I pulled a wrinkled envelope from the pile. The edges of it were brown, like maybe I’d held my lighter to it. This is me, I’d written. In this room. High. Beneath a meth moon. My name is Laurel Daneau, and once upon a time . . . once upon a time . . . before the rain came and washed us all away . . . Laurel, my daddy said, you held on to it, baby girl. You wrote it down. Don’t cry like that, sweetie. It’s the past. It’s behind you now.
My daddy sat down and I climbed into his lap like I was five instead of fifteen. Put my head against his chest and cried and cried. And my daddy held me. Held me like he was never gonna let me fall.
elegy
IT’S NOVEMBER NOW. Summer feeling like it’s long behind me. Jesse Jr. holds tight to my hand as we walk the half mile to his day care center. Even when he skips ahead of me, he refuses to let go.
This is an elegy for Jesse Jr., who lived so many months without me. An elegy for the boy who lost his grandma and his mother and almost lost his sister, too.
In the pocket of my jeans is the medal I got from Second Chances—a small gold coin marking ninety days without the moon.
This is an elegy to the moon no longer running through my veins.
My pom-poms bounce against my legs, my cheerleading uniform in my bag, the mighty Tigers will be waiting this afternoon, for me and Kaylee and the rest of the squad to cheer them on. Kaylee, coming over every evening, counting the days with me. Moonless days. Days till Texas or Colorado or wherever we go from here.
Some mornings I see T-Boom wandering the streets of Galilee, his eyes wild. Hey, beautiful girl, he says to me. How about a dollar for the guy who loved you once. You know the House is blown up and gone now. They got me paying for it now. Crazy, huh?
And sometimes I hand it to him.
I could help you move through it, T-Boom. You don’t need the moon.
I know, he says. I’m getting off this train. Gonna play ball again. Soon, baby, soon. Then he’s walking fast away from me.
This is an elegy for T-Boom and prayer for the ones who didn’t make it.
In the distance, I hear a train whistle blowing and smile, thinking of Moses. In January he will leave Donnersville, heading to college in another town. Psychology, he said when I asked him what he plans to study. Because you were my first successful patient. My golden girl. But before he leaves, we’ll spend many hours sitting by the train tracks, talking about our futures, talking about our past, a loaf of bread, a bar of chocolate and so much more between us.
At the corner of First and Holland, Jesse Jr. stops, pulls me down and kisses my cheek before we head inside. You’ll be here to get me later, right? he asks, his brown eyes bright. You’ll be waiting for me?
And I hold tight to him, because I know I’ll be waiting for him, today and the next day and the one after that. Waiting and watching out for him until we’re grown and gone from here.
Grown and gone from here.
I watch him skip into his day care center as his teacher waves to me from the top of the stairs. He’s a joy, she says. And I smile, proud as Mama and M’lady would have been about what a joy Jesse Jr. is.
Later, after school, I’ll shop for the ingredients for M’lady’s gumbo—okra, sausage, chicken . . . the spices coming quick to my brain like I’d never forgotten them. By late afternoon the house will smell like Pass Christian . . . As I turn and start walking, I hear M’lady’s laughter coming toward me, and I can see her blue braid dancing over her back as she tosses her head toward heaven, saying softly, Lord, girl, you surprise me every day.
The wind picks up as I walk. The sound of it moving through the trees reminds me of the water, and I know that sound will always be inside of me, gentle as time.
Laurel! I turn to see Jesse Jr. standing there. I need another kiss good-bye, please. Then, while his teacher looks on, he runs back into my arms, hugs me hard as anything and kisses my cheek. Then I watch him walk back inside with his teacher, excited as any four-year-old can be about something new. I wave long after he’s turned away from me, wave until my eyes blur and burn.
It’s a long walk away from meth, my counselor said to me. It’s a slow walk. It’s a hard walk.
But I put one foot in front of the other. And I keep on moving.
Click here for more books by this author.
If You Come Softly
ALA BEST BOOK FOR YOUNG ADULTS
“Once again, Woodson handles delicate, even explosive subject matter with exceptional clarity, surety and depth. . . . She seems to slip effortlessly into the skins of both her main characters. . . . The intensity of their emotions will make hearts flutter, then ache. . . . Even as Woodson’s lyrical prose draws the audience into the tenderness of young love, her perceptive comments about race and racism will strike a chord with black readers and open the eyes of white readers.” —Publishers Weekly, starred review
“Woodson confronts prejudice head-on.” —Booklist
“Lyrical narrative. . . . This fine author once again shows her gift for penning a novel that will ring true with young adults as it makes subtle comments on social situations.” —School Library Journal
Behind You
YALSA QUICK PICK
YALSA TOP TEN BEST BOOKS FOR YOUNG ADULTS
“Poignant. . . . With tenderness and compassion, the author exposes the characters’ vulnerabilities and offers the hope that they will emerge and grow from this tragic loss. . . . Readers who savor tough reality stories as much as happy endings will appreciate this thought-provoking, satisfying novel that offers hope but no easy answers.” —School Library Journal, starred review
“Moving. . . . Woodson writes with impressive poetry about race, love, death, and what grief feels like—the things that ‘snap the heart’—and her characters’ open strength and wary optimism will resonate with many teens.” —Booklist
“Woodson plays the language of feeling with an often stunning virtuosity; her crystalline vision makes each voice herein resonate with its own particular emotional tone. . . . There are moments of real beauty in this melancholy yet ultimately life-affirming examination of grief.” —The Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books
Miracle’s Boys
CORETTA SCOTT KING AWARD
LOS ANGELES TIMES BOOK PRIZE
ALA BEST BOOK FOR YOUNG ADULTS
“Readers will be caught up in this searing and gritty story. . . . Woodson composes a plot without easy answers.” —Kirkus Reviews, starred review
“Once again, Woodson reveals a keen understanding of the adolescent psyche. . . . An intelligently wrought, thought-provoking story.” —Publishers Weekly
“Compelling. . . . As usual, Woodson’s characterizations and dialogue are right on. The dynamics among the brothers are beautifully rendered. . . . Powerful and engaging.” —School Library Journal
“Fast-paced narrative is physically immediate, and the dialogue is alive with anger and heartbreak.” —Booklist
ALSO BY
JACQUELINE WOODSON
Last Summer with Maizon
The Dear One
Maizon at Blue Hill
Between Madison and Palmetto
I Hadn’t Meant to Tell You This
From the Notebooks of Melanin Sun
The House You Pass on the Way
If You Come Softly
Lena
Miracle’s Boys
Hush
Locomotion
Behind You
Feathers
After Tupac and D Foster
Peace, Locomotion
okFrom.Net
Beneath a Meth Moon Page 9