I didn’t want to speak, but I had to. I was close to him. His little homie. Everyone expected it. Even Ida got up there and said a little something about him.
One of Julian’s friends, a girl named Katie or Kayla or something like that, had just walked down the aisle to her seat, sniffling into a tissue, after saying nice words about him. It was my turn, but I couldn’t move. Not until Ma touched my shoulder and said, “I’ll be right here, sweetheart.”
I swallowed hard and stood up, wishing for the millionth time in the past year that I could shrink myself. Or put on an invisible suit. Anything to keep people from staring at me. We were in the front row, so in just a few short steps I was in front of the mic, looking out at everyone who’d come to say good-bye to my brother.
Next to me, there was a blown-up picture of him on display, but no casket. The burial was going to be closed, only for family. This was for everyone else—the community he loved, who loved him back.
I pulled a piece of paper from the pocket of my suit jacket and slowly unfolded it, aware of how much my hands were shaking but unable to stop them. I looked only at the paper. If I didn’t make eye contact with anyone or look at that picture of him, maybe I could get through it.
“My brother, Julian, is the best person I know,” I said, my voice wobbly on the microphone. “Was,” I corrected myself, and there was a collective pause in the audience as the word sank in. I took a deep breath. “He always put everyone else first—his community, his friends, and his family. If someone was in trouble, Julian wanted to help them. He did whatever he could. He—”
My voice broke. I sniffed a couple of times, running the back of my hand across my nose. And I tried to go on, but I couldn’t. Every time I opened my mouth, nothing came out. I didn’t look at Ma, but I could tell she was leaning forward in her seat, trying to get my attention. I was quiet for so long that people started to murmur. So long that I wondered if I might die up there.
A deep voice—one I didn’t recognize—called out, “Go ’head, Duke!”
A woman’s voice followed: “You got this, baby!”
I nodded, still staring down at the paper. Trying to continue and failing every time. I shook my head and started folding up my speech, but my eyes filled before I could get away from everyone’s gaze. I tried to stand still, thinking maybe the tears would go away if I just froze. But they dripped down my face and onto my collar, and then my shoulders started to shake, and I wasn’t fooling anybody.
There was a rustling in the front row, and I guessed Ma finally felt bad enough to come up and get me. Save the last of my dignity, even though I’d probably be known forever as Julian’s little brother who couldn’t even keep it together long enough to eulogize him.
But then someone jogged up and put their arm around me, and when I raised my head, I saw it was Dad. He leaned in to whisper in my ear, “It’s okay. You’re gonna be all right. We’re gonna get through this, okay? You got this, Duke.”
I brushed at my eyes, nodding. It was the most he’d said since Julian had died. And I knew he didn’t want to be up there any more than I did. That meant something, too.
I wiped my nose with the sleeve of my suit jacket, took a deep breath, and started again.
Dad stood with me as I read the whole thing, squeezing my shoulder when my voice got shaky.
When I finished, he wrapped his arms around me for what felt like a long time. I couldn’t remember the last time my dad had hugged me, and right then, I never wanted him to let me go.
WE START SEEING CROWDS OF PEOPLE AS SOON as we get into my neighborhood.
Dozens of people walking together, toward French and Robinson, clearly here to help us find Selma. It makes my heart jump and my breath catch in my throat. I can’t believe so many people saw my message and took time out of their day to look for her. I can’t believe my little Selma could have such an impact on people. It makes me wonder how many of them decided to vote because of the posts I’ve been putting on her page during election season.
“You’ve already got over a thousand comments on your video,” Duke says. “People are really into this.”
He shows them to me as I park a couple of streets over from mine, down French Street.
My grandbaby loves this cat so we’ll be there
Mad respect to you Marva, we got you, be there soon
I’m 2,000 miles away but I’d help if I could
U single girl?
I roll my eyes at the last one, and it’s not the only one of its kind, but for the most part, people are being incredibly decent, saying how sorry they are or how they’ll tell their friends in the area to stop by if they can or how they know she’ll come home soon because her fans will miss her too much. It’s sweet to know so many of them care about this cat they’ve never met. And that they still care now that they know who’s behind the account.
People start noticing me the closer we get to the meeting point. Well, I’m pretty sure they notice Duke first. It’s easy for him to part the crowd. But once they spot me, everyone starts trying to talk at once, telling me how glad they are to help and wondering what the plan is for the search party.
“What is the plan?” Duke asks once we’re at the head of the crowd.
And it is a crowd. White, Black, Latinx, Asian. Our age, our parents’ age, our grandparents’ age, and babies in strollers. I see people from Salinas Prep I’ve never even talked to, who are staring at me in awe, as if I’m a completely different person. Some of my neighbors are here, and I spot a couple of my parents’ friends in the crowd, too. Even Mrs. Thomas is here, wearing different yoga pants and trying to wrangle her children.
Everyone is looking at me, waiting for me to say something. But for once, I don’t have a plan. If I did, I’m not even sure I’d be able to remember it. I don’t mind being in front of people when I have to give a presentation in class, or when I’m running a student council meeting. But this…I’m not prepared at all. What do I say that I didn’t already say on the video? We need to find Selma.
I glance at Duke. “I…I don’t know.”
He pauses, then says, “There’s a lot of people here, and more keep showing up.”
“I know,” I say, glancing nervously out at the crowd.
“Why don’t we see if they can split up? Half can look for Selma, because honestly, that’s enough people. Looking for a cat is different from looking for a dog. She’ll probably be freaked out at everyone walking around, calling for her. Having so many people doing it at once could backfire.”
“Okay, soooo where are the other people going to go?”
I avoid making eye contact with anyone in the crowd, worried they’re going to get annoyed and leave if we don’t announce a plan soon. But Duke is squinting as he stares off at a point in the distance, and I can tell he’s thought of something when he starts nodding and smiling.
“You said you would’ve taken today off to drive people to the polls if you could have,” he says. “Here’s our chance.”
His eyes are shining, and this is the most excited I’ve seen him all day. Even more excited than when we were eating bologna sandwiches and during our time at the beach. Maybe my commitment to voting is finally rubbing off on him. Or maybe he’s cared this much the whole time and wasn’t sure what to do with it. Either way, I am loving this side of Duke.
“That’s a great idea, but how are we going to organize people to do this?”
If I’m underprepared for once in my life, Duke seems to be completely comfortable taking charge.
“Clive said his senior center organized the bus to go to their original polling place, but then they couldn’t all get to the church once they realized the regular spot had been closed up. I could call the senior center to see if they’re accepting rides from people. And maybe some other places around town that they know need help. It’s last-minute, but maybe it’ll work? It’s better than nothing,” he says.
I stare at him, stunned that such practical words could turn my kne
es to jelly. It’s something I hadn’t thought of, and it makes me look at him in a new way.
“Duke, it’s everything,” I breathe.
The crowd is getting restless, so Duke fires off his big whistle to get everyone’s attention. I stand next to him and watch their faces as he tells them the plan. It’s a mix of reactions. Some people walk off right away, saying they just came to see what the fuss was all about. Others look less than enthused, but they stay until he’s finished talking. But plenty—more than I expected—step up when he says we need drivers. I even notice a few people from Salinas Prep volunteering, and I’m so shocked they’d be willing to offer up their luxury cars to help strangers get to the polls that I am speechless.
Duke handles everything, from telling the search party where, when, and how often to report back, to calling Flores Hills Senior Center so they can work out the details, and posting on the band’s page to ask for additional help. And, for once, I sit back and watch, completely comfortable not being in charge. Completely in awe of how Duke managed to hide this part of himself until now.
Once everyone is organized and dispersed and it’s just us, I am suddenly shy. He just stepped up in such a huge way—in such an unexpected way—and I don’t know what to say.
“How can I ever repay you for this?” I ask, looking up at him.
He shrugs his big shoulders, just as bashful as I feel. “It was a couple of phone calls and some logistics. I didn’t do much.”
“You did so much, Duke. I…I don’t know what to say except thank you.”
He touches my hand. Softly. Briefly. “Cool. That’s enough for me.”
GOTTA ADMIT, I’M KINDA FEELING MYSELF AS WE walk back to the Volvo.
I didn’t do any of that to impress her. She’s been doing this for months—years now. Everybody needs a break, so when she needed me to step up, I did.
But impressing her is a pretty nice side effect. I don’t know the last time someone looked so proud of me.
I’m on top of the world for about five minutes until I come all the way down real quick. Because walking up to us in a line like a goddamn army is my entire family: Ma, Dad, and Ida, who’s heading up the pack and looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here.
Her expression changes from grouchy to excited as soon as she sees who I’m with.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe Eartha Kitty is your cat!” Ida exclaims, running up to Marva. “She’s my favorite animal on the internet! I told Ma and Dad we had to come down here and look for her.”
“Thanks, Ida,” Marva says, looking unsure of what to do with my parents here, too. “Everyone has split up. Some people are going to look for her, and the others are going to help drive people to the polls.”
“Well, I’m ready to go look for Eartha Kitty. Which way should we go?”
“Actually, her name is—” Marva starts to correct her, but before either of them can get any further, Dad says, “Ida, you’re staying with us. We came to see if your brother was here, not to look for some cat.”
His words are low and clipped, a sure sign his anger is ready to bubble over at any second. I only need to look at the storm brewing behind his eyes to see how pissed he really is.
Oh, man. This is gonna be bad.
Marva touches my arm. “I’m going to stop in at home and talk to my dad. I’ll meet you back at the Volvo.…I mean, if you still want a ride?”
If talking to her was ever awkward before, it’s a thousand times worse with my family standing here. Dad’s eyes are burning a hole in my head.
“Uh, yeah, sounds like a plan.” If my parents don’t kill us first.
Once Marva walks away, the four of us just stand there in a circle, looking at one another. I figured Dad would be raring to go, especially since I didn’t answer any of his angry texts, but all of a sudden he has nothing to say? His energy is speaking loud enough.
Ma takes the reins. “We don’t like knowing that you two are lying to us.”
“We didn’t lie,” Ida says right away. She’s standing with her hands clasped together. “You never asked where I was going that day. And it was civil. Nonviolent. Just like Julian used to do.”
“You are not Julian,” Ma says. “And now you’re fifteen years old with an arrest record.”
“Yeah, an arrest for standing up for women’s rights, Ma! You’re a feminist, so you should support a woman’s right to choose.”
“Ida, this has nothing to do with my stance on abortion. And, yes, I am pro-choice. I’m not mad about what you were protesting. I’m mad that you did it behind our backs when you knew we weren’t comfortable with it! Do you know how dangerous these things are? They can end in—”
“Come on, Ma. Civil disobedience has been happening since the beginning of time,” Ida says, crossing her arms.
“Don’t interrupt your mother.” Dad’s voice is low and firm. “You know better than this, Ida. It doesn’t matter how long people have been protesting—you could’ve still been hurt.”
“Did you give the same speeches to Julian when he wanted to support a cause? Or did you just tell him you didn’t like it but let him go anyway because he wasn’t a girl?” She shakes her head, and I have to give it to my little sis, because she’s a lot braver than I would be right now. I’d probably just shut up, take the punishment, and get the hell out of there as fast as I could. She’s not letting them win that easily. “I can’t live my life for you guys.”
“Ida, all we’re saying is that we need to talk about these things.” Ma’s voice is a bit more patient than Dad’s, but not much. Her lips are pressed together in such a tight line, I can barely see them. “You can’t just decide to go off and get arrested on a Saturday on a whim.”
“It wasn’t a whim. The whole point of a sit-in is to plan it. And I’ve tried to talk to you guys about this. A few times, and you won’t take me seriously.” Ida lets out a breath. “I’m not in the social justice club just because it looks good. I care about changing things. I want to be out there, just like Julian was.”
“Julian is dead!” Dad barks, and his words echo around the neighborhood so loudly, I freeze.
We all do.
The anger has officially bubbled over. His face is chiseled into a deep, immovable frown, and he’s shaking. I’ve seen him mad, but I dunno if I’ve ever seen him this mad, and I wonder if he usually hides it from us when it gets like this.
“He’s dead, and he might not be if he hadn’t been out on the front lines, doing sit-ins and going to protests that did get violent and getting involved with people who didn’t give a damn whether he lived to see another day!”
Ida swallows hard. “But you can’t blame his death on activism, Dad. He might’ve still been shot if he wasn’t involved in any of that.”
He has nothing to say to that, so he turns to me.
Shit. My turn.
I hate the look he’s giving me. Like he’s never been more disappointed.
“And we don’t appreciate your role in this, Duke,” he says. “You know better than to ferry your sister back and forth to something we wouldn’t approve of and bail her out of jail without telling us. You’re eighteen, but you’re still our child. Living under our roofs.”
Ida and I make eye contact across the circle. Normally I’d just say Okay and Sorry and I won’t do it again. But I can’t go out like that, letting my little sis take all the heat and not stand up for her.
“She asked me to help her out,” I say, my voice shaky. “I’m her brother. Should I have said no?”
“You should have talked to us, dammit!” Dad yells, clenching his hands into fists.
“Charles,” Ma says. Just one word, but he snaps his mouth closed and relaxes his fingers.
“Dad, I’m not trying to piss you off, but I gotta say…” I swallow and look at Ida again. She gives me the tiniest nod. So small I could’ve missed it, but it’s enough to make me go on. “That’s the thing. You’re pissed off all the time now. It’s hard to talk to you about�
��anything.”
“He’s right,” Ida says softly. “I’m not blaming you, but it’s been really different since we moved here. Since…Julian died. You’ve been different.”
Dad stares hard at both of us, his eyes moving from Ida’s face to mine. The storm is still there, and I think we all hold our breaths, wondering how he’s going to react to what we’ve said. I brace myself for an explosion of the worst kind.
But then the air changes. I wonder if it’s Julian, watching over us. Maybe his soul is relieved we’re finally talking about this. Even if it did take the sister who barely knew him to get it started.
Dad reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He slips out a small photo and holds it up so we can all see. It’s a picture of him and Julian, when my brother was just a baby. Way before Ida or I even got here. Dad’s cradling Julian, and they’re both staring at each other like they’ve never seen anyone better. The picture is wrinkly and creased. I wonder how long he’s been carrying it around.
“This is what I think of when I think of Julian. Him being this little. This dependent on me.” His voice is so low I have to strain to catch his words. “And now my baby boy is dead. I couldn’t protect him. I gave him that freedom he wanted, but I should’ve seen that he could never truly be free. And I…I’m a Black man. It was my job to teach him what that meant in this world, how much more dangerous it was for him, and I failed. I failed him. I’m doing the best I can to protect you two. I’m sorry if my anger is too much for you, but I’m not going to lose another child.” He slides the photo back into his wallet.
I swallow. Hard to believe Julian was ever that small and helpless. And I guess part of me knew Dad felt this way, but hearing him say it makes my chest hurt.
I feel an itch creeping up my throat because I know he’s not gonna like what I have to say and it might set him off again, but I gotta say it. For Ida and me.
“But your best isn’t good enough.”
“Duke Benjamin Crenshaw!” Ma says at the same time Dad says, “Excuse me?”
The Voting Booth Page 14