by Wes Moore
"Hello?" Her voice was groggy, reminding me that it was one o'clock in the morning.
"Hey, Ma, it's me!" I said a little too loud, excited to hear her voice after what had been the four longest days of my life.
She got nervous at the sound of my voice. She wasn't supposed to hear from me for at least another month. She asked if everything was all right, and I assured her I was fine. Then I started my five-minute campaign to come home.
"Ma, I know I haven't been perfect, but I promise to do better. I will pay attention in school and go more often. I will clean my room, I will clean your room, I will--"
She cut me off. "Wes, you are not going anywhere until you give this place a try. I am so proud of you, and your father is proud of you, and we just want you to give this a shot. Too many people have sacrificed in order for you to be there."
I had no idea then, but I later found out just what sacrifices she was talking about. When she first heard about Valley Forge, she told my grandparents about her plan. They were strongly in favor of the idea. The problem was that military school is not free. It's not even cheap. The price tag for Valley Forge was even steeper than that for Riverdale. My mother had written to family and friends, asking them to help her however they could. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't really need it," she wrote. Weeks later, she was still thousands of dollars short.
My grandparents knew that I was at a crucial juncture in my life. These forks in the road can happen so fast for young boys; within months or even weeks, their journeys can take a decisive and possibly irrevocable turn. With no intervention--or the wrong intervention--they can be lost forever. My mother made the decision to intervene--and decided that overdoing it was better than doing nothing at all. She felt my environment needed to change and my options needed to expand. Drastically. My grandparents agreed.
They put most of their money into the home, hoping to use their equity to support themselves in retirement, when they would return to Jamaica to be with family and friends. Now that my grandparents knew they were needed in the Bronx, their desire to move back to Jamaica had faded. Their children and grandchildren were here. Their friends and doctors were here. And more than that, they now considered themselves not Jamaicans who were living in America but Americans of Jamaican descent.
My grandparents took the money they had in the home in the Bronx, decades of savings and mortgage payments, and gave it to my mother so that she could pay for my first year of military school.
As I sat on the other end of the line, listening to my mother talk about "sacrifice," I had no idea what my grandparents had given up. The five minutes went fast, and Colonel Batt signaled it was time for me to hang up and go to bed. "I love you, and I am proud of you. And, Wes, it's time to stop running," my mother said as I hung up.
I was sent back to my room to lie down for the three hours before I would be driven awake again by the same trash-can-drumming, light-flashing, music-blaring, insult-laden wake-up call as every other godforsaken morning in this hellhole.
The next day, as we prepared to head to second mess, which was what they tellingly called lunch, I noticed the black man from the night before standing next to Colonel Batt. They were talking and looking in my direction. Even when I was standing at attention with my eyes to the front, their piercing gazes felt like they were burning a hole through me. Finally the two men saluted, and the black man walked back toward F Company, the college freshmen and sophomores. It was known around the entire corps as the most squared away, the most impressive company. Its members were the best marchers, the most athletic, the most disciplined. Whoever was in charge of them was doing an amazing job. I wondered whether that man who was talking to Colonel Batt was going to fall into the ranks, but as my eyes followed him, I heard the thunderous sound of 120 men all snapping to attention. Nineteen-year-old Cadet Captain Ty Hill took his place at the front of F Company.
In spite of myself, I was impressed. I had never seen anything like that before. I had never seen a man, a peer, demand that much respect from his people. I had seen Shea demand respect in the neighborhood, but this was different. This was real respect, the kind you can't beat or scare out of people. That's when I started to understand that I was in a different environment. Not simply because I was in the middle of Pennsylvania instead of the Bronx or Baltimore. It was a different psychological environment, where my normal expectations were inverted, where leadership was honored and class clowns were ostracized. I was still watching Captain Hill out of the corner of my eye when Colonel Batt moved toward me.
After I'd left Colonel Batt's office the night before, my mother had called back and asked to speak to Captain Hill. She had met him once, through Colonel Bowe, the admissions officer who'd convinced her to send me to Valley Forge. I placed Bowe right up there with my roommate as a person to blame for my current existence. Colonel Bowe had told my mother--when she was still on the fence about military school--that he wanted to introduce her to a college sophomore from Texas who was about to become an officer in the Army and was one of the true stars of the school. When she saw Captain Hill on the day she went to the campus to drop me off, she asked him to keep an eye out for me. That night on the phone, she reminded him.
When Colonel Batt got to me, he came close to my face and whispered in my ear with his fast-talking, raspy voice: "Moore, after you are done with chow, go over to F Company and ask to see the company commander. He wants to talk to you."
Wes and his godbrother, Red, moved toward the cheese bus as it slowly rolled to a stop in Dundee Village. The cheese bus--yellow and boxy like a block of government-issue cheese--picked kids up from Dundee Village and delivered them, twenty-five minutes later, to Perry Hall High School in West Baltimore. It had taken a while, but Wes was finally getting accustomed to the long route, the new school, and the new environment. He missed the city life, its speed, its intensity, its hustle. But Wes also came to understand that the county life was not exceptionally different from what he had known before. Life in the county was deceptively green and quiet--but he soon discovered that the hood came in different shapes and sizes.
Wes and Red boarded the bus, giving the daily head nod to the driver and walking down the aisle looking for a seat. Simultaneously, they spotted two girls they had never seen before. They slowed to take a second look.
"You see them?" Wes whispered to Red, lifting his chin at the two teenagers.
"Yeah, man, I want to holler at the skinny one," Red said.
The line of students was beginning to pile up behind them, so they pushed ahead, finally throwing themselves into two open seats a few rows behind the girls they were admiring. Then they started strategizing.
Wes's athletic physique and laid-back style, combined with the obvious trappings of a kid with disposable income--a new pair of sneakers every day, brand-name clothes--made him very popular with the girls around town. He had a dozen girlfriends, but nothing serious. He was just enjoying his teenage years and, at the moment, he was enjoying the view in front of him.
Both girls lived inside Dundee Village with Wes, but this was the first time he had ever noticed them. They looked about the same age; one was a few inches taller than the other, and noticeably thinner, while the thick one had a frame that looked more mature. The weather was warm, so their clothes were short and tight, leaving little to the imagination. Wes and Red debated: Should they wait until they got to school or make a move during the ride? It was a short debate.
"You ready, man, I'm gonna go holler," Red said. "Remember, I got the thin one."
After seeing Red jump from his seat, Wes followed, his book bag lightly slung over one shoulder. He put on his shy grin as they wheeled around to face the girls.
"What's y'all names?" Red abruptly asked, interrupting the girls' conversation.
The two girls gave each other the "how rude" face. Finally they looked up at Wes and Red and answered. They were twins, as it turned out, even though they didn't look anything alike.
Wes was amazed. "
I thought twins was supposed to be the same," he marveled.
Wes and his new friend continued to talk all the way to the school. She was a few years older than he was and found his shy half smile cute. He liked her sense of humor--and the way her shirt tugged against her teenage curves. Her dark eyes shone as she let her hand lightly brush against his forearms.
As the cheese bus entered the school grounds, Wes asked if he could get her phone number. She pulled a pen out of her book bag and began to write her number down. As she was writing, Wes spied Red standing alone, looking agitated. Obviously, "the thin one" wasn't working out.
As Wes's new friend left, he excitedly walked over to Red, unable to hide his grin. "What happened, man?" Wes asked.
"She has a boyfriend! I knew I should have tried to holler at that thick one!"
Wes and Alicia quickly became more than friends. After school they would head to each other's houses, since neither had parents at home during the day. Within two months of their meeting, Alicia told Wes that her period was late. Four tests and eight matching plus signs later, it was confirmed. They were going to be parents.
Wes was dazed. He kept the news to himself for an entire month. How could Alicia have let herself get pregnant? He thought maybe it was a mistake. Maybe the result would change. Maybe she was just reading the tests wrong. Time went on, and Alicia started having morning sickness, her period was still AWOL, and her belly began to rise. It was undeniable. Wes finally decided it was time to tell his people what was going on. The first person he thought to share the news with was Tony, who had just become a father himself. Wes caught up with Tony when he stopped by the house.
"Tony, I got to talk to you."
"What's up?" Tony replied.
"I am going to tell you something, but you need to promise you won't say anything to anybody, especially Mom."
Tony was smirking, but when he caught the weight of his brother's voice, his face became serious. "What's going on, man? You know I won't tell her."
"Alicia's pregnant. Like three months."
Tony stared at his brother, paused for about ten seconds, and then cracked up laughing. Their mother had had a baby a year ago, making it three boys in the Moore clan, and Tony thought that Wes having a brother and a son--and a nephew--all around the same age was hysterical.
"This is some sitcom shit, man!" Tony declared, laughing.
It was crazy. Wes smiled, but just a little. "Whatever, man, just don't tell Mom yet."
The idea of becoming a father depressed Wes, but he wasn't sure why. He didn't have to worry about feeling alone or like a pariah. Wes and Alicia's situation was anything but exceptional. In Baltimore in 1991, 11.7 percent of girls between the ages of fifteen and nineteen had given birth. More than one out of ten. He also didn't feel burdened by the thought that early parenthood would wreck his future plans--because he didn't really have any future plans. And he wasn't overly stressed about the responsibilities of fatherhood--he didn't even know what that meant. But in some unspoken way, he did sense that he was crossing a point of no return, that things were about to get complicated in a way he was unequipped to handle.
A week later, Wes and Tony took their girlfriends to their mother's house to celebrate the first birthday of their baby brother. An ice cream cake with HAPPY 1ST written in icing sat in the middle of the dining room table. Wes and Alicia sat on one side of the table, Tony and his girlfriend on the other. Mary, with her newest son on her lap, sat at the head of the table. When Mary stood to cut the cake, Tony was struck by the absurdity of the scene.
"Ma, isn't it crazy that you just had a baby, and we just had a baby, and there is someone else at the table pregnant--" Tony cut himself off and assumed a surprised expression, as if he couldn't believe he'd let the news slip out.
Wes's eyes shot over to Tony, Alicia's eyes shot over to Wes, Mary's eyes shot over to Alicia. Wes whined that Tony was ruining what was supposed to be a nice family gathering.
Mary didn't bother with their squabbling--her attention was on Alicia. "Alicia, are you pregnant?" she asked, still standing with a cake knife poised in the air.
Alicia's eyes did not leave Wes as she slowly nodded her head. Mary closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She put down the cake knife and locked her fingers behind her head, then arched her back as if trying to work out some deep tension. After a moment, she brought her arms back to her sides, exhaled, and looked around the table.
"So who wants cake?"
The news of his imminent parenthood did not stop Wes from making time for other girls. Not surprisingly, this bothered Alicia, but she knew there wasn't much she could do about it. She hoped that she and Wes and the new baby would become a family. She hoped she could give her child the two-parent household that she'd never had. But before the baby even came into the world, she realized how unlikely that would be.
Wes's nonexistent relationship with his father probably contributed to his seeming indifference about becoming a father himself. All he knew was his mom. He had no idea what his role would be in this new situation--he wasn't even sure he had a role.
The third, and last, time Wes met his father had been just a few months back. Wes and Tony were heading over to Shake and Bake, a popular West Baltimore roller-skating rink. The rink was very close to the home of Wes's aunt, his father's sister, so they decided to stop by to say hello. Wes would often visit his paternal aunts, cousins, and grandparents when he went to Shake and Bake--they all lived in two houses on the same block.
But when Wes and Tony entered his aunt's house, Wes's father was the first person they saw. He slept alone on the couch in the living room, oblivious to the blaring basketball game on the television, or the fact that his son had just walked in the house. Tony looked at Wes and said, "You see your pops over there?" Wes nodded but then stood there silent, as if grasping for an emotion that was just out of reach. He had not seen his father in years and didn't know what he would say to him, or if he cared to say anything at all. At first Wes considered leaving the house, just heading to the roller-skating rink, but eventually he thought better of it. This was his father. He should at least say hello.
Wes slowly walked up to the couch. His father was motionless. Wes put his hand under his father's nose, testing to see if he was even alive. After feeling the air coming in and out of his father's nostrils, Wes started poking his father in the side with his middle finger. The first few nudges didn't wake him, so finally he just pushed at his father's shoulder. He pushed so hard the man's entire body rolled a little, but he stayed asleep. Finally, after some more jostling, his father's eyes cracked open. He saw Wes standing over him. Still squinting, he looked his son in the eyes.
"Who are you?"
Tony began to laugh hysterically. "I would punch that dude right in the face if I was you," he said to his brother in between laughs.
Wes again found himself adrift emotionally, unsure where to anchor. Part of him was hurt, part ashamed, part relieved that the awkward conversation he had been dreading wouldn't be happening. Wes looked down at the man on the couch and clenched his fist, almost as if he was going to follow Tony's advice, but then his fingers eased, and he simply let off a smirk. Without knowing it, he was mirroring the smirk his mother had left his father with when she saw him on the couch years earlier.
Wes nodded at Tony, and they left the house without another word. He never answered his father's question.
Soon after hearing the news about Alicia's pregnancy, Wes met another girl. She told him that she didn't live in Dundee but her cousin did, on the other side of the complex. It wasn't long before Wes got a chance to see the inside of her cousin's house, and the water bed in her cousin's bedroom. Wes's visits became a regular thing. She returned the favor and visited Wes at his house.
During one of those visits, Wes's new girl woke up in a panic, realizing how late it was. "Wes, I have got to get home! It's one o'clock!"
She sprang from the bed and began to put her clothes back on while Wes sl
owly sat up and wiped his eyes. He stretched and grumbled out a groggy command: "Make sure you be quiet when you leave so you don't wake up my mother." Wes's mother slept in the room next to Wes's and was unaware that her son had company.
"Get up and walk me out! Be a gentleman," she replied. Wes was amused. This chick was a jump-off, a sexual time filler, and he felt she had forfeited her right to be treated like a lady a long time ago. He laughed to himself but got up and put on a pair of basketball shorts and a T-shirt so he could walk her to the door.
The two tiptoed down the stairs, careful not to make any noise. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, they hugged and Wes told the girl he would call her sometime soon. She stepped through the doorway, and before she could close it behind her, Wes heard another voice coming from outside.
"What're you doing coming out that nigga's house?"
A tall, muscular, older teenager had stood up from the curb when he saw Wes's door open. It was not clear how long he had been waiting there, but it was clear that he was not happy.
"Why the hell are you out here spying on me, Ray?" she yelled back, quickly regaining her composure as she walked down Wes's stairs. The man quickly moved toward her, and they started shouting louder and louder, even as the distance between them closed.
Wes stood at alert on his porch and watched for a few moments. Once he realized the man's anger was directed at the girl and not him, he decided to stay out of it. He wished they would quiet down, but other than that he figured it wasn't any of his business. He turned his back on the two and moved toward the door so he could get upstairs and resume his night's sleep. As Wes stepped into his doorway, the man finally noticed him. He stopped yelling at his girl and launched himself toward Wes. He reached him in an instant, grabbed the back of his shirt collar, lifted him off the porch floor, and slammed him onto his back. Wes found himself splayed on his stairs looking up at the night sky, the back of his head throbbing, unsure of what had just happened.