by Justin Sayre
But why?
Because . . . and this is the part that makes me cry the loudest, it’s because I love her. I love Janet more than anyone else in the world. It’s hard to remember that sometimes, but the truth is that I did it because I love her. I don’t like her a lot, but I love her more than anything.
I love the way her nose twitches when she’s about to say something funny, and Janet says so much that is funny. On good nights when she’s happy drunk and just yelling at the TV, she’s usually funnier than anything on it. And she’s smart, so smart, she can talk to you about anything in the world, and explain these huge ideas to you in the simplest terms, so it seems so basic and straightforward. She never makes you feel like you couldn’t understand it without her. She’s just catching you up.
And beautiful. My mother, Janet, is beautiful. Elegant is the word, really. She’s long and tall like a model, but beautiful in a warmer way. She’s not an icy thing walking down the runway just to show off the clothes, she’s not just a fleshy hanger. She’s a person you want to follow, you want to watch her move, half because you can’t believe someone does everything so well, but half because you’re hoping that some of it will rub off on you. At least I do. Try as hard as I can, I can’t hate her, because even in her worst moments, there’s a hint of this funny, smart, and beautiful woman somewhere deep inside. She’s drowning in vodka, and part of me always wants to save her.
It gets so late after a while that both of us head up to bed. I brush my teeth and look out into the hall to see Auntie in my mother’s room. “You want to sleep in here with me? You’re not too big, are you?” Auntie smiles at me, patting my mother’s bed.
It seems like such a strange thing to do. I don’t ever remember sleeping with my mother, even as a little kid. I mean, when I was really small, my father would never have allowed it, and after he left, it wasn’t anything I ever even thought of. Janet and I are separate people with separate beds, but now, seeing Auntie pat her bed and smile, I think it might be fun. I mean, I never got to do it as a kid, so I probably have at least one of these moments owed to me. So I walk into Janet’s room and sit on the bed.
“Go on, get under the covers.”
Auntie turns off the light and leans back onto the bed. I can feel it shift as she turns over to me.
“You’re a very brave little girl, you know that?” Auntie says.
“I’m not,” I say to her, looking at the ceiling in the darkness.
“You are. I’m here for you, and I promise I always will be. Okay?”
I say okay as I turn on my side and move closer to her. She puts her arm around me and tells me she loves me. Her arm is warm in parts and cold in others, but it all feels good, and faster than I think I ever have before, I fall right to sleep.
The next morning, I’m tired for sure, but waking up with Auntie’s arm still around me seems worth it. I try to sneak out of the room without waking her, but by the time I get to the door, she’s up. “Do you want me to make you eggs or something?”
“No, I’m all right,” I answer. I really want to let her sleep, I already feel like I’ve kept her up enough. I expect things to be different or heavier this morning, but it actually feels like the opposite. I smile at Auntie to thank her and to show her that I’m all right. I need to get ready for school.
It’s early and I don’t have to leave right away, so I sit in the quiet kitchen and have a glass of orange juice all alone at the island. I don’t turn on the TV or look at my phone. I just like the quiet of the house and knowing that it’s a good quiet rather than the quiet of waiting until something horrible happens.
Outside, it’s getting colder than I expected, so I’m glad I wore a sweater but wish I would have worn a hat with it or something. I walk past Ducks’s house just as he’s coming out the front door with wet hair that will freeze on his way to school. He never dresses warm enough, and I really don’t know why.
He stops in the doorway when he sees me, so I stop too.
“Hey,” I call over the wrought-iron fence.
“Hey,” he answers, closing the door behind him.
“Are you walking?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he answers again, lifting the side of his lips to say this so it drags out much longer than the word would otherwise.
“Do you mind if I walk with you?” I ask as he almost gets to the gate.
“Sure,” he says, doing the lip thing again and squeezing past me through the gate. He starts off without me, but I follow him, walking as fast as he’s walking, if only a little behind. We don’t say a word to each other until we’re a few blocks down 7th Avenue.
“Did you do the math?” I ask. It’s the first thing I can really think to say. There is this thing with Ducks that makes me nervous and it always has. He knows me. He knows me better than almost anyone else in the world, but he doesn’t always trust how well he knows me. And the worst part about that is that out of everyone, he’s the only one who should. I’d never give him up for Ryan. I’d never give him up.
I start things off gentle and off subject, but he knows that I’m hedging toward what we actually both want to talk about. Math homework is a great place to start.
“I just don’t get math and I don’t know why I even have to.” He shrugs.
“Well, you don’t want to fail,” I spit back at him.
“No, but I just think, at a certain point, we have to be able to say that there are certain things we’re just not good at and be fine about it.”
“And this is that point, eighth grade?” I laugh.
“Yeah, why not? I mean seriously, when in my whole life am I ever, ever going to use algebra? So let’s just all cut it out already,” Ducks says, laughing. He’s so funny when he wants to be. I know part of it is that he’s being serious, but it’s how he says these crazy things that just makes me laugh. It always has.
“Well, what else?” I laugh.
“Gym. I mean, who cares? I don’t want to know what a football is, and I don’t want to learn how to throw it.”
“Okay. No gym. What else?” I ask.
“Well, like, geography seems pretty dumb, and chemistry. Those sort of suck too.”
“Well, what does that even leave you? English.”
“Social studies with Mr. Gennetti,” says Ducks.
“Well, of course you’re going to pick that.” I laugh so loud, rolling my eyes. I wait for the laugh after, but it doesn’t come. He’s not pouting, but he’s just looking down. He seems sad about it but almost in a different way than I’ve ever really seen him. It’s a sadness that’s colder, it stops the air around him. It’s like he’s shrinking in front of me, going to a small place that I can’t see.
To shake him out of it, I swing my arm through his, and push him forward, step after step, catching up with him and then pushing him forward again, talking about what I would get rid of, and telling him what I would keep. Saying that Mr. Gennetti is cute, if you like that sort of guy, but he’s just not my type.
“Ryan’s your type.” Ducks smiles at me shyly.
“I . . . maybe.” I smile back. “I’m sorry about before.”
“Yeah.” Ducks smiles again. “I really love your new hair.”
And I know that’s all we’ll say about it. I would like to say that I’m sorry for hurting his feelings, because I am actually sorry about that, but it’s so hard to keep up with all the feelings and fears and worries Ducks has. It’s not so hard that I’d give up, just on some rounds I need to sit one out. I hope he trusts that I’ll always come back.
CHAPTER 17
At the last bell, I race down the stairs to meet Ryan. When he comes out the side door, he takes my hand right away, which is a little more in-your-face than it has been on the other days we walked home together, but I don’t mind. I guess he’s thinking tonight is a big deal.
Everything is pretty much the same
until we get to my street, and we see Ellen and Ducks walking from the far corner. I’m not embarrassed to be holding Ryan’s hand or anything, even though both their faces totally change when they see it. Ellen looks at us first, then looks away, but Ducks just stares, almost curious about it. Ryan gets nervous, I can feel his palm get wetter the closer we get to them.
I wave to them, hoping that will help us all. Ellen waves back as she pulls Ducks, still staring, through the gate to his house and up the stairs to his front door. I laugh at how rough she is with him. It all seems so silly.
Ryan stops by my front gate. “So do you want me to walk over here first or is it easier just to meet at the movie theater?” He smiles, looking at his shoes and peeking up at me.
“I can meet you there. It’s closer to your house anyway.”
“Sure, but seriously, I, like, don’t care about that,” Ryan says, looking up at me a little more. “I just want to do whatever you want to do.”
“Okay. So I will just meet you there.” I smile and head through the gate.
“I’ll be there at seven, is that good?” Ryan says.
“Yeah. Perf.” I wave goodbye as I get to the top of the stairs.
Inside the house, I hear Auntie in the kitchen. I drop my things in the hallway and head in to talk to her.
“Hey, baby. How was school?” Auntie says, without looking up at me from her laptop. She’s busy, working I guess, but I don’t mind. And just when I actually wonder whether I mind or not, she looks up, takes off her glasses, and smiles at me. There’s nothing else to it. She seems to always know what I need.
“I’m making chicken tonight, it should be done in about an hour, is that all right?” she asks, closing the computer.
“You don’t have to do that. I know you have work,” I say, going over to the refrigerator to get a glass of water.
“I do have work, and I will have it. So don’t worry about that. Now tell me how, was your day?” Auntie smiles and waits for me to tell her every detail about nothing that is worth repeating, but I at least try. Halfway through algebra, Auntie checks the chicken, and I have to tell her that I’m going out tonight.
“What’s this, now?” Auntie says, standing up from the open oven door.
“I’m going to the movies with Ryan.”
“Who’s Ryan?” Auntie smiles, but I think there’s more to it.
“He’s the boy who’s been walking me home. It’s not a big deal,” I say, drinking my water and looking right at her, knowing that if I look down at any moment she will think there’s a lot more to it than I’m telling her, and that’s just not the case at all.
“That boy, huh?” Auntie says, closing the oven. “I got eyes, little sister, and I got ears, too, so you better start talking.” There’s a small laugh in her voice, so I don’t think she’s totally angry, but it’s only a small laugh. I don’t want to lose it completely.
“It’s not like a date,” I say quietly and calmly.
“Who said ‘date’? You did.” Auntie smiles. “What time is he coming to pick you up?”
“He’s not, I’m meeting him at the movie theater at the end of the park.”
“Oh, no, you’re not. No way. If you’re going out with this boy, I want to talk to him first,” Auntie says, moving away from the oven. “I should have met him already, walking you home every day. So now I have to step in.”
“But I said I would just meet him there, it’s closer to his house,” I say, getting a little angry. Why is she not being cool about this?
“Well, un-tell him. Or I can,” she says, picking up her phone. I know she doesn’t even have his number, but still it makes me nervous enough to grab mine quickly and text Ryan.
Can you come and pick me up? My aunt wants you to.
Ok. Is she mad or something?
No, she just wants to meet you. She’s pretty chill. It won’t be a big deal, I totally swear.
Ok. I’ll be to you by 6:30.
Ok. Thanks.
Np
The whole time I’m texting Ryan, Auntie keeps asking me all sorts of questions about him and answering them before I get a chance. Does his mother know where you’re going? Is he a nice boy? Well, a nice boy would have introduced himself already, and that’s the real truth. But does he do all right in school? Is he smart? Not too smart to try to take you out and meet you at the theater without even a hello to me.
I look up and try to stop her, but there’s no stopping her. I’m starting to get angry with Auntie. Or maybe disappointed. Everyone is making a big deal out of this, when it is exactly the opposite of a big deal. I try to answer everything she has to say with one- or two-word answers, and I run up the stairs the first chance I get.
I take a shower and start to get ready. I pick a vintage corduroy dress that hangs low over a pair of patterned leggings. I wear bracelets, which I feel good about. A pair of little black ballet shoes instead of dark high-tops.
When I come back down the stairs, Auntie’s waiting for me. “Oh, girl, you look good, turn around.” She takes my hand to twirl me around and see the whole look.
“I like your hair up,” she says.
“Thanks,” I say, getting out of the twirl and finding my way to a stool to sit down.
“What time is Ryan coming to pick you up?” Auntie says, sitting down on her own stool and moving an already made-up plate toward me.
“Six thirty,” I say, looking for a napkin. Auntie takes a roll of paper towels and rips me off a big piece, which she tucks into my dress. I feel stupid, like a baby, but I don’t get mad about it, I just want to get out of here in one piece. And she’s nice to worry about my look. She asks me lots about Ryan while we eat, and I answer the best I can, but there’s a lot I don’t know.
“You don’t know what his parents do?” Auntie says loudly as I’m trying to finish my peas.
“We don’t talk about that stuff,” I answer.
“Well, what do you talk about?”
“I don’t know. School? Basketball?”
“What do you know about basketball?” Auntie laughs but then gets very serious. “Would your mother let you go out with this boy?”
When she asks this one, I look at her, right in her face, for a bit. I don’t know. I probably wouldn’t have told her. She probably wouldn’t have asked. This wouldn’t have been a big deal to her, and for that and only for that, in this moment, I almost miss her.
“I don’t know,” I answer.
“I have a responsibility to watch you. To your mother and to you. I know you don’t think of it that way, but I do. I owe you a lot more care than you give yourself, little sister. So I am going to talk to this Ryan, and I’m going to set him straight when it comes to you, you got me?”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say loudly.
“I do,” Auntie Amara repeats until I stop arguing. “I’m not going to embarrass you or him, you’re at the age when this stuff starts happening. So I get that, but you have to understand, and so does this white boy, that there are boundaries.”
“Why do you have to call him a white boy?” I ask, trying not to get angry.
“Isn’t that what he is?” Auntie looks at me. She clears the plates once we finish and washes them by herself because she doesn’t want me to ruin my outfit.
“Do you like him?” she asks from the sink.
“Yes,” I say.
“How much?” she asks.
“I don’t know, enough?” I say, not really knowing what else to say.
“Well, all right then. If you’re not going to give me a solid answer, I will just have to wait until Ryan, the white boy, shows up here.” I don’t want to, but I have to laugh at that.
At 6:28 p.m., the doorbell rings. I know because we’re both watching the clock waiting for Ryan. I start to get up to answer it, but even before I can get off the st
ool, Auntie puts her hand up and walks past me to answer it herself. I stay on the stool, because I don’t know what else to do. I hear them at the door. Ryan is polite and asks for me. Auntie tells him he can call her Dr. Watley and brings him into the kitchen.
I see that he’s definitely thinking this is a big deal tonight. He’s got gel or something slick in his hair and a gerbera daisy for me. He looks so stiff and scared that I don’t really know how to help him in this moment.
“Does your mother know you’re taking my niece out on a date, young man?” Auntie asks him.
“Yes, Dr. Watley. She does. She told me she was fine with it as long as I was home by ten,” Ryan says, looking at her, but sneaking a peek at me. He tries to smile. But he’s still a little freaked out.
“Well, it’s good she trusts you. I hope you won’t let either of us down,” Auntie says. “You look nervous, Ryan. Am I making you nervous?”
“A little,” Ryan says, handing the gerbera daisy to me and smiling.
“Good.” Auntie smiles and says to Ryan, “Go wait by the door and I will send her out.”
Ryan looks at me in a panic, but I smile, trying to ease him out of the room. He goes slowly, looking back at me and my aunt until he’s by the kitchen door. Auntie waits until he’s out of earshot and tosses her hand at me as if asking her pocketbook.
“Here’s forty dollars for the movie and a cab ride home. I don’t want you walking home at ten. And you text what movie you’re seeing and when it gets out. You hear me?” Auntie says, digging in her pocketbook.
“Yes,” I say, getting off the stool for the first time.
“Have a fun time and behave yourself.” She smiles and yells out to the hallway, “That goes doubly for you, Ryan.”