The history between them that Makayla had talked about seemed much more real as Jamal stared at that picture. Around the time it was taken, or shortly afterwards, the friends would go on to become more, and then become friends once again. The commitment that picture represented was something Jamal had never had with another human being. He wasn’t that close to his brothers; he rarely saw them and even more rarely did they speak on the phone. They were cool with each other, but definitely didn’t feel like siblings.
Marlon and Damon both lived in New York now, having been sponsored by their mother and gotten their permanent residency years ago. Actually Marlon lived in Connecticut … or was it Damon? He didn’t even know for sure. Marlon was either engaged or living with his woman, and Damon was a playboy. Jamal had gone clubbing with him a couple times but those attempts at bonding had fallen flat because Damon was too proud to avail himself of too many of the perks that Jamal had access to, insisting on paying for his own drinks and shit like that. Finding the dick-measuring contest a little too tedious, Jamal had simply stopped trying with him, content to let their pleasantly cordial relationship remain that way.
Now, looking at this picture, of Makayla and the man who was now more than a brother to her, he wondered whether he should try again. He actually had brothers, and hadn’t put up much of a fight for those relationships.
“Hey. What’re you doing out here? Did I wake you?”
Makayla spoke quietly as she emerged from her grandmother’s bedroom, her head tied in the brown silk scarf she’d put on before they got into her bed together, and wearing boxer pajama bottoms and a tank.
Her legs were amazing. Some of the best Jamal had ever seen, in fact. He sometimes kissed along their length, stopping behind the knees where she was ticklish, making his way around and up the inner thighs …
“I never fell asleep,” he admitted. “You were really restless, so I couldn’t.”
“Sorry.” She came over and sat next to him on the sofa, folding her legs beneath her. “She seems different. And I keep thinking I hear her breathing from the next room. And then I think I hear her not breathing …” She stopped and took a breath.
Reaching out, Jamal put a hand on her knee and massaged it lightly. “You need someone here all day while you’re at work?”
Makayla seemed to want to say something but hesitated.
“You don’t need to worry about the money. I want to do that for you.”
“I don’t want you to think less of me for accepting,” she admitted. “It’s just that I could never afford something like that on my own.”
Jamal smiled. “You don’t have to worry about that. You have a lot on your plate and I’m in a position to help, so I want to.”
After a moment Makayla nodded. “Then thank you. Knowing someone’s here with her full-time would make me feel a lot better. Candace drops by a couple times during the day but thinking of her here alone until then, staring at the walls. And especially since she doesn’t even seem to want to get out of bed much these days …”
Then suddenly she was crying, soft quiet tears, like someone used to crying alone. Like someone who habitually cried so no one would hear her. Of all the things Jamal felt for her, this time compassion rose to the surface.
When he’d been tasked with looking after his ailing grandmother, he was much older than she was now, and almost none of the daily responsibilities had fallen to him because he could afford to have someone else take it all on. Unlike Makayla, he was no longer in school then, and quite honestly, didn’t have the bond with his grandmother that Makayla clearly had with hers. He’d loved his grandmother in spite of how she had been with him; Makayla loved hers because of how she was with her.
“C’mere,” he said, pulling her against his chest. “It’s going to be okay. I promise. It’s going to be okay.”
He said it because that was what people said, but not because he knew it was true. After her grandmother passed, who besides Devin did she really have? Her cousin Candace, a mother who lived elsewhere … And him. If he wanted to dig in, and choose to be there, she would have him as well.
Makayla let him hug her, but very quickly was able to self-soothe. Like crying alone, she was probably used to having to be her own comfort as well, and even seemed a little embarrassed that her tears had come with him there to witness them. Sighing and then wiping her face with the backs of her hands, she sat up and looked at him.
“You must be exhausted. I bet this isn’t how you pictured your homecoming. Stuck in a tiny apartment helping to look after a sick old lady while your girlfriend cries.” Then realizing what she said, she blushed. “I mean …”
Jamal gave a small laugh and shook his head. “It’s a’ight,” he said, choosing not to address the ‘girlfriend’ comment.
Shit was already getting a little real around here without opening up a whole ‘what are we to each other?’ conversation. As far as he was concerned it was a big enough deal to know that somewhere along the way, they’d slipped into an agreement that their attention to each other would be undivided. No need to go ahead and label that agreement on top of everything else.
“It’s not even a Friday, though,” Makayla said. “So we should probably both get some sleep.”
She stood and extended a hand, tugging until he stood with her. Together they went back to the small bedroom and arranged themselves as comfortably as they could on the small bed. Makayla reached over and turned off her bedside lamp and the room went dark. Outside, there was the sound of light traffic, as they were not too far from the on-ramp to the bridge. And since it was summer, there were also voices, of people hanging out in the street and on the corners. Those sounds only made things that much more surreal—here he was, in a place so similar to the places he was from; and from which he’d been working his whole life to escape.
Much of his hard work had been to ensure that he would never have to be in a place like this again. And yet here he was, when not too far away was a luxury apartment with a large bed and countless comforts that belonged to him.
Makayla was still restless in his arms, moving around and unsettled.
“You uncomfortable?” he asked, pulling back a little, trying to give her more room.
“No,” she said. “I’m fine. I just …” She took a breath and squirmed a little more.
“What?”
Pushing her butt backward so it was wedged into his crotch, she grabbed his hand, placing it beneath her tank and on her breast. Jamal smiled against the back of her neck.
“You want me?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, the word forced. “I …” She stopped.
“Say it,” he urged. “Don’t be afraid to say it.”
“I … I want you …”
“Okay.” Jamal removed his boxer briefs with one hand then removed her shorts without taking his other hand off her breast. “Whenever you want me, you got me,” he said reaching down to see whether she was ready.
She was. Ready enough that he realized she had to have been thinking about it for a long while. He was ready too, but wanting sex, even thinking about it with her grandmother unwell in the next room seemed a little insensitive so he was prepared to simply sleep with her next to him, and it would have been enough.
But now he knew that Makayla didn’t just want him. Right now, she probably needed him, too. In the face of what they both knew—but did not say—was her grandmother’s slow march toward death, what Makayla craved was this most profound affirmation of life.
As he lifted her leg and pushed forward to enter her, Jamal heard her sigh of both pleasure, and relief.
19
“Jamal! Get up! You have to wake up!”
Makayla was already half-dressed by the time she remembered she would have to wake Jamal as well, the rush of adrenaline making her tremble as she buttoned her jeans.
It took a moment but Jamal’s eyes finally slowly opened and took a few seconds to focus and then absorb where he was. Poor man hadn�
��t even been back in New York for twelve hours and already he’d been relegated to sleeping on her tiny bed, performing sexually when he’d probably just wanted to get some sleep and now this. But she didn’t have time to think about that, they had to go.
“What is it?” he sat up. “Is it your grandmother? Is she okay?”
“Yeah, I just checked on her and she’s fine. But you need to get up, we have to go right now!”
“Go where?” he ran a hand over his head and squinted. “C’mon baby, just tell her when she wakes up that I’m …”
“It’s not that. It’s Devin!”
At Devin’s name, Jamal sat up a little straighter. “What about him? What ha …”
“Can we just talk about it in the car? I need you take me somewhere and it’s kind of urgent, so …” She grabbed his jeans and tossed them to him, then flipped the switch on the bedside lamp to find his shirt.
Still naked, Jamal got up and jumped into his jeans sans boxers. “What the hell has he done now?” Shaking his head he looked at her and pursed his lips, clearly restraining himself from saying what was really on his mind. Turning, he headed shirtless for the door. “I need to take a leak.”
When he left the room, he was mean-mugging so hard, Makayla didn’t bother following through on her inclination to remind him to be quiet lest he wake her grandmother. Then she sat on the edge of her bed and grabbed her sandals, sliding her feet into them and then pulling her hair back into a hasty ponytail.
Of all the nights, Devin!
Even with Nana not being well, and them having to come over here and be cramped and uncomfortable in her bed, Jamal had maintained his patience. He’d held her when she cried, made love to her when she said she needed it, and afterward talked to her with his arms about her until they both fell asleep. For all its imperfections, it had been as perfect a night as any they had ever spent together.
But now, this.
She already knew what they would find when she and Jamal got to the corner of 2nd Avenue where Devin told her he was, but what she didn’t know was how she was going to explain it to Jamal. The impulse to help Devin lie was the first one she had because she had lied for him under similar circumstances before. But to Jamal? She wasn’t sure she could.
“Okay, let’s get going.” He reentered the room and grabbed his shirt, shrugging it over his head and then reaching for his keys. “Shoes?”
“You left them in the living room I think,” Makayla said.
“And we can leave your grandmother by herself?”
“I already texted Candace and she’s on standby, but I don’t think we’ll be gone that long.”
Jamal hesitated before exiting the room again. “You going to tell me what’s going on?”
Makayla nodded. “In the car.”
Downstairs, they walked the block and a half to where Jamal had parked earlier that evening, and she held her breath hoping that nothing had happened to it. It didn’t even seem unlikely given the parade of horribles lately. But there was no brick through his windshield, no key-marks in the finish and all the tires and rims were intact.
Jamal unlocked the doors and they got in, and as they pulled away, Makayla considered what to say. When this happened before, there was a range of how severe things might be. Devin could be laughing and making light of his situation when they got there; or he could be in need of medical attention. There was just no way to tell.
But as always, he had called her first. He was frantic, and had no money; had considered walking to a friend’s house, but didn’t know anyone nearby. He thought she was alone, so asked if she could take the subway to come meet him. Makayla hadn’t bothered explaining that Jamal was with her.
That was another thing; Devin was going to be enraged that she had brought Jamal along. But she almost didn’t care about that. How the hell could he keep expecting her to do this? It was one thing when they were eighteen and nineteen-years old. But now … she couldn’t keep doing this for him. It was too much responsibility, and besides that, her heart couldn’t bear it. She kept thinking that one day when the phone rang, it would be from his phone, but not him on the other end, and instead maybe a police officer. She was his ICE listing, so it could happen. She could get that call, and it would be someone telling her that Devin wasn’t just hurt, but …
“So you planning to tell me where we’re going?” Jamal asked.
He already sounded pissed and he didn’t even know the half of it yet.
“Stuyvesant Park,” Makayla said, her voice small. “On the corner of 2nd Avenue and East 15th.”
Jamal glanced at her and then back at the road. “Now you gon’ tell me why we’re going there?”
“That’s where Devin is,” she said, stalling for time.
“I gathered as much. But why?”
“Devin has a … sometimes he gets himself into these situations,” Makayla began. “Like … remember that time in San Antonio? I never asked him about it, but I’m guessing that was what happened. Sometimes he puts himself in these situations … and something happens and he gets hurt, and then …”
“Makayla, I swear to God, I’m tryin’ but I’m not understanding shit you’re tryin’ to say right now. You need to just come out with it.”
“I can’t,” she said, truthfully.
She was trying to tell Jamal what he wanted to know, but she couldn’t just break Devin’s confidence like that. She knew it was almost inevitably going to come out soon—like within the next half hour soon—but if it did, it wouldn’t be because the words crossed her lips.
Miraculously, Jamal seemed to let it go and they drove in silence the rest of the way until they were in Manhattan and then downtown. The park was a landmark, but Jamal still had to use GPS to find the precise block, because apparently it wasn’t an area he frequented. Given what she knew, Makayla wasn’t surprised.
At 2nd & E. 15th, they spotted Devin right away, but he didn’t spot them. Though he looked up as the car slowed he didn’t focus, because he didn’t know Makayla wouldn’t be coming on foot. Jamal pulled up next to him and opened the passenger side window, and Makayla leaned out.
It was only then that she saw just how banged up Devin was. He’d taken a few blows to the face and had a swollen lip, eye and various bruises. And he was cradling his right arm which looked strangely limp. For a moment, he didn’t seem to compute that it was Makayla looking at him from the silver luxury vehicle, but once he did, his face crumpled and he started to cry. Quickly opening the door, Makayla went to him, trying to pull him to her, when he gasped in pain.
“I’m sorry,” he said over and over again. “I’m sorry … I’m sorry.”
Makayla took a trembling breath and willed herself not to collapse into her own round of tears, gingerly tugging on the hem of Devin’s shirt to hold him as close as she could given his injuries. He bowed his head, pressing his forehead to hers and sobbed.
_______________
They were literally across the street from the Beth Israel Medical Center, and as Makayla helped Devin get checked in, she wondered why he hadn’t just walked over on his own to get help. But as she filled out the forms, she realized why—he had no health insurance coverage. When you grew up poor, unless you’d been shot, most medical needs were a self-help concern.
When they were asked about payment, Jamal stepped forward with a credit card and slid it across the desk without a word, waiting for it to be returned, then going back to the waiting area, giving Makayla and Devin plenty of space. None of them had done very much talking, which wasn’t that unusual for Devin and Makayla when they’d faced this circumstance in the past, but for Jamal it had to be a pretty spectacular act of willpower. She couldn’t imagine what he had to be thinking.
Filling out admission paperwork was a convenient way to avoid the conversation that was now imminent, but even while she completed that task, Makayla took glances over her shoulder where Jamal was on his phone, texting or emailing someone, his fingers moving rapidly across t
he screen. Though stony-faced and focused, she imagined he was … She didn’t know what he was. And that made her doubly anxious.
The wait, once the paperwork was done, was mercifully brief and Devin was escorted to the examining rooms in the rear, while Makayla turned to go face the music. Lowering herself carefully into the seat across from his, she waited for Jamal to look up, but he didn’t.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“You still haven’t told me anything,” Jamal said, his voice tight. “I’m over here puttin’ a picture together but you haven’t told me shit.”
He still hadn’t looked up at her, which made it a lot worse.
“I wanted …”
“You didn’t want to.” He cut her off. “So don’t even bother telling that lie.”
Makayla swallowed.
But it wasn’t a lie. There were times, there were definitely times when she was with him, just the two of them, lying in his bed. His arms would be around her, and his breath stirring the hair at her temples. He might kiss her on the neck, or take one of her locs between his fingers; and in that moment, she wanted to tell him. Over the last few weeks when he walked by the copy room and found her alone, and ducked in to steal a kiss; or when he was in L.A. and a floral arrangement arrived at the apartment which she thought for sure was a romantic gesture but turned out to be for her Nana. Of course she wanted to tell him. Because Jamal had gotten closer to her than anyone since Devin himself.
But Devin’s secrets were his to share, and she could not betray him.
“So let me test a theory,” Jamal said, his tone falsely casual. “Our boy Devin, who I’ve been trying to get out there as a heartthrob, make-your-panties-wet rebel who makes mournful, beautiful music … our Devin, your Devin, is one of those dudes who like to suck dick in public places. Is that about right?”
Makayla’s mouth opened but no words came out. Jamal finally looked up and his eyes were beyond angry. They were filled with barely-controlled rage.
“Is it?” he hissed.
The Come Up Page 23