or ‘oh sweetie’ . . . but she didn’t. She was combing my hair at the time, and she stopped for a minute and her hand got real shaky.

  I remember you told my mom that your mom died when you were three, Holly said. And that you didn’t really remember her.

  My mami’s still with us, Esteban said. I feel lucky for that.

  But why was her hand shaky? Ashton asked. Was she feeling sad for you?

  No! Holly said. That’s the crazy part. She jumped up from her seat, then sat down again real fast and started tapping her feet like I wasn’t telling the story fast enough. Tell them, Haley!

  I’m trying! I said. Kira asked me if I was Beryl Anderson’s child, and I told her Beryl was my mom.

  Your moms knew each other? Amari asked. That’s wild.

  Yes, Holly said. It’s really wild. Our moms were pregnant together! When my mom told us that, I was like, ‘Wait! What?! You and who and what?!?!’

  I laughed. But your mom just ignored you, I said. Kira came around the chair and crouched in front of me. Her face was all worried and sad. But it was happy too, remember?

  Holly nodded.

  She brushed my hair back away from my forehead and said, ‘Your mom and I used to go to Tom’s diner over on Washington after our Lamaze classes. We’d order so much food, the waitress would always ask if someone was joining us.’

  And then Kira laughed. And I remember I wanted to laugh too, but my heart felt like it was competing with my tongue for space inside my mouth. So I just whispered to Kira, ‘You knew my mother.’

  I stopped talking. It was hard to tell the story. But it wasn’t hard. It felt like everyone in the room was leaning in and listening and really caring. Felt like everyone around me wanted everything to turn out all right.

  We got you, Red, Amari said quietly. You know that, right?

  I nodded, smiled at him and continued.

  Kira told me how much I looked like my mother and how when she first saw me she thought maybe it was possible, but it was too much of a coincidence. But Brooklyn’s small when you think about it, right?

  Everyone nodded.

  It must have been like . . . like a resurrection, Ashton said. Like here was somebody that could answer your questions?

  Yes! I said. That’s so true! I had a million questions. There were, like, a million conversations I’d had in my mind with my mother. But the first thing I asked Holly’s mom was what stuff my mom loved.

  I remember she looked really sad then, I said. It was like she was going back to being with my mom and remembering everything about it. She thought for a long time, then finally said, ‘Your mom loved to laugh. Even when things felt like they were falling apart, she found a way to laugh.’

  I wanted to ask what made my mom laugh. But I didn’t. For some reason, knowing that she loved laughing was enough for that moment.

  What about your dad, Esteban asked. Did Kira know your dad too?

  I shook my head. She never met him. Kira said once she and my mom became friends, they had, like, their ladies’ thing going on.

  Like my mom with her girls, Amari said. Eating all that food after going to spin class. Women are crazy.

  Both me and Holly said Hey! at the same time. Amari threw his hands up. You know I’m just messing with y’all.

  Tell them about the sun, Holly said. The magic.

  Oh yeah! There’s a high window in Holly’s kitchen, I said. And this crazy thing happened. The sky—like, it shifted, and everything got bright. And Kira laughed and said that she and my mom used to always talk about the light. How they thought light shifting was the dead sending us messages. Love messages. She said that every time the sun goes behind a cloud and then comes out again, that’s a message from the other side.

  I looked over at Esteban. He was staring up at the sky as though he was waiting for the sun to send him a message. He had one hand in his pocket, and I knew he was touching his poem.

  For the whole time that Kira was braiding my hair, I said, she talked about my mother—what she remembered, how they lost touch, how she heard about the accident. And I told her all about my uncle and how he made me laugh and how he always told me that my laugh reminded him of my mom.

  I stopped talking. No one said anything for a long time. Holly smiled at me and nodded, giving me a thumbs-up. I felt lighter. Free somehow. Like I’d been carrying the weight of that story in me, not even knowing it was heavy. Like so many bricks had been lifted off me.

  Esteban was hugging his legs again, but he was watching me now.

  Your story makes me think that I’m happy my papi’s alive, Haley. I mean, because of your story, I can feel . . . some hope, because no matter what, we’re going to see him again. He didn’t die and that’s good. Even if everything has to change to be with him again? At least I could be with him again, right?

  We all nodded.

  He’s still writing poetry, Esteban said. And breathing.

  He looked at me. Even though it’s kinda sad, what happened and everything, it feels happy too, that we have each other. Like that thing Ms. Laverne said about how we have to harbor each other, you remember?

  I nodded.

  I feel like your story does that. You’re my same age and you have to be strong for your dad. It makes me feel like I can be strong too.

  And everyone else said, Yeah.

  Me too.

  For real.

  35

  I turned off the recorder and put it back into my knapsack. It was almost three o’clock, but just like most Fridays now, none of us moved. We’d started ignoring the time weeks ago. It was strange to remember that we’d come into this room confused about why we were here. Now we could barely remember a time when we weren’t here.

  Hey! Amari said. Since we all doing some sharing, before we all bounce for the weekend, I want to show you something. He opened his drawing pad and we all leaned toward him. I been copying some of these comic book guys, Amari said. I got some sweet characters. I’m gonna put all of y’all in there too. It’s gonna be so, so tight. It’s like my brain is frying with ideas.

  Amari had the biggest smile on his face that I’d ever seen, which made the rest of us smile and look through the comics. Even me and Holly went over to see what the four of them were getting all excited about.

  Some people try to hate on comics, but they get you inspired, you know, Amari said. It’s like—man! Like, look at this guy.

  He opened a Bla
ck Panther comic, and the Black Panther was big and black and strong on the page. Outside the ARTT room window, the school yard was bright and cold. The strange thing is, I don’t remember any other sound but Amari’s voice. There must have been kids playing. There must have been yelling and laughter and horns blowing, but none of it comes back to me. Just Amari’s smile, his comic books, us gathering around him.

  Like, what if the Black Panther was just a kid in this school, he said. Just a regular kid. That’s what I was thinking last night. Every comic book hero used to be a little kid in school once, so what if kids like us are the superheroes, right? The real superheroes.

  Amari was talking fast. The other boys were nodding as he turned the pages of the comic books.

  Like Esteban, Amari said. Who’s the Dominican Superman? I mean, we got Miles Morales—he’s the Puerto Rican Spider-Man, so we got Tiago covered. But Ashton—who’s the superhero whose dad works at Key Food? And, like, for me—who’s the guy who doesn’t get to play with guns, so he has to find out another way to De-Stroy!

  Amari looked at me. Haley—I got you too. Superhero Girl who lives with her uncle.

  I got you too, Holly. Your richness is your superpower.

  I waited for Holly to get mad at Amari for calling her rich. But she didn’t. She was even smiling a little. I’ll take it, she said. Just hook me up with a nice cape.

  We must have headed out soon after that, because I remember us all walking down the hall and out into the school yard together. We walked slowly, still talking.