Forged by Fire

by Sharon M. Draper

  But when he didn’t hear anything more after an hour, he called Keisha back. Her dad’s answering machine picked up. B. J.’s line was busy. So was Andy’s. There was no answer at Rob’s house. Finally, he reached Rhonda.

  “Hey, Rhonda, what’s up? Keisha called me lookin’ for Andy. You seen him?”

  “No, Gerald. Didn’t anybody call you? There was an accident. Rob was ... Rob was... Rob’s dead! Andy ran into a wall, there was an explosion, and they all got out except for Rob. Rob’s dead! I can’t deal with this! I feel like I’m gonna explode!”

  Gerald hung up the phone and sat down in a heap on the floor. He was too stunned to even cry. He was sitting there shaking when Angel walked into the room.

  “What’s wrong, Gerald?” she asked gently.

  Gerald could barely breathe. All of the pain of the past crowded in on him—Aunt Queen’s death, Monique’s accident, Jordan’s abuses. He sobbed finally with huge, burning explosions of pain. He wept for several minutes. Angel sat next to him, feeling his sorrow, understanding his grief.

  “It coulda been me. They wanted me to come with them tonight, but I didn’t. And now Rob’s dead. It coulda been me. It coulda been me.”

  Angel’s tears dripped softly onto the cold wooden floor. “Not Robbie. Oh, please, not Robbie!” Gerald couldn’t help her this time. His own grief threatened to strangle him.

  Robbie can’t be dead! Robbie can’t be dead! Gerald repeated wordlessly to himself. Not Robbie. Not cool, silly, fun-loving Rob! Gerald felt weak and heavy. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, like a stone wall was sitting on his chest with the bricks running through his veins. Nothing worked right or felt normal.

  He couldn’t cry any more. He could only hold his head between his arms to try and block the vision that slipped in anyway. The fire—the screams—the silence.

  Gerald suddenly shuddered. “What about Rob’s dad? I been so busy trying to make this fit inside my head that I forgot all about Robbie’s family. Oh, my God! They must be ripped!”

  Gerald ran to the phone and punched the numbers with fear and ferocity. The pleasant voice of the answering machine that never had to feel sorrow or pain answered cheerfully, “You have reached the Washington residence. Please leave your number, and have a nice day!” Gerald hung up in despair. He didn’t think he would ever have another nice day as long as he lived.

  “Angel, I gotta go over there. Rob’s dad was there for me. I gotta go!”

  “Let me go with you. Kiara’s going to need someone who knows how to cry. And that’s one thing I know about. You got bus money?”

  “Yeah, let’s go.”

  Gerald and Angel walked from the bus stop in silence. It was late—well after midnight—and the stars sparkled faintly above the streetlight.

  Angel glanced up. “How can the stars still shine, Gerald?”

  “I don’t know. It seems like the world ought to stop or something—like they ought to not show up tonight at least.”

  “How can the world keep on going like nothing’s happened?”

  They walked up to Rob’s driveway just as the Washingtons were pulling in. Kiara’s door opened slowly, but she just sat there. Angel walked over to the car and offered her hand. Kiara reached toward her hesitantly and touched Angel’s trembling fingers. She got out then and collapsed in huge sobs in her friend’s arms.

  Angel, standing under the shadow of Rob’s basketball net on the garage door, glanced at the uncaring stars and waited until Kiara’s storm was reduced to sniffles and sobs.

  Rob’s mom walked unsteadily to the house, let the dog out, took the mail from the mailbox, and after finishing with the meaningless details of the moment, sat down on the front steps, shivering and helpless. Mr. Washington picked up Rob’s basketball and held it in his hands, staring at its roundness, feeling the ridges and lumps on it, softly repeating Rob’s name.

  “Robbie, Robbie, Robbie, Robbie, Robbie ...”

  Gerald walked over to him and placed his hand on the older man’s shoulder, just as Rob’s dad had done for him on that day that now seemed so long ago. Mr. Washington trembled and touched Gerald’s hand. His eyes said thanks, but his lips could not yet speak; too many other words and thoughts were crowded in his mind that evening. He went to his wife and took her hand, and together they walked over to Kiara. The three of them glanced at the basketball net and Rob’s father let the ball drop with a dull thud to the driveway. It rolled to Gerald’s feet. Gerald picked it up slowly. Holding it seemed to help erase some of the confusion that clogged his mind.

  “Can I hold on to this for a little?” he asked hesitantly.

  “Please do,” answered Mr. Washington huskily. “He would want...”

  Rob’s father finally wept. Mrs. Washington and Kiara took him into the house then.

  Mrs. Washington glanced back. “I’m sorry,” she said to Gerald. “Did you and Angel want to stay over?”

  “Oh no! We just came to be with you all for a little bit. We gotta get back home now. Call us. We’ll be around.”

  Rob’s mom smiled, then closed the door softly behind her. Gerald and Angel walked silently into the darkness, back to the darkness of their own home.

  TWENTY-TWO

  ROBBIE WASHINGTON’S FUNERAL was held on a Saturday. More than five hundred teachers, students, parents, and friends attended. Andy, the driver of the car, sat bandaged and dazed in the third row. Gerald, consumed with grief, sat silently next to Andy, consumed with guilt. Pain is lonesome, thought Gerald as he watched all the kids at school caught up in their grief. You gotta deal with it all alone. Gerald noticed with anger that neither of Andy’s parents had come to the funeral.

  During the recessional, Rob’s mother stopped for a moment at the third row. She glanced at Gerald with brief despair, and moved on. She would not even look at Andy.

  After Rob’s funeral, Gerald wanted to quit the basketball team. It was no longer any fun without Rob’s silliness and Andy’s teasing competition with Rob for points, for food, even for girls. Andy took Rob’s death the hardest. He and Robbie had been so close, and he could not overcome feeling responsible for Rob’s death. Although most of the kids at school were understanding, some of them also had trouble with it. Andy found the word “killer” taped to his locker one day.

  Coach Ripley thought that keeping the team together and finishing the season would help to save them all. Andy was made captain of the team in Rob’s place. Gerald knew that Andy was proud, but that he felt uncomfortable as well. Andy knew he couldn’t fill Rob’s shoes. He wasn’t sleeping well and his grades, which were never very good, got even worse. His parents sent him to a psychologist for counseling, which seemed to help a bit, but Gerald could see how much he was hurting.

  Gerald knew about hurt. He lived with it all the time. His life, from the moment his mother had abandoned him when he was three, had been a series of disappointments and hardships, but he managed to keep his head above water most of the time. And whenever he felt like sinking, he had Angel to hold him up.

  But Rob’s death was different. Rob was young and talented and had a bright future. He’d had two parents who adored him, not at all like the abusive Jordan and helpless Monique. Gerald couldn’t understand why Rob was gone and he still lived. He started coming home late from games, walking the five miles instead of riding the bus. He felt like he couldn’t breathe on the bus any-more. Walking helped him to think and to clear the confusion in his head.

  Entering the apartment around midnight one night, Gerald was surprised to see Angel there, with Jordan.

  “What are you doing here?” he growled at Jordan.

  “I live here.”

  “I always get Angel from Miss Martin’s house,” stated Gerald with suspicion.

  “Miss Martin had to leave,” Jordan replied.

  “It’s okay, Gerald,” Angel added, to reassure him. “Jordan took me to get something to eat. Everything is fine.”

  Gerald didn’t like it, but he said nothing. He wen
t to sleep, exhausted, and slept without dreaming.

  Angel woke Gerald the next morning with a surprise. It was Saturday, and she knew he had two tournament games to play, so she had fixed him some lumpy grits and a piece of toast with cherry jelly. He grinned at her.

  “Why you being so nice?”

  “ ’Cause you been funky blue since Rob died. I thought you needed some cheering up.” Angel, at thirteen, was thin and reserved, but when she smiled, her eyes revealed a glow she rarely displayed otherwise.

  “Any problem with Jordan?” asked Gerald as he licked his fingers.

  Angel sighed. Her smile faded a bit. “No, not at all. He’s been polite and calm for weeks now. He spends a lot of time at the bar down the street and he doesn’t even look at me anymore. I think that bad stuff is over. I think he’s trying, at least.”

  “Well, I still don’t trust him. As soon as I graduate from high school, me and you are gettin’ out of here!”

  “Where will we go?” Angel asked with a little fear. “And what about Mama?”

  “Maybe Monique has already left us,” Gerald mused. “But we can live somewhere far away from Jordan Sparks!”

  Angel didn’t see any way out. She glanced down with resignation. “We’re stuck here for a while,” she said quietly.

  “Maybe. Hey, how’s your dancing?”

  She grinned again. “Delicious! We have a spring show coming up. I think I’m gonna get the lead! Will you come see me?”

  “Well, I may be busy—there’s a rerun of a Frisbee tournament that I may want to catch on TV. ...” She took one of his pillows and popped him on his head. He grabbed the other pillow and they chased each other, screaming and laughing, through the house. They didn’t even notice when Jordan’s door opened.

  “What’s all that foolishness!” he yelled.

  “Sorry,” said Angel, suddenly quiet.

  Amazingly, Jordan smiled. “No problem,” he said. “Just don’t wake up the neighbors.

  Gerald and Angel looked at each other with disbelief. Jordan closed his door. “Maybe I was right,” said Angel with quiet hope. Gerald said nothing.

  Gerald left for the basketball tournament feeling better than he had in a long time. The sky was clear and the air was fresh and chilly. Angel had dance lessons, or he would have taken her with him. But she seemed relaxed and knew to go to Miss Martin’s apartment after dance.

  Angel got home late in the afternoon, humming with excitement and happiness. She bounced up the stairs, her light steps barely touching them. She knocked on Miss Martin’s door, but it was locked and no one answered. Puzzled, but not concerned, Angel went to her own apartment. No one, not even Monique, was home—just the way she liked it. She got a couple of hot dogs out of the refrigerator and put them in a pot on the stove to boil.

  Waiting for the hot dogs, she put in a cassette and turned the music up loud. She was dancing the steps of the lead part, practicing the part she knew she’d get. She heard only the music, only the beautiful music. She did not hear Jordan enter the room.

  She smelled him before she heard him, before she saw him. He had been drinking. Heavily. His eyes were red and glassy. His lips were parted, and his breath reeked with foul, sour fumes. Angel was more surprised than afraid. It had only been a few hours before that Jordan had actually been smiling.

  He was smiling once again—but it was the smile of the monster that lived within Jordan Sparks.

  Angel, who was starting to feel the danger of the situation, started to back toward the door. She wished she had run out when he’d first walked in, but she had stopped being wary, stopped being afraid. By losing her fear, she had lost her chance.

  “Where’s Mama?” Angel asked warily.

  “She ain’t here.” He walked toward her.

  “Don’t start, Jordan. Please.” Angel was beginning to feel dizzy.

  Jordan lurched forward and grabbed her arm. “You think you pretty cute, don’t you?”

  “No, Jordan, just let me go. Let me fix you something to eat.”

  “I ain’t hungry. I want some ... some female companionship. I ain’t even talked to a woman since your mama run like a fool in front of that car. Come here!” he commanded. “Let’s talk.”

  Angel, eyes wide with fear, yanked free of his grip and ran screaming toward the door.

  “Can’t nobody hear you!” Jordan snarled as he moved in front of the door and locked it. “It’s just me and you.” He grabbed her again, both arms this time, and dragged her, kicking and screaming, toward her bedroom.

  “You can’t do this!” she cried. “I’m only thirteen! I’m your daughter! How can you do this to me! NO! STOP!”

  “You ain’t my daughter,” Jordan sneered as he tried to force her to the bed. “You skinny little weakling! Your mama had lots of boyfriends. You ain’t none of mine!”

  The months of exercise and dance practice had made Angel a lot stronger than Jordan expected, but he still managed to have her under his power with little difficulty. Weeping and terrified, Angel begged him to leave her alone. When he touched her face, she screamed again. He slapped her. She shuddered with despair.

  In the kitchen, the pot of hot dogs, which had long since boiled out of water, was seething and shaking on top of the wild gas flames. The meat, crisp and split, ignited into a small flame, which found new fuel in the spots of grease upon the stove. Soon the whole stove was covered with hot flames that licked and devoured everything they touched. The apartment had no smoke alarm, so Jordan never even noticed the smoke or the smell.

  TWENTY-THREE

  AFTER THE TOURNAMENT, Gerald got off the bus feeling vaguely uneasy. He wished again that he could live someplace where graffiti didn’t decorate every empty corner, where trees grew thick enough to get lost in. He glanced toward his building, standing tall and dark against the sky, puffs of thin gray smoke coming from an upstairs window.

  Smoke? Gerald thought. He was running before he was even aware of it. As he rushed up the six flights of stairs, he remembered the taste of smoke in his mouth, the touch of the smoke-filled air in his nose and lungs, and the colors of the bright orange heat. He thought back to that long-ago day behind the couch of his mother’s house—the fear, the flames, the sweet, silent peace of a final sleep—and then he thought of Angel. He knew that the smoke was coming from his apartment, he knew that Angel was up there, and he knew that Jordan was with her. He screamed. “Angelí”

  He could hear the sirens faintly in the distance, but his thoughts were only on Angel and the top of the stairs. When he reached the door, he pounded on it so hard his fists throbbed.

  “Angel!” he shouted. “Angel!” He tried the other apartments on the floor, but the doors were either flung open or locked; everyone had either fled the fire or was out. Finding only silence and smoke, Gerald fumbled hastily for his key.

  Please don’t let me be too late! he silently prayed. Where is Jordan? he wondered as he dropped the key. And where is Monique? Is Angel in there alone?

  Gerald found the key and turned the lock fiercely to the right. When the cool outside air from the hall rushed inside, the flames swelled and raged. Gerald panicked a moment as his memories of flames engulfed him. He wanted to run and hide behind a sofa and wait for Mama to come. . . .

  Mama will be here soon—No—Mama is downstairs, high again, gone again, gone again. . . .

  “NO!” he said fiercely as he thought of Angel. He glanced toward the kitchen, which the flames were consuming with glee, and headed across the living room toward Angel’s bedroom. Flames flickered around the edges of the floor. He knew he only had seconds. Where is Jordan? Gerald kept thinking.

  He opened Angel’s door, expecting to find her huddled under the bed or screaming at the window. Instead, what he saw made him forget the fire, forget the danger, forget the fears of the past. Angel lay on her bed, barely conscious. Jordan was walking slowly toward the foot of her bed. So intent was he that he didn’t even notice Gerald.

  “Don
’t you touch her, you perverted bastard!” Jordan spun around, amazed, and lunged toward Gerald with his fists.

  “I shoulda killed you years ago,” Jordan said with quiet ferocity. “You the one that sent me to jail. I ain’t forgot that!” The room stank of Jordan’s suffocating cologne, stifling smoke, and fear.

  “Don’t you know the house is on fire, fool?” Gerald said, stepping back two paces.

  Jordan seemed to be suddenly aware of the heat, the smell of the flames, and the fire in Gerald’s eyes. Ignoring them for the moment, he lunged toward Gerald again and knocked him to the ground. Gerald’s head hit the edge of Monique’s TV. He saw fire as the pain stunned him for a moment. He didn’t even notice the blood from the cut at first.

  The TV tottered for a moment, then plunged with a crash to the floor. The heavy iron television stand fell over seconds later, shattering the bedroom window. The cold air that rushed in gave Gerald the fresh breaths he needed, but it also fueled the anger of the flames in the apartment and in Jordan Sparks.

  “That’s the last time you’re ever gonna touch me, or Angel!” Gerald swore through clenched teeth.

  He jumped up and swung at Jordan fiercely, but missed. Gerald tried to dart out of the way of Jordan’s kick, but he wasn’t fast enough. With the steel toe of his cowboy boots, Jordan kicked Gerald squarely on his shin. Gerald screamed in pain. He heard the bone crack. He fell once again.

  Angel, coughing and dizzy, struggled to sit up as the smoke began to come in through the open door.

  Gerald glanced over at the helpless Angel, eased himself across the floor, and grabbed Jordan’s leg. Jordan was stronger, but he was drunk and confused.