Borrowed Boy

by Gene Gant

  Do I really sound like that?

  “What the fuck is that thing on his head?” said the white guy.

  “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself,” said the black guy.

  “Cut him some slack, dudes,” BJ said. “He’s fresh from the backwoods. Country boys wouldn’t know Mohawks played out in the big city years ago.”

  I suddenly felt like an earthworm on hot asphalt, shriveling up under the merciless summer sun. For the second time within an hour, I backed out of a room and ran.

  Chicago was the suckiest place ever.

  Yeah.

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE SOUND… a sigh, maybe a whispered prayer… dripped through the darkness and pulled me out of my dream. I rolled over in bed, the sheet tangled around my chest and arm. “Mom?”

  A figure stood over my bed, pale in the smoky shadows of my room. “Sorry,” a voice murmured shakily, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  Not Mom. “Mrs. Copeland? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  I was confused. The lingering fog of sleep didn’t help. Everything seemed out of place, scattered. “Why are you here? Did something happen?”

  As my eyes adjusted to the waking dark, I could make out more detail. Mrs. Copeland was wearing a white silk robe over a pink nightgown. Her wavy hair looked a bit wind-tossed. She leaned forward, reaching down, but stopped short of putting her hand on my shoulder. “Shh. Everything’s all right. Go back to sleep.”

  She looked scared. Fear trembled in her eyes. I sat up in bed, tugging at the tangled sheet, wide-awake now. “Are you okay?”

  “I… just couldn’t sleep. Touch of insomnia. It happens to me now and again.” She folded her arms across her belly and smiled a little. “When it hits, I walk around the house. Lately… I come in here and watch you sleep. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

  “Does it help, watching me sleep?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it’s okay.”

  Her smile widened. “Can I get you something? Cookies, milk? A sandwich?”

  “No thanks. I’m not hungry.”

  She nodded, looking almost disappointed, and then moved over to sit on the end of my bed. “I did that when you were a baby, watched you sleep. I’d put my hand on your chest and feel your heart beat. It was as if I couldn’t get enough of you. You had such a sweet, pretty little face. And now here you are, a handsome young man.” She sighed, reached out, hesitated a moment, and then put her hand on my knee. “I missed so much of your life. Your first step… your first day of school… all the milestones up to this point.”

  “You don’t have to worry. Everything’s been good for me.”

  “I know. I just wish I could have been there.” She patted my knee and then folded her arms across her belly again. “Dwayne, do you want to talk to someone?”

  “Talk to someone? You mean, like a therapist?” Not that again. I shook my head. “No.”

  “Your dad and I think you should. You haven’t been eating much lately. And you haven’t left this house in three days.”

  It had been three days since the joy fest at Doger’s. I’d gone straight home after fleeing the restaurant and asked Mr. Copeland to take me to a barbershop, where I had my Afro-Mohawk trimmed clean off. My head was now like most of the other black teen guys’ heads I’d seen in this part of Chicago. I still felt like a bug-eyed alien from the underside of Uranus.

  “We just want to make sure you begin adjusting to your life here with us.”

  “I am adjusting, Mrs. Copeland.”

  Another sad smile. “I’d find that easier to believe if you weren’t still referring to your dad and me as Mr. and Mrs. Copeland. We want you to feel at home. We want to see you make new friends.”

  “I’ll make new friends… Mom.”

  “You won’t do that hiding in this condo.” She looked into my eyes with so much affection it warmed my face. “This feels unreal, somehow. I almost can’t believe you’re actually here now. You miss them, your adoptive parents and your friends in Memphis. I know you do. And I wish I could make that better for you. Have you touched bases with them?”

  “Not yet. But I will.” The day before I left for Chicago, my Memphis mom and dad sat down with Cole and me, and we all agreed that I should wait at least two weeks before calling or texting any of them. That was supposed to give me time to start bonding with the Copelands.

  “I hope you do. They’re important to you.” Again, the sadness took over her face. She gazed off into the darkness. “Oh, Dwayne. I’m so sorry. It was my job to keep you safe, and I didn’t. You wouldn’t be having such a difficult time now if I’d just kept you safe.”

  “No… Mom… come on….” I reached over and took her hand. It was soft and cool and dry, and it shook a little as I held it. “The kidnapping wasn’t your fault.”

  She turned to look at me, forcing a smile. She was still broken, the way she’d been when she had that meltdown during the lunch at my Memphis home. “Oh, but it was. I turned my back for a second, and that’s all it took for you to disappear. And now I wonder if your dad and I only made things worse for you, bringing you here, taking you away from your family in Memphis. We took you out of the only life you’ve known. You must hate us for that.”

  “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.” I gently squeezed her hand.

  She reached up with her other hand and touched the side of my face. There was something so helpless about her, like she needed to be protected from the guilt and pain eating her away inside. She was the complete opposite of my strong, in-your-face Memphis mom, and suddenly I just wanted to hug her.

  “I see myself in you,” she said as she stroked my cheek. “I see your dad and your brother in you too. My heart knows you’re mine, but in so many ways, you’re a stranger to me. I want to get to know you.”

  “I want to get to know you too.”

  Then, before I even knew what I was doing, I had my arms around her shoulders, hugging her. And for a while, things didn’t seem so out of place anymore.

  THE SUNLIGHT in my face woke me. I blinked, squinting against the brightness as I pushed up on my elbows. Someone had pulled back the curtains, letting the full glow of the morning sun fill the windows of my room. The digital clock on my nightstand read 9:27.

  Yawning, I threw back the covers, swung my legs around, and slid out of bed. Except for the soft hum of the air-conditioning system, the place was quiet. The air-conditioning was one thing I actually liked about being here. The Copelands apparently didn’t have to worry about sky-high energy bills the way my Memphis parents did. They kept the condo at a temperature so cool I could actually snuggle under the bedcovers, and I loved feeling cocooned that way. The boxes containing my stuff from Memphis were still stacked against the wall. Even with my Chicago mom offering her help, I hadn’t found the will to get that job done.

  In pajama bottoms and T-shirt, I left my room and padded up the hall toward the kitchen. The door to BJ’s room was open. I picked up my pace as I passed, hoping to avoid contact if he was in there. I glimpsed an unmade bed and scattered dirty clothes but no BJ. Hopefully he was off somewhere bungee jumping without a bungee.

  I walked into the kitchen, and there he was, my favorite brother, hunched at the table over the remnants of his breakfast—crumbs, a half-eaten slice of toast smeared with strawberry jam, an untouched boiled egg—while lost in a text fest. My heart kind of jolted at the sight of him, tingles of anxiety reaching down into my stomach. As long as our parents were around, he pretty much ignored me. When it was just the two of us, he did stuff that made me wish I was still an only child.

  Like smacking me in the head.

  Like shoving me into walls.

  Like calling me country boy.

  Like telling me to do our parents a favor and jump a train back to Memphis.

  I’d never been bullied before, not on a consistent basis like that, and I didn’t know what to do about it. I mean, what
could I actually do? Fight back? BJ was stronger and faster than me. When I hit or shoved him back, he just doubled down on the pain. Only yesterday he twisted my arm so far up behind my back that it went numb for fifteen minutes. Tell our mom and dad? I did that once, and they came down on BJ like a bulldozer. That night, BJ sneaked into my room and bulldozed me. So I mostly just tried to stay out of his way and avoid being alone with him.

  Fortunately, both parents were in the kitchen with us this morning. Chicago Mom was pouring water in the coffee maker, and Chicago Dad was standing over the double-sized toaster waiting for something to pop out. They both smiled when they saw me.

  “There’s the sleepyhead,” Chicago Dad said happily. He wasn’t goofy fun like Memphis Dad. He was a bit more serious, controlled, like… well, like an uptight college professor, but he sort of made up for it with his addiction to board games. He was wearing a sweat suit with images of Monopoly tokens all over it. Memphis Dad wouldn’t be caught dead in anything like that. Neither would I. The Monopoly session we’d started finally ended yesterday when I declared bankruptcy after landing on BJ-owned Park Place without enough money to pay for the visit. Chicago Dad wanted to start a new game instead of continuing on with just the three of them, so I could be included. I said I’d let him know when I was ready to play again. Good thing he wasn’t holding his breath waiting for that.

  “Your mom and I are having bagels,” Chicago Dad said. “Should I toast one for you?”

  “Oh. No, thanks.”

  Both parents lost the edge off their smiles. “Well, Dwayne, then what are you having for breakfast?” Chicago Mom asked.

  “Uh… I’m not all that hungry.”

  Chicago Dad wouldn’t give up. “Come on, son. There must be something that appeals to a strapping boy like you… cold cereal… muffins… bacon and eggs—”

  “Cow chips,” my big brother threw in with a straight face.

  “BJ!” Chicago Mom snapped, flashing him a heated look.

  To appease my parents, I opted for apple slices dipped in peanut butter, something my Memphis mom gave me as a snack when I was younger and begged for candy or cookies. I could see her right now, smiling as she warned me against rotting out my little teeth. Chicago Dad started slicing apples dramatically, the knife thunking against the cutting board with each downward motion.

  “I can do that… Dad.”

  He shook his head at me. “This won’t take but a few seconds.” Again, he made me think of Memphis Mom. She didn’t trust me with knives either. When he handed the bowl of peanut-buttery fruit to me, a lump formed in my throat.

  Chicago Mom poured fresh coffee into a metal travel mug. The bagels had popped out of the toaster, and she grabbed one with a napkin. “Well, I should run.” She hurried over and kissed Chicago Dad quick on the lips. For the first time, I noticed she was wearing a lime-green suit with a white blouse—business clothes.

  A little twist of angst poked up in my stomach again. “You’re going out?”

  “I have an appointment,” she said, smiling as she came over to kiss me on the forehead. She wasn’t just a chemist, I’d learned, but the vice president in charge of research and development at some big pharmaceutical corporation. Even though she was on leave, I figured she must have an important meeting or something at her job she couldn’t miss. With her coffee and bagel in one hand, she grabbed her purse and keys from the counter. “I’ll only be gone a few hours.” She smiled goodbye to her husband and to me, and she shot BJ a warning glare that he didn’t look up to see. Then she slipped out of the kitchen and was gone.

  Chicago Dad grabbed the toasted halves of the other bagel and poured himself a mug of coffee. “Boys, I’m going downstairs to the gym,” he said, and the little twist of angst in my belly blossomed into a huge knot. On his way out of the kitchen with his breakfast (which, I guessed, he planned to eat on the ride down in the elevator), he paused by the table. “While I’m gone, BJ, why don’t you tear your attention away from that phone for a few minutes and play a game with your brother.”

  Eyes on his phone, BJ lifted one hand in a thumbs-up. “You got it, Dad.”

  Chicago Dad flicked me a smile. I just stood there, shivering a little as he walked out of the kitchen. Seconds later, I heard the thump of the front door closing behind him.

  That sound hadn’t even faded when BJ swiped the boiled egg off his plate and fired it straight and true across the room. The thing exploded dead between my eyes.

  The blow didn’t really hurt, just stung a little. I was mostly stunned, frozen there with cooked bits of yolk and white dripping from my face and spattering over my toes. I wiped gunk from my eyes and looked at BJ.

  He’d locked eyes on his phone screen again. “Tag,” he sneered, “you’re it.”

  TWENTY MINUTES later, I was out of the condo myself. I was so anxious to get away from BJ that I almost walked out barefoot and in my pajamas with literal egg on my face. But walking around like that wouldn’t help my reputation; I was already catching plenty of hell for being a backwoods, jerkwater, country boy. And I couldn’t leave a mess in the kitchen for Mr. and Mrs. Copeland to come home to, even if BJ was the one who made it. I cleaned up the splattered egg (it went everywhere, splashing on the wall, the fridge, the countertop, and a few of the cabinets), forced down a few slices of apple slathered in peanut butter (so I could answer truthfully when my birth parents asked me if I’d eaten), and shut myself away in my room. In the attached bathroom, I stripped down and jumped in and out of a shower so quick, I wasn’t sure every part of me got wet. Then I threw on a T-shirt, knee-length swim trunks, and sandals. My birth parents would absolutely freak if they came home and found me gone without explanation, so I took a moment to text them both as to where I was headed. Without waiting for any reply, I tossed my phone on the bed, draped a fresh bath towel around my neck, and beelined to the front door, leaving BJ at the kitchen table with his precious phone and bad attitude.

  I took the elevator to the roof. Up there was an oasis of potted trees and flowers, a tennis court, walking trail, picnic area, and the biggest pool I’d ever seen.

  It was kind of cool living in a building with a pool available just above my head. The rules posted on huge signs all around made it clear that there was no lifeguard on duty and the condo association was not responsible for any drownings or other accidents. If you swam, it was at your own risk, and you’d be a damn fool to swim by yourself. Running around the slippery deck and jumping off the side of the pool were also stupid things to do and best avoided. This was my third time hanging out at the pool, and each time I’d come alone, but I never hesitated in taking a plunge because there were always plenty of other swimmers around.

  The sky was diamond blue, the sun was giving everything a bright golden wash, and the warm breeze sweeping across the roof just made the whole scene perfect. Simply looking at that sparkling water and the people good-timing it in the pool gave me such a sweet vibe it made me forget for a while that my new big brother only saw me as target practice. I would hang back when there were kids my age in the pool, reluctant to open my mouth to them and expose my country bumpkiness. There weren’t any such kids around today; mostly, it was adults swimming, with a few preteens splashing around in the shallow end on plastic blow-up tubes and rafts. Neither group would give me even a first glance. I claimed a chair at a vacant table by taking off my T-shirt and dropping it in the seat, and then tucking my sandals underneath. I walked over to the pool, sat down on the edge, and slid quietly into the water.

  I swam for something like half an hour, holding my breath for minutes at a time as I kicked below the surface, enjoying the tingly rush of water over my skin. In those muffled, sunlit depths, I could almost forget how much I missed Cole with his geeky glasses, Memphis Mom and her vocabulary lists. But I missed Memphis Dad even more. I remembered Memphis Dad teaching me how to swim, starting with breath-holding lessons in the bathtub. I remembered him taking Cole and me to the public pool in our neighborhood,
racing us from one end to the other, tossing a quarter into the water and sending us on a treasure hunt.

  Those days seemed so long ago, so far away now.

  When my lungs started begging for relief, I pulled myself out of the pool and plodded over to my table. I didn’t bother to towel myself off because I planned to take another swim after I caught my breath. I plopped down in one of the empty deck chairs and tipped backward, balancing on the two rear legs, bracing the chair’s back against the white-painted wrought iron fence that surrounded the pool area. Eyes closed, I settled in to let the sun dry my skin and my trunks a bit and relax my body.

  It was nice, listening to the wind blow and little kids shout and laugh as they splashed away at the shallow end of the pool. Even the jumble of traffic sounds from far below was kind of soothing, the sounds all blending into a lullaby that, along with the sun’s heat, was like a way overdo peace-out for me.

  Then the temperature went down an nth of a degree as a shadow moved between me and the sun. I actually felt the drop, just as I felt the presence that was now hovering over me. It was BJ, had to be. For the first time since coming to Chicago, I was actually feeling mellow, and BJ couldn’t allow that. No, of course not.

  I opened my eyes, expecting to see his nasty grin, a flinch already building up in my muscles at what would surely be a fresh wave of torture.

  Except it wasn’t BJ standing there.

  The Marquis Loeffler look-alike from the kiddie playroom stared down, his dreadlocked head like the moon eclipsing the sun. He raised his eyebrows when my gaze met his. “I was thinking about sitting down here with you,” he said, his voice playful and serious in the same breath. “If I do that, you’re not gonna jet on me again. Are you?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I WANTED to jet. Something about this guy made me nervous. Not like with BJ; that was scared-as-all-hell nervous. This was a weird kind of nervous, a mix of excitement and caution, like my brain was going I’m glad you’re here and I wish I wasn’t at the same time. I shook my head to let him know I wouldn’t be running off just now.