Forty-two Minutes

by Janay Harden

  My phone buzzed.

  Will: You okay?

  I glanced up and spotted him across the room, looking at his phone. I smiled.

  Me: Where do I begin?

  Will: Last class of the day! What’s he got?

  I wasn’t sure which class was the last one of the day at this point. I just needed it to be over. I checked out Jaxon’s schedule.

  Me: English.

  Will: 1.5 hours, how bad could it be?

  We would see.

  “Hi Jaxon, how are you? We are reading and working in pairs today. Will that be okay?” his English teacher asked. “You can pair with Mitchell.”

  She said nothing to me.

  “Hi,” I said, stepping forward. “My name is Indigo, and I’m shadowing Jaxon. Where can I sit?” My arms were open and I plastered a fake smile on my face, but I didn’t feel like smiling. My mask spoke for me.

  “Oh hello,” she glanced at me. “I’m Mrs. McGill. You’re doing the article, right?”

  It was interesting. Jaxon told his teachers about the article for the Times, but not about the video for college. “Yes.” I took a long breath. “I’m not here though; I’ll take a chair in the back.” I waved my hands again. How many times would I wave away people who didn’t acknowledge my presence anyway?

  She shifted her weight from one foot to another and gave a short chuckle. “When he said someone was shadowing him, I just thought… nevermind, you can sit here, India.”

  “Indigo.”

  Mrs. McGill paused. “… Indigo,” she repeated.The way she sounded it out made me question how long she had been an English teacher.

  Jaxon was sitting with his partner, Mitchell, off to the side of the room. He had walked off and left me to introduce myself to all of his teachers. Jaxon had disappearing acts like Malachi did. Malachi went wherever things were fun and full of food. Jaxon disappeared fast so he never had to answer questions.

  “Okay class, we have our passages on our desks. Let’s read through them together and answer the attached questions.”

  I sat up in my chair and spied Jaxon. If my suspicions were correct and he couldn’t read, English should be his most difficult subject, right? I wanted to talk to him alone about the video, anyway. Maybe get some on-air commentary, in his own words, about why we were doing an alternative video/article combo. I wondered if I could get Jaxon to a comfortable place and he could discuss some of his reading issues, maybe it would help his submission to college. Everyone loves a sap story, and a rich white boy who couldn’t read did the trick. I shared my suspicions about Jaxon’s lack of reading with no one though, but I already knew the real deal. The way his mom dropped his business on the kitchen table this morning told me more than I needed to know. No more words were necessary. It was time for Jaxon to put up or shut up, and I needed to see it.

  The class descended into a sea of murmured voices as they read the passage in pairs. Mitchell began reading for Jaxon. This went on for a few minutes until Mrs. McGill said, “switch.” One by one, each pair changed readers, only Jaxon did not read. Mitchell continued reading for Jaxon, and not only was he reading—but Jaxon took out his cell phone and began texting through the lesson.

  “And don’t forget the questions,” Mrs. McGill sat at her desk. She took a sip of her own large Yeti water bottle and cut her eyes at Jaxon and Mitchell. She didn’t look surprised or upset.

  He would at least pull his weight and complete the questions. No… no, he didn’t. I watched Mitchell take the worksheet and begin completing those too. Mitchell and Jaxon engaged in this symbiotic dance of reading and writing. They made no eye contact, nor did they share a laugh. It seemed so formal and business-like. This wasn’t their first time behaving like this in English class; this was their norm. Mitchell did the work and Jaxon put his name on it, rendering it his. No wonder Jaxon struggled. People made it easy for him to skate through life doing the bare minimum. It had gotten him this far, why change it now? I was complicit too—doing what he wanted me to do to help him get along. When would someone help me get along? I slumped in my seat and placed my bookbag in my lap. There was nothing to see here either, I griped.

  The last bell rang, and I jumped in my seat. Drool sat in the corner of my mouth and I wiped it, realizing I fell asleep. When I woke, Jaxon’s friend, the same one from the cafeteria who told me to chill, and asked if I listened to Lil Baby, was holding my camera and eyeing it. “This is so cool,” he held it up and placed it on his shoulder.

  “I’ll take that,” I said, rising from my seat.

  He snatched away from me and palmed the lenses. “This thing is huge.”

  My hands shook as I watched him clumsily fumble with getting the camera back into its bag. I hesitated and extended my arms forward to help with the bag, but he snatched away again and this time, the side of the camera struck the wall corner and a piece of black plastic popped off and the lens cracked.

  The boy’s eyes widened.

  I searched the room for Jaxon, but he was up front flirting and not paying attention. I exhaled and balled my fists again.

  “I told you to put it down!” I screeched. “This isn’t even mine!” I thought about the third degree the library ran down on me about the camera, and if I was in a cartoon, surely steam would be fuming from my ears.

  “Uh, my bad. I just wanted to see it.” The boy’s face resembled a tomato. He hastily shoved it back into the camera bag he removed it from while I fell asleep in the back of the class. I snatched it back from him and picked up the broken piece off the floor. This was not happening.

  “Take care of him Indy, you already know how!” something in me whispered.

  “Uh, Indigo.” Jaxon walked towards me. By his side stood a leggy blonde—not Mckenzie.

  “I’m going take Marissa out, can you find a ride home?”

  My ears fumed. Was I hearing him correctly? No sooner had Jaxon walked up that the boy scurried out the door. “You told me not to take my car because you would bring me back. And your friend broke my camera.”

  “I know, I know, I’m an asshole, and so is he” His blonde hair moved at every head nod.

  His leggy blonde said, “Just call her an Uber, she’ll be fine.”

  The one thing I asked Jaxon was if he could take me home, and now he was ditching me for some girl. “You know what,” I said, putting my hands up. “It’s fine, I’ll figure it out.”

  “Okay, thanks, I owe you big.” he didn’t look at me. Jaxon walked away with his leggy blonde and I faintly heard her mutter the word “angry.” I grabbed my cell phone and texted Will for a ride to Jaxon’s house to retrieve The Bus. In one moment, they made me an angry Black woman. And this time, they got it right.

  A few nights ago, I started having a recurring dream about Mom. We were both in the car and she was driving about to hit that man, only in this dream, it was Jaxon’s friend who broke my camera, walking across the street—not the old man. I wanted to rush the boy like Mom had rushed the old man. I felt her foot slam the floor as she sped up. She giggled as she picked up speed and I sat in the passenger side. At first, I was scared, and I hung on to the grab handles, but Mom and I giggled together as we closed in on him. His eyes were wide, and he turned his back to the car, bracing for impact. In the dream, that made Mom and I laugh even harder. It scared me, but it didn’t at the same time.

  When I woke up after that dream, I smirked. It felt so real, and when my thoughts turned to hurting others, it didn’t seem like such a bad thing. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t fantasize about hurting other people all of the time. But while I shadowed Jaxon, I felt like something shadowed me. There were different versions of myself coming out today while with him. His world brought out different sides of me. The anger threatened to boil over, and I didn’t know where or why. The dream ended the same way, Mom and I beamed at each other as we ran the man over. I was equally
complicit and wanted to see how he bounced in the air—if he hit the ground with as much force as people said. I’ve been doing the right thing for so long that when the opportunity presented itself, albeit a dream—wrong tasted so good. And that thought, indeed, was scary. I was fighting myself for myself.

  The classroom was empty now, even Mrs. McGill was gone. I glanced down at my camera that I’d tossed into the bag, while squeezing the broken off piece into my hand, and made my way to the front to wait for Will. He had senior release too and would sometimes leave school early to get to work. Today was just my luck that he was already gone when I needed a ride. I hated to be a burden and hated even more that he had to leave work to come pick me up.

  All because of Jaxon.

  While sitting on the curb, Joya walked next to me and plopped down. She breathed and looked as if something heavy was on her heart.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She said nothing but one tear fell from her eye. “Have you ever felt like things are falling apart, and you know what needs to be done to fix it, but you know in your heart you won’t do it?”

  Joya’s honesty jarred me. I wondered what she knew, and how she knew it. Things were falling apart and the voices in my head told me to resort to violence, but my heart wouldn’t let me do it. I couldn’t explain that to her though. I’m pretty sure we were not talking about the same thing.

  “Yes-yes, I have.”

  “You can’t trust men. You just can’t. They’ll say anything to shut you up in the moment,” she sulked.

  I was sullen. “Yes, yes they will.”

  Joya wiped her tears and sat up straighter. “Anyway, while you’re here, I want to submit a couple poetry pieces. I’ve been writing them myself,” she smiled.

  Even I knew that changing the subject, would not make it go away—whatever it was. But I played along anyway. “That’s great; we always need poetry. Can you email it to me?”

  Joya nodded. Her eyes were red and puffy.

  Silence fell between us, and before I could think about what I was saying, I blurted, “I saw you, at the park… with Mr. Chestnut.”

  Joya sighed and closed her eyes for a few seconds. Fat tears squeezed from her eyes. Again.

  “Is it him you can’t trust?”

  She nodded.

  “Joya… are you okay?” I asked earnestly.

  “I’m fine. My parents are buying me a new car, and I won’t have to wait for rides like this. Senior year is coming up. I’m fine!” She sniffed.

  I became very aware of sitting on the curb waiting for a ride. I, too, knew the feeling of not being able to trust a man, I sulked.

  “I’m pregnant… ” she whispered.

  I think she was waiting for me to freak out. For me to say, Joya, are you crazy? What are you thinking?

  I didn’t.

  I exhaled and took in her words. High schoolers got pregnant all the time but not by a school staff member—that was an entirely different story. “So, what are you going to do about it? Does anyone know?”

  Joya was quiet and pulled her legs to her chest. She rested her face on her knee and closed her red eyes. They were swollen, and more tears squeezed their way out.

  “I-I’m getting the procedure done next week.”

  “Are your parents taking you? Is it his? Do your parents know it’s his?” The questions rapidly fired out of me.

  “My mom said she was coming, and Dad offered to drive and sit in the car. I told them I’d rather be alone; besides, I don’t want them to have to take any time off from work. I’d never hear the end of it. They have to use a PTO day to take me to have an abortion. I just don’t want to be around that energy, you know? So, it’ll be just me. They haven’t directly asked about it since, and we don’t really talk about it like it’s real. Like it’s here, and it’s happening in real time. We talk about it like it’s already a thing of the past. It’s the one stain on their parenthood certificate they had to overcome and sweep under the rug. I told my parents it was someone from school. I didn’t want him to get into trouble.”

  “Joya… this isn’t your fault.” My heart ached for her, and I wanted to grab and hug her for dear life. The sky thundered as we sat on the curb and I hoped it wouldn’t rain on us. I placed my hand on her shoulder and rubbed it, trying to console her in some way. Black girl to Black girl. Sister to sister. We didn’t need to be close for me to be there for her. Joya closed her eyes and more tears fell from her eyes.

  “I know it’s not but still. I learned a lot from him. It’s just easier this way, to not rock the boat. He’s there for me, he listens and cares. I know what people say. That he’s done this before, and he just hasn’t gotten caught. I hear all of it.”

  “Joya, you love him,” I said. It was a statement, not a question.

  She was quiet while she hugged herself. She couldn’t get an abortion and go by herself. I didn’t know her that well, but no girl should have to go through that alone. Funny how Mr. Chestnut wasn’t even in the running for who was accompanying Joya on that emotional day.

  “What about your other friends?”

  “I never told them anything. I wanted to, a few times I wanted to.” Joya picked at the frayed ends of her jeans. “But I know the way we talk about people, and I know the way they’ll talk about me. Again, I don’t want that energy.”

  Then why tell me? Why share with me while we’re sitting on a curb with clouds lightly spitting over our heads? Why would Joya lay this on me when she hasn’t even shared it with her friends? Before I asked myself any more questions, I blurted out, “I’ll go with you.”

  “What do you mean?” Joya lifted her head and cocked an eye at me.

  “To the procedure. I’ll go with you.”

  Joya and I were quiet for a few moments before the same silver car from the park pulled up in front of the school. The window rolled down and this time I was sure what I saw. Mr. Chestnut, our track coach, was picking up Joya. There were three other juniors in the car, and they all wore their Track and Field suits. Joya didn’t wear hers today, but he was still here to pick her up from school. He pulled up right out front, not even afraid.

  “Okay… ” Joya nodded. “Okay.”

  She stood, wiped her tears and hopped into the car. Her eyes locked with mine and I could see them behind the tint. They were sad.

  Hot tears sprang to my eyes. I opened my bag and retrieved my broken camera; I needed something to occupy my mind. It made a whirring sound and the lens was jammed halfway shut. I screamed out loud in frustration and shoved the camera back into the bag. Jaxon Green’s video had officially cost me money; the library would have my head for this one, I was sure of it.

  When Will arrived fifteen minutes later, I watched the white kids whizz by me in their muscle cars while the kids who looked like me took the after-school bus. I fumbled with the door handle trying to get in. Mad that I had to wait and mad about Joya, for Joya.

  “What’s up with you?” Will’s eyes were wide.

  I said nothing, but the tears in my eyes wouldn’t stop pooling as Will exited the school parking lot. He pulled over on the side of the road and put on his flashers and he rummaged through his dashboard until he found tissues. He handed me a large wad as rain started pouring around us. Loud splatters of water hit his car, and I couldn’t hear the radio anymore. Thunder cracked over us, and it raged outside like I raged inside. I heaved and cried, sitting in the car with my palms in my face. I didn’t know what to do; I didn’t know why I was crying, but at the same time, I knew perfectly well why. Favor was not fair.

  Will said nothing and handed me more tissues. He’d never seen me cry. Not like this. Once, when we were in middle school, I caught myself being a bully. I was teasing another student outside during recess, and he ran down a small hill to get away from me. Chasing him, I tripped over a loose branch and fell down the hill. Ro
lling all the way down, I landed on my back with a loud “umph.” Students circled around me and laughed while I struggled to stand. The sun was blinding. Will came over; and he stood in front of me blocking the sun. As I lay on the ground, he extended a hand to help me rise. That was the last time Will saw me cry. Today, I was sitting in his car, hysterical in a thunderstorm.

  Will looks like he wants to hold me, to comfort me, but I wasn’t ready. I held myself and grabbed at my arms and rocked myself in the car. Will’s presence was enough, but I didn’t need him to touch me.

  CHAPTER 13

  Hey Mom,

  It’s me—sorry I didn’t get a chance to write last week, a lot of things have been happening. Mom, I hope you’re okay and I can talk to you. I have some questions and I don’t know what’s going on with me right now. Sometimes I’m happy, and sometimes I feel so heavy. The feelings come out of nowhere. They’re just so quick. My mood shifts and I think about hurting someone the same way they’ve hurt me. What happened to the man that you hit? We never talked about it, but I want to hear it, from you. I know it’s hard to talk about things in person, and maybe that’s why our visits don’t get deep. I mean, there are a bunch of people around, but I’d still love to talk about these things. Anyway, what happened to him? Did you do it on purpose? And why? How did it feel? I know this sounds weird, but I don’t know. I think I need to know.

  How are Minister, Ruth-Ann and Nurse MeanFace? Are they still not letting you guys perform? I’d love to see you all in action when I come up there the next time. I’ll try to get Ez to come, but you have to promise to be on your best behavior and not be so loud. You know he’s funny about stuff like that.

  Sidney is doing so good; you should see her playing Softball now. She tries to keep up with everyone else, but her legs are so short, haha, it’s funny to see—but she keeps up. And she’s good Ma, really good. Maybe she’ll even keep up with it and get a scholarship for college or something. That would be great. She wouldn’t have to worry about money and fees; she could just be who she wanted to be with nothing standing in her way. Crazy thoughts, I know.