Union

by John Darryl Winston

  “You have a few minutes.” Mr. Tesla took bacon from the pan with a spatula and put it on a napkin he’d set on the counter next to him.

  “I know. I have a chapter to read, some homework.” Naz grabbed the World History book he had discarded on the floor.

  “Homework?” Mr. Tesla turned to look at Naz. “Are you feeling well?” He chuckled.

  Naz laughed. “Well, I made a deal with Dr. Gwen to keep my grades up.”

  “Wise lady.”

  Naz read for a minute but couldn’t focus. “Mr. Tesla. What’s her name, your girlfriend from the other night?” He got up, still dressed from the night before, and sat at the table.

  Mr. Tesla laughed. “Yukiye. What’s yours?”

  “D.”

  “D?”

  “Well, Delilah, but she’s not my girlfriend.”

  Mr. Tesla smiled as he put a plate of eggs and bacon on the table in front of Naz. The picture on the center of the table of Mr. Tesla and his late wife usually put Naz in a somber mood. Today was different, for him and Mr. Tesla, it seemed.

  Naz’s phone buzzed on his cot. He jumped up and grabbed it. It was a text from D.

  Thanx 4 walkn me home

  He sent back:

  Ur welcome :)

  She responded:

  It’s my turn. See you in 15.

  She’s coming here? “She’s coming here, Mr. Tesla.” Naz stood up.

  “Wait,” said Mr. Tesla. “Take a deep breath and finish your food. You have time.”

  Naz smiled, took a deep breath, and sat back down. He calmly inhaled his food then flew down the booth stairs to get washed up and ready for school—ready for D.

  Ten minutes later he was back in the booth putting on his ceremonial black jeans, nondescript gray, Henley t-shirt, gray hoodie, and hunting jacket. It promised to be the coldest day of the season yet.

  But he had another concern; it was almost impossible for him to settle his emotions when D was around. He realized that last night. Consequently, when he was with her, his mind was filled with not only his thoughts but hers as well. It was a relief to know that she liked him so entirely, as much as he liked her. He couldn’t keep those butterflies away, didn’t want to. It felt good. But Dr. Gwen had cautioned him about using his abilities properly. When he had probed her mind, she warned him about how his abilities could be abused or taken lightly, and he understood immediately. Back then it was hard. He had no control over his gifts and only knew that strong emotions of love, hate, and fear could enhance his ability to use them—love?

  Well D was on her way now, and Naz didn’t need to recall a therapy session with Dr. Gwen or his mother’s treatise on right and wrong to know it was about the worst thing you could do to a person, read their thoughts, spy on all they held sacred. But he couldn’t help it sometimes, couldn’t always keep his emotions in check. Over the past year, he saw how much evil lurked behind the walls of most human minds, how much they kept locked away behind smiles, laughter, and kind words. Last night he caught a glimpse of what was inside D as he walked her home, and it was all good for the most part. But there was a darkness from which he had turned away.

  D liked his hair and thought it was cute. She wanted to touch it when he had helped her up, had wanted to touch his hair since day one. She felt sorry for him when she first saw him sitting in the cemetery all by himself, but that feeling lifted when she saw he wasn’t sad, and Naz’s feelings fell and rose with hers—emotional transference, Dr. Gwen calls it. She didn’t know what to think when he purposely read her mind to learn what the “D” stood for—Delilah. He smiled. When he took off her glasses, he was tickled and troubled by how much she recoiled. He couldn’t tell what she hated most, her eyes or her glasses, and he couldn’t understand why because he loved them both—love?

  Ready to go, he looked out of the two-way mirror in anticipation, twisting his hair with one hand and rubbing the scar on his neck with the other—She likes my scar, knows exactly how I got it. She’d asked around, and someone had told her. He could’ve dug deeper to find out who, but he stopped there, feeling guilty. She knew other things about him, too, things he never told her that she had discovered by asking around, and he was OK with that, liked it even, her interest in him. Naz had nothing to hide, at least not on the outside. And how was that different, her spying on him by asking around and him spying on her by looking into her mind? It was different, and he knew it. That was where people kept their most valued secrets, the darkest ones, locked away from plain sight, for life. And he had access. Was it a gift or a curse?

  D bounced into MeeChi’s—it was the first time, he could recall—her puffy ponytail coming down from under a white, knit hat he’d never seen before and ending almost at the middle of her back. She carried a backpack on one shoulder and a large white plastic bag in her hand. She saw Tone and smiled—probably remembering me go on about him. She walked to the first register and said something. Jerrod nodded, smiled, and pointed to the booth. Naz smiled when she looked up. He imagined she knew he was watching her and then some movie where time stopped, and some jazzy, romantic song with a saxophone solo set the mood.

  “Ahem.” Mr. Tesla appeared from nowhere, standing next to Naz and waking him from his daydream. “She’s pretty.” He nodded, holding a toothpick in his mouth.

  Naz shrugged as Mr. Tesla exited the booth, and he followed, all the while trying somehow to slow his breathing and heart rate and stop his hands from sweating.

  “Mr. Tesla, this is D. D, Mr. Tesla,” said Naz.

  Mr. Tesla half-nodded, half-bowed and D nodded back, returning a coy smile for her part.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Tesla. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Oh my, nothing bad I hope.”

  “Oh no, all good, sir.”

  Mr. Tesla looked at Naz. “I’m afraid your boyfriend here—”

  “Mr. Tesla,” Naz turned away from them and looked back up at the booth to hide his grimace of embarrassment.

  D laughed.

  “I’m sorry … Naz hasn’t told me much about you.”

  “Well, we’re gonna have to fix that, right … boyfriend?”

  Naz gave D his best poker face, which was almost nonexistent. “Y-Yes, of course. What’s that?” Naz pointed to the large plastic bag she held.

  “Nice … way to change the subject. It’s my project for Art Survey.”

  Whew … Wait, Art Survey. “You have Art Survey?” asked Naz.

  She nodded. “But I wanted you to see this before I turned it in.” She handed Naz the bag, which held a large board of some kind.

  “Guess what?” said Naz with a toothy smile. “I have Art Survey … I don’t know why.” He shrugged.

  “Really?” D pushed her glasses up. “What hour?”

  “Last hour.”

  “With Ms. Goins?”

  Naz leaned the bag D had given him against his leg, pulled the schedule out of his pocket, and opened it. “Yup, with Ms. Goins.” He shivered uncontrollably as a chill ran through him.

  “What’s wrong?” D giggled.

  “Nothing.” He put the schedule in his pocket and turned his attention back to the board. “What is it?”

  “Look at it.” D bit her bottom lip in excitement.

  Naz pulled the foam board out of the plastic bag. He was stunned by what he saw, and time seemed to stand still indefinitely before he said, “You did this?”

  D smiled and then moved to stand next to him. He inhaled her scent—coconut—silently. His eyes closed slowly and then opened again.

  It was a 24” x 18” foam board with photographs—no, drawings … or both. Naz couldn’t tell. That’s how good the drawings were or how much D had altered the pictures not to look like pictures anymore, pictures and drawings of him. D had turned the foam board into a giant page out of a comic book minus the word bubbles but complete with six panels: pictures of Naz playing basketball the year before with Lincoln Middle School.

  “How’d you do this?”
Naz showed the foam board to Mr. Tesla as he looked at D in awe. “You’re very talented.” Mr. Tesla nodded as he observed the board while nursing his toothpick.

  “Thankssss.” D put her head down and pushed her glasses up again.

  “How’d you do this?” Naz repeated.

  “I took some pictures … at some of the games last year, all of them really. I chose the best ones.”

  “But these aren’t just pictures.”

  “I put them in my computer and changed them. That one I drew from scratch.” She pointed to a picture of Naz in his white uniform. He was dribbling the ball between his legs and pointing at something down court. She smiled as she gestured to another picture of Naz in his royal blue uniform shooting a jump shot. “I just changed your expression on that picture. You looked like you were in so much pain. It was the day you guys won the championship.”

  Naz remembered that day. It was the day after Meri had died. “The day we won the championship.” He smiled at her and then turned his attention back to the foam board.

  “We.” She smiled.

  “Mr. Tesla, check it out.” Naz pointed to the picture in the center of the foam board. The picture captured Naz’s attention so completely he had forgotten Mr. Tesla was standing next to him already looking at the picture. In the picture, Soul and Ham flanked Naz on his right and Harvis and Milton on his left. They all had a basketball. Ham stepped on his. Soul prepared to crush his between his bare hands. Milton carried his under his arm. Harvis rested his on his thigh while Naz palmed his in an outstretched hand. D had included the graphic, “Railsplitters” just over their heads—wow!

  D moved to stand next to Naz, and a chill ran through him again, along with some of her thoughts—he likes it. He likes me.

  Naz shook his head to clear his thoughts.

  Oh no. “What’s wrong … you don’t like it.”

  “It’s incredible.” He reassured her.

  “A thing of beauty, really,” said Mr. Tesla. “But, you’re going to be late for school, I think.”

  “I guess we should go,” said Naz, putting the foam board back in the bag reluctantly. He handed it to her with a smile and led her to the door.

  “I made it for you when you were gone. So when Ms. Goins gives it back, you can have it.”

  “Really? Thank you,” was all Naz could think to say.

  She stopped him at the door. “So, this is Tone.” She looked up at the bird. “I thought you said he could say anything.”

  “Yeah, well he doesn’t talk anymore.” Naz shrugged. “Stupid bird.”

  “Naz has a girlfriend; Naz has a girlfriend,” said Tone as he flapped his wings up and down.

  “Tone,” said Naz, surprised.

  D laughed a laugh Naz had never heard before from her, and he shivered again.

  “Let’s go.” She took his hand, and they left.

  Naz tried to shut himself off emotionally as they walked, tried to ignore his hand holding hers, but it was no use. He needed to think fast or experience a barrage of D’s thoughts rushing in.

  “What time is it exactly?” asked Naz.

  She let go of his hand and pulled out her phone.

  Whew!

  “We have a lot of time,” she said.

  He pulled out his phone to occupy his hand so she wouldn’t grab it again. “I don’t remember you taking any pictures at the games.”

  “Well, I did. I used this.” She held out her phone. “See.” She stopped him with her hand, stood on her toes and put her head close to his. She held the phone out and took a selfie of them. They started walking again while she looked at the picture. “Do you or your teammates ever smile?”

  “Not when we’re taking pictures.”

  “Tell me about it. I almost changed all of your mean mugs to smiles, only I don’t think I’ve ever seen Harvis smile, so I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  They both laughed.

  “Mmmm … can you smell that?” D closed her eyes for a moment.

  “What? I try to block out the smells around here.”

  “But it’s sooo sweet … like—”

  “Leopold’s.”

  “What?” D opened her eyes.

  “Leopold’s … the bakery.” Naz pointed across the street just before they turned the corner.

  “How come there’s a line so early?”

  “They give all the leftover doughnuts from the day before to the homeless people in the morning.”

  “That’s nice. Hold up. I just thought of something; if you started school yesterday, why weren’t you in Art Survey? Skipping already?”

  “I was in my counselor’s office trying to get two of my classes changed.”

  “What classes?”

  “Art Survey.” He chuckled. “And Spanish with Dr. Q-Q—”

  “Quesada?”

  “That’s it; Quesada.”

  “Did you change ’em?”

  “No, the counselor said it’s too late in the semester, and all the other classes were full. But she was lying.”

  “How do you know she was lying?”

  “I-I don’t. I think she was just being lazy.”

  “Well good for her because now we have at least two classes together. What are the chances at a school as big as Union … destiny or coincidence? What hour do you have Spanish?”

  “6th, just before Art.”

  “Dang, two out of three ain’t bad. I have it 2nd hour right after your coach’s class, and I don’t know how I landed in there. We can still do Spanish together. It’ll be fun.”

  “Yeah, and you can tell me what’s gonna be on all the tests.” He laughed.

  “I guess.”

  The strategy worked. Naz needed to keep her talking and her mind on something other than the two of them. “How long have you been drawing?”

  “Forever … it seems.”

  “Can I see it again?”

  “I don’t care; it is yours.” She handed the bag to him.

  Good; something else to keep my hands busy. Naz put his phone back in his pocket, grabbed the bag, took the foam board out, and studied the pictures again while they walked in silence.

  D grabbed Naz’s arm just as a car horn blew and startled him. “Watch where you’re goin’.” She pulled him back onto the curb.

  “That’s what you’re here for,” Naz said, slightly embarrassed.

  “Look.” She pointed at the stop sign on the corner. It had IA in graffiti written over the word ‘stop.’ “So … how was it at International Academy?”

  “It was OK.” Naz wondered if D knew the graffiti was a gang sign, not the initials of his former school.

  “Well, why’d you come back?” She led him across the street as he returned his gaze to the foam board.

  “I don’t know?” Naz wasn’t prepared to let anybody in on his and Harvis’ plans. The only thing that came to mind was, “Maybe I missed you.”

  “Whatever … not enough to call or text, though, huh?”

  He shrugged then pointed to the board. “I can’t tell where the pictures end and the drawings begin.”

  “That’s the trick, the art part, to make it seamless.”

  “How’d you learn to do this?”

  “My sister can … well, could draw.”

  “Darla?”

  “Hey! You were actually paying attention to all my texts last year?”

  “What else would I be doing?” Naz straight-faced her.

  “You’d be surprised. Anyhow, my mother said I used to watch Darla draw all the time, and my sister would get irritated, go in her room and lock the door. I don’t remember, but my mother said I would cry myself to sleep. One day when I woke up, my sister had bought me a set of color pencils and a giant pad of paper. I guess I never looked back after that. Now it’s a … kinda release for me.”

  Naz had never talked to D on the phone before, had never had any extended conversation with her at all. It was uncharted territory. But the one thing he gathered early on was that
he needed to keep her talking, but not about them, at least until he could learn to control his abilities or his emotions for her. “Tell me more about your sister. Do you have any more sisters … or brothers?”

  “You were paying attention, but you don’t remember?”

  Naz thought quickly. “I do remember. I was just being silly. It’s just you and Darla. Tell me more about her.”

  “You do remember. There’s not much to tell really. She was supposed to be gifted or something … supposed to graduate early but ended up dropping out of school and leaving home before she turned eighteen.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded.

  “How long ago was that? How long has she been gone?”

  “I don’t know … about 389 days.” She smiled.

  “You really miss her.” Naz raised an eyebrow.

  “A little.”

  “Do you ever hear from her?”

  “She calls sometimes … and sometimes sends me a text. I hear my mom and dad talking to her on the phone every now and again, usually arguing.”

  “Why did she leave … if you don’t mind me asking?” He put the foam board back in the plastic bag then put it under his arm.

  “I don’t mind, ’cause I don’t know why. And near as I can tell, nobody does, but she was different. I know that.”

  Thick steam rose from a sewer up ahead along with the sound of metal banging beneath them. “Come on” He grabbed her hand, feeling like he could control his emotions if he was the initiator and stayed focused on their conversation. It was working. “Let’s cross.” He pointed to the toxic steam in front of them. “I promise you … that’s not gonna smell like Leopold’s.”