The Stars Beneath Our Feet

by David Barclay Moore

  This was my first time meeting him.

  He liked my African hat and called it “cute.” He must’a been gay, I thought. Straight boys didn’t call nothing cute unless they were talking about a female.

  “So you’re Lolly,” he said, looking me up and down. He was staring at me now, like I was some character out of a book he had read and I had come to life.

  “Freddy told you about me?” I asked.

  Butteray shook his head back and forth real quick. “Naw,” he said in that funny Southern way. “Freddy and me don’t barely speak. I’m cool with his brother.”

  “Oh, cool.” We stood like that for a while. I was about to say something, but he spoke next.

  “I been the one giving your girl lessons,” he said.

  I was lost.

  Butteray grinned. He had this big gap between his two front teeth. He looked like a idiot.

  “Your girl Sunnshyne?” Butteray said. “My folks own Aunt Cushie’s Southern Café on the Hill. I been the one teaching Sunny how to cook. Chocolate-covered candies at first, then other stuff…jalapeños…”

  I was just starting to ask myself in my head if this kid might be super weird, but then he ran off all of a sudden and he answered my question for me.

  Butteray Jones.

  Nuts.

  Just then, Sunnshyne and her mother showed, strolling up from behind me. Butteray must’a spotted them coming before I had. They were hard to miss. Sunny and her moms were both wearing matching African head wraps.

  Super ultra colors.

  Her mother, Tootsie, was a Black militant and a waitress. Tootsie was wearing a black T-shirt that read: NEW BLACK PANTHER PARTY.

  After that, I noticed that Sunny’s arm was in a sling. When I saw her like that, I suddenly felt sorry for her, even kind of worried.

  “You okay?” I asked Sunny, pointing at her sling.

  She nodded. “Who was that?” Sunny asked me. “Was that Butteray?”

  I nodded. “I guess.”

  Sunny’s moms asked her, “Butteray from the café?”

  How many Butterays could there be in Harlem? In the world, even?

  “Hmph!” Tootsie went. “I wonder why he didn’t say hi? I hope I’m not in trouble at work….”

  Sunny looked kind of funny and then told me, “Congratulations, Lolly. Everybody loves what you made. I was wrong.”

  Tootsie bulged her eyes. “Wait a minute, Sunny. My hearing must be acting up, ’cuz I thought I just heard you say you were wrong about something? But I know I must’a misheard!”

  Sunnshyne ignored her. “Lolly, your city, Harmonee, is beautiful. You are a real artist.”

  I felt warm. My bump had started to itch, so I tilted my African hat away from it. Sunny’s mother could see the bruise above my eye for the first time and her eyes popped. She took a step toward me.

  “What happened to your face?” Tootsie asked, looking alarmed.

  I shrugged. “Nothing.”

  Sunny’s mother squinted her eyes at me.

  “Your bump is smaller,” Sunny told me.

  “Oh, yeah.” I looked away and used my hat to cover my bruise again.

  “Well, uh, you should be truly proud, baby,” her moms said to me, smacking on some gum.

  When I asked Sunny how she hurt her arm, she suddenly looked humiliated. Her mother kissed her on her forehead and put an arm around her and said only, “A wild-wolf chase.”

  “What?” I asked her ma.

  “Never mind, Lolly,” Sunny said. “And I told you, Mama: it’s not a wolf.”

  Anyway, I was thankful Vega wasn’t here to see Sunny like this or he would’a irritated her. Then the two of them would’a started to conflict again. And I didn’t want that.

  “I’ll see you in after-school,” I told Sunny.

  She smiled. Sunny seemed different.

  After her and her sling had left, Joseph Marti and his girl Shonte ran through. But I had to break away from them to talk to my neighbor Steve Jenkins. He took one look at my face and asked if I’d been banging.

  I shrugged.

  He looked at me and sighed. I suddenly felt guilty, but didn’t know why. The book he gave me at Christmas had really started all this. How Steve thought about me was important.

  Steve had showed up with his girl too and was looking over my work very closely. He was quiet for a long while. “Lolly,” he finally said. “This is amazing, Black man.” His girl nodded.

  “Thanks, man,” I said. “There’s a lot more to it, but I have to tear it down because they need the space. It was Mr. Ali’s idea to put them on display out here today for the health cookout. Everything comes down tonight.”

  “That’s messed up. So this is kind of a last hurrah,” Steve said. I didn’t know what that meant. “All of this is you, man?” he asked, nodding at the Legos.

  “These two are all mine,” I said, pointing. “The other two pieces were built by my friend Rose.”

  Steve raised his eyebrows. “Big-head Rose?”

  I nodded.

  Steve turned to his girl. “Rose is special-needs, his friend that helped build this,” he told her. His girl’s name was Rayshonne. She was nice. And nice-looking.

  “It’s lovely, Lolly,” Rayshonne told me. “When Steve asked me to drop through, I wasn’t expecting this. Dang, you got skills.”

  “This should be in a gallery,” Steve said.

  “Or online,” Rayshonne added.

  “Sharp idea, Candy Girl,” he said to her. “Lolly, go stand next to Rayshonne near your masterpiece.”

  For the next twenty minutes, I posed with Rayshonne in front of our Lego bridge while Steve took pictures and videos. He videotaped me telling him what everything was about. It was like a real interview like you see on CNN, or something.

  When I got to talking about Jermaine, I realized that I didn’t feel as sad as I had been before. In a way, it was like this city was built for my brother.

  Steve pulled me aside. “Your brother took that easy path,” he said to me. “You’re a hard worker. I see that. You don’t wanna wind up like some of these easy niggas. You don’t wanna do that again to your mother.”

  I started to say something, but didn’t.

  Steve told me to come to him, or anybody, if I had real problems. Before he left, he pointed at me and said, “Stay out of trouble.”

  The best part of the day was showing my work to Daddy Rachpaul. He showed up alone. It was Saturday, so Daddy was on his way to a kids’ party up in Riverdale. He came wearing most of his red-and-yellow Rocky the Clown makeup, saying he was in a rush.

  I think he just liked wearing that makeup.

  Again, Daddy analyzed the bruise on my face, first thing. He talked about enrolling me in a martial arts class. Or boxing.

  Then he criticized Ma. “Sue-ellen made you soft. She still associate with that limp wrist Jonathan?”

  “You know she do, Daddy,” I said. “See what I made?” I pointed at my work.

  I think he had expected something the size of when he had seen my castle on Late Christmas. These whole neighborhood sections were way bigger and more complex.

  I’d grown.

  His mouth dropped open. Just like how Vega’s does when he’s playing ’Ye.

  “Wallace,” Daddy said to me, “this is something fantastic, boy. The strength of artistry needed to construct all of this here. And the vision…” He scratched his chin. Flakes of red clown paint flicked the air. “Who would’a thought that all this could come from that itty-bitty tub of Legos we bought you years ago.”

  “It makes me happy,” I said. “Makes me me.”

  At the end of the day, after everybody had left, Rose finally moped back.

  I didn’t ask where she had been or why she hadn’t returned during the cookout. By now, I knew that she did stuff in her own way.

  Crowds weren’t really her thing, I figured.

  While a few of the center staff and the DJ started to break down their equipment,
Rose and me quietly went to work on our masterpieces. Without saying a word to one another, we started to deconstruct each of our city sections by chunks and bricks. Most of the pieces went back into the trash bags that Yvonne had delivered them in.

  Rose and I both kept some.

  It was my idea to give away most of the bricks to the kids in St. Nick Houses. Mr. Ali said he would take care of delivering them. I mean, I couldn’t keep them all, and it’d be better for all the kids at St. Nick to be able to use them and construct all kinds of junk with them.

  Create their own worlds.

  I had learned it was better to share your stuff. You get back more than you think you would. Mr. Ali had even said the center might sponsor a Harlem Lego champs Ten-Foot Tower Contest next year. And Rose and I could be the judges.

  I liked his idea.

  Back in the city room—or really the storage room now—we finished tearing down what was left of Rose’s piece of Harlem and my alien world.

  I was surprised by how fast it fell. The construction had taken so long. The destruction didn’t last any time at all.

  I guess it’s quicker to tear down something than to build it up.

  As I watched everything disappear, I felt both satisfied and gloomy. We had fixed so much pain into all of this. But we had learned a lot too.

  And it had changed us.

  Earlier that afternoon, when my father was checking out my masterpieces, I spoke something to him that I would’a never said before all this.

  He knew about my phone getting ganked and offered to buy me a new one to replace it. He said to me, “Whatever you need, your pa, the foul-destroyer, is always here for you. Despite what your mother tell you.”

  I said to him, “I wish you’d been here when Jermaine needed you.” Right away, I had felt bad saying it.

  This seemed to make him deep-think, though.

  Then he just said, “Do nah buff me, Wallace,” meaning I shouldn’t judge him. Daddy went on, “Do nah buff me. You can never surely know another man, son. Not truly. Your mum rejected me, tossed me outta yer lives. Blame her.”

  He took one last glimpse at my bridge and wiped the corners of his eyes. “This paint sticks darn near everywhere,” he said, “buggin’ me eyeballs.”

  Daddy hugged me swift.

  “I’m late,” he said, peeking at his watch.

  He turned to leave, but I told him, “You didn’t used to wear that face paint before you and Ma broke up. You never used to grin like I see you with your girlfriend. I don’t think you were happy with Ma, Daddy. Maybe the two of you breaking up was better.”

  Daddy scratched his chin again. “Maybe, Wallace,” he said, shaking his head. “I just wonder if your mum and me had stuck together, despite our problems, if things would’a gone better for Fox.”

  Fox was what my father used to call Jermaine because Jermaine had been so sly.

  Daddy let out the biggest breath. “I’m late. I gotta buss it.”

  On Monday I was walking home from after-school and passed by this car booming hip-hop near a building at St. Nick. I slowed down, but didn’t stop, trying to pick out the kids crowded inside and outside the ride. There were lots of young dudes and pretty girls.

  Frito and Chivonne were sitting in the backseat with the door open. Frito’s cousins were leaning against the hood.

  And sitting in the front passenger side was Vega.

  Chillin’.

  This pissed me off. So Vega didn’t have time to come to my Lego show at the health fair, but had time to hang out chillin’ with these folks?

  He saw me looking at him and tried to get out of the car, but Frito pulled him back. Next thing, Frito was walking toward me on the sidewalk, looking around everywhere, pulling up his pants. For a second, I got a peek at the handle of a pistol, tucked into his waistband.

  “Yo,” he called to me. He pointed down the sidewalk. “Let’s walk.”

  “A’ight,” I said. I didn’t feel like I had a choice.

  Frito and me walked along the sidewalk for a minute, not saying nothing. He looked up at the trees. When we were far enough away from the car, he stopped and stared at me.

  “I asked you to talk to Cas,” he said.

  “I hardly see him,” I said. “Where he been? He missed the health show.”

  Frito rubbed the side of his face. “I heard. He been sick. He’s okay now. Congratulations, man. Somebody sent me a link to your stuff.”

  “Thanks.”

  He nodded slowly. “Legos, huh?”

  I glanced back to Vega, who was watching us. He looked nervous. Frito pulled me farther down the sidewalk.

  “Vega didn’t tell me he was sick,” I said.

  “He let Harper and Gully get at him. You know. In actuality, I am worried over my cousin, manin. Both of you, I’m worried over. This Harp and Gully thing—the East Side Squad.” Frito shook his head.

  “Why they want you to join they set so bad?”

  Frito stopped walking. I stopped too. He pulled up his pants again and squinted.

  “Well,” Frito started. He stroked the couple of hairs on his chin and grinned. “Those boys, Loll, they want me to join in—because of how nice I am. But—mi wanna do mi own ting!” He laughed. “You got me, Trini?”

  I grinned and laughed too. I didn’t really get what he meant, but I didn’t wanna make him mad. Frito was a good-looking dude with a smile that could make any girl do anything for him. But there was also something about that smile that made me nervous: it came and went too easy.

  Frito leaned into my face. “I’m a shot caller, Trini. You would want to be down with my boys. You and my cousin. Think on it.” He tapped the side of my head and turned me back around toward the car.

  I told him I’d think on it. I didn’t like looking over my shoulder every day.

  “Think long,” Frito said, “think wrong!”

  I thought about Harp and Gully and how much I wanted to destroy them. They were forcing me into this choice. It was one I’d dodged and avoided for a long time.

  But now…

  “¡Protección!” Frito said, smiling one more time before we slapped hands.

  “Damn, Lolly!” Daryl Reynolds shouted. “You got another hundred Likes on your page, man. You blowing up!”

  I hated that I didn’t have a phone of my own to see what he was talking about. I dropped my pencil and stopped studying about whole numbers to lean over the worktable.

  I also hated that Vega wasn’t here. It was the last day before spring break and he had been absent from school and after-school all week. Still missing in action.

  I had even ran up to his apartment the day before, after seeing him hanging with Frito and his crew in front of St. Nick. I rang his doorbell but nobody answered. I wondered if Vega was in his room, playing quiet, when I rang, or even if he had come to the door and eyeballed me through the peephole.

  Not saying nothing.

  It felt weird.

  The other day, walking back down the stairs to my place, I thought about how quiet and gone Vega had been. Me, at least I had all the excitement and stuff around my Legos. That had helped occupy my brain.

  But what did Vega have? Besides thinking and thinking on how angry he was over what had happened?

  Well, he did play ’Ye and got into his music.

  But…

  The screen on Daryl’s phone now said I had over ten thousand followers. That was about ten thousand more than I had had before last weekend. I couldn’t even believe it.

  “Wait!” Quintesha yelled. She leaned over the table, twisting Daryl’s phone so she could see. “Dang, Lolly! You a star!”

  “ ’Tesha, sit back in your chair,” Ms. Jenna said. She walked over to our table. “You kids cannot sit still.”

  “It’s my Web page, Ms. Jen. I got over ten thousand followers. Just from last week.”

  Ms. Jen looked at me like I was silly. “Lolly, what are you talking about? Ten thousand followers? Why?”

  �
��It’s his Legos, Lady Bug,” Daryl told her. “Everybody’s liking ’em.”

  “Let me see that,” Ms. Jen said. Daryl showed her. She raised her eyebrows and nodded. “Well, it’s no surprise. We all loved Harmonee, Lolly. It was a wonderful thing. And that Maestro game? I’m not surprised to see how much everyone else loves it. You made something special.”

  “Then why’d you make him tear it down?” Quintesha asked with a scowl.

  “That wasn’t my call, ’Tesha,” said Ms. Jen. “It wasn’t up to me. But I’m glad to see it live on. Now, Daryl R., put that away. It’s study time. And don’t call me Lady Bug.”

  Daryl shoved his phone into his pocket. He whispered to me, after Ms. Jenna left, “You famous, Loll. Too cool, man.”

  I could barely consider it myself. I hadn’t ever been recognized for nothing. And it was cool that if I did get famous for something, it would be for Harmonee.

  Lying on my back on my bed, I thumbed through some pages of The Collected Works of Phillis Wheatley. The poems hadn’t been as boring as I thought they would, but today I was about to explode.

  I was mad that Vega wasn’t here for this. Him being how he had been lately was getting old. I hoped he wasn’t hanging out with Frito too much. His cousin had a way of making bad situations worse.

  I bounced up again from my bed.

  I tossed the poetry book down and rushed to the other side of my room. I decided that the miniature turret that I had built in the city room and since moved up here to my bedroom was better off on a higher shelf.

  Ma had said it was okay for me to leave some of my old city in my bedroom. Just as long as I didn’t try to conquer the whole apartment like before.

  I checked myself out in the mirror behind my door. I wished I didn’t have such a high nose bridge. Or squinty eyes.

  I read some more poems, but something on the ceiling caught my attention.

  A water bug.

  I hopped onto a chair and smashed the bug with my yellow flip-flop. I knew Ma wouldn’t want them to videotape no bugs marching across our ceiling. I stood there, watching what was left of the bug as it twitched a bit, stuck to the bottom of the flip-flop.