Miles Morales

by Jason Reynolds

  As Miles read on, his father walked up beside him and joined him in reading the long list of rules.

  YOUTH

  • Youth are not to shake hands with any youth in the visiting area

  • No swearing

  • Zero gang tolerance

  • Dress appropriately. No slippers, and pants pulled up to waist.

  • No passing of letters, phone numbers, or mail

  • No loud talk

  Finally, a startling buzz, like an electrocution. Then another. Then a door opened, and a guard stepped in.

  “Davis?” she said, her voice bouncing off the walls of the empty waiting area. “This way, please.”

  Miles and his dad went through the door, only to stop and wait for it to close completely before the next door opened. The clinking of the dead bolt jamming locked, matched with the scraping of the next door’s lock pulling back, sent a chill down Miles’s spine. Once the second door was open, they walked down the corridor, which strangely reminded Miles of the halls of his middle school. There was nothing but the sticky sound of rubber rolling off linoleum, and an occasional squeak.

  And before they knew it, Miles and his father were there. At the door to the visiting room. The guard pushed a buzzer and waited. A buzz came loud through a small speaker in the call box, followed by the dead bolt retracting. The guard swung the door open, entered first, then gestured for Miles and his father to join.

  It was an empty room. Big enough for at least twenty people, and furnished with enough seating for that amount. But there was only one person there, besides another guard who was posted up against the wall. Miles guessed that guard’s job was to escort Austin from his cell to the room, and back. There was a boy sitting at one table, a matted Afro, khaki uniform, his hands nervously tapping on the table. The skin on his face sagged with exhaustion, making him look older than he was. The guard who had escorted Miles and his father spoke to the other guard, then stood in the opposite corner.

  “Austin?” Miles’s father called out, walking toward him, Miles right beside him. Miles’s father extended his hand.

  “No touching,” Austin’s escort snapped.

  “That’s right.” Miles’s dad pulled his hand back, glancing back at the guard. “I forgot.” He and Miles sat down at the small table.

  “Um…” Austin started. “What do I call you?”

  Miles just stared at Austin, at his face.

  “I…Look, that’s not important. Uh…this is Miles.”

  Austin looked at Miles. “Wassup, man.”

  “Wassup,” Miles said back, studying Austin’s eyes. He wasn’t looking for a tell, a break in some sort of disguise that would let him know that Austin wasn’t who he said he was. Miles knew Austin was exactly who he said he was—that he was family. He knew it from the moment he entered the room.

  A balloon of awkwardness inflated around them. “So, you’re Uncle Aaron’s son, huh?” Miles asked, trying to burst it.

  “Yeah.”

  Miles’s dad brushed his hand down his face. “Can you just…explain it to me? I just…”

  “You just didn’t know I existed. I know,” Austin said, blunt. “Look, we don’t have a lot of time in here, and y’all don’t gotta stay if you don’t want. I just wanted someone else to know I was here. Someone else that was blood. My grandma too old to be coming up here.”

  “Okay, so, my brother was your father,” Miles’s father said. “But who’s your mother?”

  “Her name was Nadine.”

  Miles watched his father roll that name around his brain, trying to place it. “Nadine? I don’t remember a Nadine.”

  “Yeah, she and my father weren’t together but they stayed close, y’know.”

  “And she’s…” Miles said.

  “She’s dead.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah, me too. She was the best. You know how some people are so easy to love you’d just do anything for them? That’s how she was.”

  “Yeah,” Miles said, thinking of his own mother. There was a pause, a moment where everyone sized each other up.

  “Look, kid…Austin, why are we here?” Miles’s father asked, his voice pushy.

  “I told you.”

  “But what do you want from me? From us?”

  Austin leaned back in his chair. “I don’t want nothin’. Ain’t nothin’ you can give me. Except…” Austin leaned forward again. “Tell me why you ain’t never come around?”

  Miles’s father hmph’d. “Because me and your father didn’t get along.”

  “So you just cut him off for almost twenty years?”

  “I had to. I don’t know how much you know about Aaron, but…”

  “I know what he was into.”

  “Well, then, it should make sense that I had to leave Aaron alone after I decided to get out the game and realized he couldn’t. Or should I say, he wouldn’t.”

  “But he did.”

  “What?”

  Austin smirked, nodded. “He did give it up. For a while.” Austin looked at Miles. “Did you know him?” Miles looked at his father and thought about all the secret visits he had made to his uncle’s house without his parents knowing. He thought about the pizza and the grape soda, the grimy apartment in the Baruch projects. He thought about the last time he saw him, the battle, the explosion.

  “Kinda, but not really,” Miles said, scratching the spider bite on the top of his hand.

  “Well, he was cool,” Austin said, regaining Miles’s attention. “A good dude, who wanted to do right by people, but just…I don’t know. I mean, when my mother was pregnant with me, my pops decided he was gonna be a family man.”

  “That don’t sound like Aaron,” Miles’s father said.

  “Well, it was. My mother always said he watched how you straightened up once you got married and started a family and all that, and he felt like that was what he needed to do, too. And he did. Got a regular job making dough at a pizza spot. And even though that wasn’t a whole bunch of money, it was enough to add to the pot with my moms to keep a roof over our head. But then she got sick.”

  “Your mom?” Miles asked.

  “Yeah. Stomach cancer. Had to stop working and all that. And after a while, the money ran out. I don’t know how much chemo and all that cost, but I know it’s a lot. So, my pops went back to the basics.”

  “Robbery.”

  Austin winced a little when Miles said it. “Yeah. Everything he got he sold for money to pay her doctor bills. At least, almost everything. He always kept a little to the side to buy me sneakers, which was cool. But, y’know, then…he died.”

  Miles readjusted in his seat, discomfort clinging to him like wet cotton.

  “So I picked up the slack. Tried to lift that burden. Couldn’t just let my mother waste away without at least trying. I cut back on school—wasn’t doing so great anyway, and teachers never seemed to bother to ask why—and figured stealing cars as a minor would be a slap on the wrist if I got caught. But when I did, they trumped my charges when they found out who my father was. So now I’m in here. Been in here for almost a year. And I can deal with it most days, but there are a few things that are hard to shake, and one of them is the fact that my mother passed away the day I came in.”

  That was another punch in the gut for Miles, and as he glanced at his now-softening father, Miles figured this phantom fist of guilt had taken the air out of him too.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that, Austin.”

  “Me too,” Miles said.

  “Yeah, me too.” Austin forced a sad smirk. Miles had grown used to that painful smile because Ganke did it often.

  “Five minutes,” the guard called out, her voice bouncing off the cold walls. Miles looked back at her, then turned to Austin.

  “Um, what are some other things that are hard to shake?” Miles asked.

  “What?” Austin squinted.

  “Miles.” Miles could feel his father’s glare on the side of his face. He ign
ored him and continued.

  “You said there were a few things that were hard to shake. One being your…um…mother.” Miles swallowed. “But…what else?”

  “You don’t have to answer that.” Miles’s father cocked his head to the side and looked at his son like he had lost his mind. “What are you thinking?”

  Miles didn’t know how to answer that. Because he didn’t really have an answer. He just knew that he was looking in the face of someone who looked just like him. Who, for whatever reason, did what he thought he had to do, just like him. Who loved his family despite their flaws, just like him.

  “It’s okay.” Austin leaned forward, knit his fingers together, looked Miles in the face. “Sometimes, I have nightmares. Been having them on and off for years. But since I’ve been in here, they’ve been worse.”

  Now, Miles leaned in. His father, however, leaned back. “What kind of nightmares?” Miles asked.

  “Just crazy stuff. I mean, look, everybody locked up in here comes from similar situations as mine. Either forced to act a certain way to survive, or totally forgotten about. And they all look like me—like us—too, if you know what I mean. So, sometimes in my dreams, everybody in this place changes. Like they all turn into things, everybody but me. And they attack me. So when I wake up, I be looking at them crazy. Because my dreams have me thinking I can’t trust nobody in here. Then, other times, it’s just simple stuff, baby nightmares.” He lowered his voice and continued. “Like that jerk over there telling me I ain’t never gon’ be nothing. Which ain’t really much of a nightmare, because he always says that when I’m awake. Only difference is, in my dream, he got my daddy’s voice.”

  “Jesus…” Miles’s father shook his head, visibly upset.

  “You’re just like me,” Austin said.

  “What?” Miles backed away a bit.

  “That’s what he always says in the dream. ‘You’re just like me.’”

  “Time!” the guard yelled out.

  Miles and his father stood up. Miles, jumpy from what he’d just heard, almost extended his hand for a five but remembered contact wasn’t allowed.

  “Ah. I feel like we were just getting to know each other. Well, if y’all don’t come back, it’s cool. Thanks for at least coming this time,” Austin said, unable to hide his disappointment.

  “Wait, one last question,” Miles said.

  “We have to go.” His father tapped him on the arm.

  “I know, but this will be quick. What do all the other guys in here turn into in your dreams?”

  Miles’s father turned around to let the guard know that they’d heard her. All of Brooklyn had heard her.

  Austin looked puzzled by the question. “I don’t know, white cats and crazy stuff like that.”

  “White cats?” Miles repeated, as his father, now gripping his arm, turned him around.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “We’ll…um…come back to see you,” Miles’s father struggled to get out, cutting the conversation before they were barked at again by the guard. “We will.” And as they walked across the room, Miles turned to eyeball the officer coming to escort Austin back to his cell. His badge glinted under the fluorescent light. His name tag wasn’t big enough for most people to see from where they were, but Miles could see it clearly. CHAMBERLAIN.

  Miles glanced over at his father every few minutes on the car ride home. His dad’s eyes were focused on the road, but there were lines like canals that dug into his forehead. Miles hoped his father wasn’t thinking about the whole white cat thing, because there was no way Miles could explain it all yet. He didn’t really understand it all himself. There was so much on Miles’s mind that he felt physically heavy, as if the bones in his body were suddenly denser. White cats, and his teacher, and the nightmares he had been having about his uncle. His uncle. The sneakers that were always in his uncle’s house made more sense now.

  “So…” Miles’s father said, the wrinkles in his head relaxing as they finally pulled up in front of their house. He put the car in park. “That was…interesting.”

  “Yeah,” Miles said, not sure what else to say about it all.

  “I just…I never knew. I know that when you make decisions you have to live with them, y’know, but I never thought about why he may have been doing some of the things he did. Or even what bumped him off the track, even though I was there when it happened. I just wish I would’ve reached out to him. Maybe tried to figure out a way to help him out. Shoot, I might’ve even been able to get him a job,” Miles’s father said. “But I thought he was still dirty. Like, I always thought he just couldn’t help himself. Or…didn’t want to. Like he’d ruined his name to the point of no return, and all I wanted was to be left alone.”

  All we ask is to be let alone. The Jefferson Davis quote from class flashed across Miles’s mind like a lightning bolt to the brain. Miles looked at his father, could see the struggle in his eyes, could hear the lump moving in his throat. “There’s always more to the story, right? I mean, a name, whether good or bad, is almost never just a name. There’s always something behind it. Something more to it.”

  “Yeah. I guess you’re right,” his father said. “Maybe next weekend we can pop back in there, check him out, if you’re up to it. After your job, of course.” A proud smile appeared on Miles’s father’s face. “Plus, you know your mother’s gonna want to meet him.”

  They climbed out of the car and made their way upstairs. When Miles opened the door, Ganke and Miles’s mom were sitting on the couch watching an all-Spanish-speaking television channel.

  “Wait, Mrs. M. What did she just say?” Ganke asked. Miles’s mother was sitting on the couch next to him, plucking grapes from a plastic bag.

  “She said she loves him.”

  “But you said she said she loved him a few seconds ago.”

  “Because she did, Ganke.”

  “Hmm. Okay, well what’s he saying?”

  “He’s saying he’s dying.”

  “Um…hello?” Miles said.

  “Hey, Miles,” Ganke threw over his shoulder.

  “Ay, mijo, you look like my son again,” Miles’s mother teased. Miles’s father bent over the couch and kissed her on the top of her head. “How was…everything?”

  “In one day our son has been to jail and got a job,” Miles’s father quipped.

  “I didn’t know you were coming over here this early, man,” Miles said to Ganke, ignoring his parents. He sat on the arm of the sofa.

  “Neither did I,” Miles’s father said.

  “Me either, but you better be glad you aren’t on punishment or I would’ve had to send him all the way back home.”

  That was the first time since he’d been home that Miles knew for sure he wasn’t on punishment. He crushed his smile between his jaws, but inside, he was so, so happy. No more ramen noodles for him.

  “Of course I was coming over.” Ganke kept one eye and one ear on the television. “We’ve got work to do.”

  “Work?” Miles asked.

  “Work?” his mother echoed before being sucked back into the TV love affair.

  “Halloween costumes and stuff like that,” Ganke nudged, bouncing his brows.

  “Yeah, Halloween costumes. For the party. At the school,” Miles added, not nearly as smoothly.

  “Are you trying to ask me something, Miles Morales?” his mother said. His father blew a raspberry.

  “You didn’t ask them?” Ganke squealed.

  “Um…Ma, tonight’s the school Halloween party.” Miles showed his teeth. “And Ganke’s going.”

  Miles’s father blew another raspberry. “Boy, just say you wanna go!”

  Miles’s mother rotated back and forth between soap opera and son, pausing on Miles.

  “Ma, can I please go?”

  “Is the girl going to be there?”

  “Ma.”

  “What? I’m just asking!” She turned to Ganke. “Is she, Ganke?”

  “I think so,” Ganke replied, tha
t devilish look in his eye.

  “Uh-huh. Well, I guess you can go,” she said, smirking, and turned back to the TV.

  In Miles’s room, Ganke collapsed on Miles’s bed, while Miles took the floor.

  “So, you made it through the dinner, I see.”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t too bad. Like I put in the text, there was no crying. But that’s because we decided to eat while watching one of those crime shows where it’s like a real case but they haven’t solved it yet. Cops found out this dude’s wife had him ground up in one of those tree grinders. It was gross. But…entertaining.”

  “Wow.”

  “Right,” Ganke said. “What about you? How was meeting your cousin? Uh…cousin, right?”

  “Yeah, cousin. It was weird, man. But good. He looks just like me, which was a trip. We didn’t get a lot of time to talk because my dad was hogging most of the questions, but the one thing I found out is that he’s been having the same nightmares as me. Oh, and the crazy, crazy thing was that the guard monitoring him was named Chamberlain. It was on his badge.”

  “Did he look like a troll that, if provoked, might grind people up in a tree-grinding machine?”

  “What?” Miles stood, walked over to the closet.

  “Not important. Anyway, are y’all gonna go back?”

  “I think so. I mean, the way I see it, we kinda have to. Austin’s on lockdown.”

  “Yeah.” Ganke nibbled on a fingernail. “You know who’s not on lockdown? You. No punishment. I don’t even know how you pulled that off.”

  “Yeah, me neither.” Miles inspected his haircut in the mirror hanging on the back of his closet door. “The school didn’t call about the desk, and other than that, I just told my dad the whole story about leaving the store and Alicia, and he told my mother everything, and I guess that smoothed things out.”

  “Alicia, who’s probably going to come to the party tonight looking like some kind of gorgeous ghoul. Too bad you’ll be a ghost to her.”

  “Nah.” Miles turned to Ganke. “I’m gonna spill the salsa on her.”

  “Wait, you’re gonna do what?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Well, listen, being such a positive figure in your life, I pretty much willed you out of trouble and knew that you wouldn’t be prepared for freedom, so I brought you one of my old costumes.” Ganke reached into his backpack and pulled out a plastic bag. In it was a rubber mask. He handed it to Miles.