Something like right, p.13
Something Like Right, page 13
“Think about how you can do things to make your own money too.”
I rolled my eyes. Life lessons with Aunt Mel.
A trail behind my aunt’s house led through the neighborhood to the main road, which took me right to the public square. The library, community center, and a few other buildings encircled a muddy, man-made lake. A bright orange banner taped up to the archway of the community center read, FREE EVENT! WELCOME HOME, CJ CORDOVA!
The line wrapped around the side of the redbrick building. Over a hundred people of all different races and genders had showed up in support. This was Broadlawn at its best. A place where it could rain one hundred days in a row, and people would make do. But when a rainbow appeared, or even a single ray of brilliant color, everyone would come outside to appreciate it.
“CJ Cordova, one of Broadlawn’s very own, writes books for kids and travels the United States giving speeches and working with students,” said the emcee. I angled my neck to get a peek at CJ Cordova. They looked young—way too young to be so successful.
They had an androgynous sort of preppy style. A gray V-neck sweater with dark blue chinos and those brown leather shoes that looked like a cobbler from the 1800s sent them forward into our era. Their hair was high on top with a razor-sharp part and cleanly faded sides.
CJ spoke in a drawling monotone and with a surprisingly cheeky, self-deprecating humor. The interview with the emcee was funny and thoughtful. Some college-looking girls beside me stayed on the edge of their seats, leaning so far forward into CJ’s words that I thought they might fall out of their chairs.
“And so, how did you get started being an author?” the emcee asked. “What was the very first moment you knew it was for you?”
“Haha, well, I used to love history in school. Politics, government, all that stuff,” CJ responded. My ears pricked up.
“I loved learning it so much, I decided to teach it when I graduated. So, I guess I’d say my first moments of knowing I wanted to be an author came from working with kids. From wanting to tell them stories about the world and its people and places and change their lives … or at least entertain them a little.” CJ winked. The crowd swooned.
“That’s amazing.” The emcee beamed. “And where did you teach?” she asked, like she already knew the answer to the question.
“Right over at Woodmere. For almost six years. I was working on books the whole time though. And it all just came together one day. That’s the short version, anyway.”
I remembered that Woodmere was the school Feven tried to enroll at instead of Broadlawn. We would never have met if she’d gone there.
“Right here in Broadlawn! Educated here. An educator here. And now, one of our shining stars. We’re so thankful that you chose to come back.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” said CJ. “I’m happy to be back. I mean, yeah, I get it. This isn’t Las Vegas. It’s home though. If we, folks born and raised here, don’t show love, how will anybody else believe this place is worth loving? Now, if y’all are ready—let’s get some books signed.”
The crowd burst into applause. I had to admit, CJ Cordova seemed pretty cool. Even cooler since they had grown up in a place with more opportunities to get in trouble than to become something great. A walking example of turning shit to sugar—Kenny’s favorite way to describe making good out of a bad situation. I stood and clapped along with everyone else.
Among the cheers, I heard a faint but familiar voice.
Noticed someone I knew out of the corner of my eye.
Feven.
She held up a phone to snap a picture of CJ waving to the crowd. She hadn’t responded to any of my texts, even the last one asking if she’d be here. She was a few rows ahead of me and to my left, standing in between an old lady and a tall, broad-shouldered boy. I thought he looked familiar too. As the audience dispersed to form the book-signing line, the boy put his arm around Feven’s shoulders. My heart froze and my breath stopped in my lungs. I squeezed myself down the row until I could make it to Feven. I swung around to the front of their row to look at them head-on. As soon as Feven saw me, the color drained out of her face.
I looked from her to the boy. I sort of knew him. Jamal or Jerome or something—another Broadlawn kid. He had gotten expelled after an alleged sexual harassment thing at his old school. We all knew each other’s rap sheets at Broadlawn. Why would she hang out with somebody like that? Feven looked at me and forced a smile.
“What’s up, Zay?” she said, too politely.
“What’s going on with you?”
“Um. Just here trying to see my favorite author.”
“Yeah, of course. That’s why I’m here too. I got you a book.” I held it up. “Why didn’t you respond to my messages?”
“What’s up, man? I’m Jharrel.” The boy extended his hand to break up the tension. I looked at it in disgust, then returned my glare to Feven, waiting for an answer.
“Sorry, Zay. I wasn’t paying attention to my messages. Jharrel and I are in English together. We’re always talking about this author, so we decided it would be fun to come together.”
My face soured. “Can I talk to you alone for a second?”
Jharrel took half a step forward, but Feven put a hand on his chest to stop him. She rolled her eyes and led me over to the side of the community center, away from the book-signing line, away from Jharrel. We settled over in a tight corner near the window. The sky spat sleet. The evening darkness flooded in and sandwiched us between the bookshelves.
“Feven. What the fuck is going on?” I asked.
“Zay, I don’t like the tone you’re taking.” Feven tensed up with frustration.
“I mean, you’re just not going to respond to my messages?” I pressed on. “Then be here with another guy? I would never do that to you.”
“I didn’t do anything to you, Zay. I missed some texts. I went to do something I wanted to do with someone I wanted to do it with. You’re not the only person in the world I like hanging out with.” My jaw unhinged and hung limp. A hot flash of embarrassment coursed through my entire body.
“Feven, you didn’t hang out at all before you met me! Now all of a sudden you’re ditching me? What did I do wrong? Why are you acting like this?”
Feven crossed her arms and rolled her eyes again.
“Just do what makes you happy. Isn’t that what you said? Sneaking off, going places, doing things. Or is it only okay for me to have fun if I’m with you? You don’t control me, Zay, so stop acting like it.”
Our raised voices had attracted the attention of a few event goers, even though we had tucked ourselves into a corner. I noticed people watching us and tried to quiet down. I took Feven’s hand in mine.
“Feven, you know how I feel about you. And I thought you felt the same. If I’m acting weird about it, it’s only because … it’s only because I love you.”
The words came out before I knew what I had said. Feven’s eyes flashed with shock. She pulled her hand out of mine and turned away from me. I watched the anger seep out of her shoulders and slide down her arms. She put her head down for a second and then lifted it, looking out of the window into the gray.
“Zay.” She spoke softly. “You’re overreacting. You and me—we’re not in love. We’re only teenagers. I like you a lot, but love? It isn’t just some overgrown plant that wraps around your heart. You have to choose to love somebody over and over and over again until you don’t or until you die. I like you, Zay. I really do. But I just can’t choose love right now. I feel free for the first time in my life. And you helped so much with that! But I want to feel free. I need to feel free. Not just … trapped by someone besides my family.”
My heart sank. My body felt numb and my brain moved a thousand miles per second trying to understand what was happening. Tears stung the back of my eyes. I reached for Feven’s hand again, but she pulled away. I wiped at my eyes.
“Feven, please. If you don’t love me, then why do you kiss me like you do? If we’re only teenagers, then why does it feel like I could do this forever? I know you feel it too. Just, please. This is real. Love is whatever we make it. We can make it anything we want. Please.”
Feven fiddled with an old book on the shelf next to her. She didn’t respond.
“Feven…”
“Xavier, I don’t have anything else to say, and I have to go. I’m here with Jharrel and I’m being so rude. This is making me uncomfortable. I’m sorry your feelings are hurt, but I didn’t do anything wrong. Bye, Zay.”
Feven started off.
“So, you’re just going to walk away?” I called.
“I’m sorry, Zay. I mean … I don’t know … just, whatever,” she called back.
The waterworks came on full blast now, so many tears I could barely see as I rushed out of the community center. I slid down the pathway on the sleet, coming down heavier now, making my way back home. Some of my earliest memories of my parents were watching them argue and wondering why they didn’t just talk to each other.
Why things always had to end in tears.
I knew now.
When you’re hurt and in love, there is no talking. Only feeling, out loud. Catapulting emotions off your tongue and hoping they pierce, puncture, pinch—do anything but fall flat. Hoping they shoot through your person, and that your person bleeds. That they feel something. Not because you care what they feel, really. But because there’s nothing that seems worse, in that moment, than feeling your own feelings and thinking you’re alone.
Winter decorations hung from the light poles and street signs around the city. Electric Christmas trees and snowflakes flickered high above me as I tried to beat my own tears to the front door of Aunt Mel’s house. My feet sank into the quickly swelling ground and made gross sloshing sounds. These shoes wouldn’t be any good for a day or so. I had a plastic bag with CJ Cordova’s book in it. I wrapped it around itself and held it close to my body to try to keep the water out. I was about halfway down the trail, passing through a clearing with a few benches and tables, when I saw them—a group of guys, probably my age or a little older, sitting under the roof of a pavilion in one of the family areas, passing a joint between them.
The smell wafted over the area. I knew what I should do—walk tough, but unchallenging. Mind your business. Remain calm. Don’t give anything up. Don’t give anything up. Don’t give anything—
“Aye li’l nigga, what’s in the bag?”
The tallest of the boys in the group called out to me. He walked perpendicular to my route, ready to intercept me in just a few more steps. The sleet kept falling. The rest of the guys hung around the table, still smoking, jawing, laughing.
“A book,” I said curtly.
“Book, huh? You ain’t got nothin’ better than books?”
I kept walking and came face-to-face with him. A scraggly beard covered his chin and neck. He had long white teeth, red, cloudy eyes. He was maybe five inches taller than me, with broad shoulders, like he could have been a football player if he wasn’t so skinny. By the streetlights overhead, I could see the tattoos covering his forearm and scars on his hands and knuckles. He grinned down at me, still waiting for an answer. The patter of the freezing rainfall danced on the leaves in the park.
“Naw, man. That’s all I got.”
“That’s a shame because all you got ain’t what we want. Don’t you know where you at?”
“I’m just trying to get home.”
“Ehh!” he replicated the wrong-answer buzzer sound from Jeopardy!. “Wrong, nigga. You in our home. Without an invitation. And you didn’t even come bearing gifts.”
I thought back to my first month of junior year at Central, where it felt like fighting was my only choice. Here I was again. Trouble finding me no matter how hard I tried to hide.
“What’s up then, nigga?” The boy pushed me and I stumbled backward. I caught my momentum and swung a right hook forward with full force. He sidestepped it and pushed me again. This time, I slipped on the wet gravel and went down on all fours.
A stiff kick in my gut left me gasping for breath. I tried to scramble up, but I felt hands beating down on me, two at first, then four, then more, and more. The rest of the crew had come over to get a piece of the action. I curled into a ball and tried to tuck my knees over my stomach, using my hands and arms to cover my face. Through the hailstorm of blows I heard, “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” and everything stopped.
A hand pulled me up to my feet. I struggled to stabilize my breath. I knew I’d feel that kick later, but the adrenaline made me numb to the rest of the onslaught.
For the moment, anyway.
I looked around the circle at my assailants. Guys I had never seen. Just doing what they wanted. Running their neighborhood. Then my eyes found their way to my savior. A skinny kid with floppy ears and messy hair under a black beanie. Kenny. Dressed in all black like the rest of his crew. By the glow of the streetlights, Kenny looked hardened. Mostly in the eyes. I didn’t see the jovial light behind them I had grown to know. He watched me, annoyed but sympathetic. He reached his hand out to dust off mud and grime from my clothes.
“Kenny,” I coughed, doubled over. I lifted my head again. “Kenny, thank you.”
“K, you know this fool?” one of the boys asked.
“Yeah, yeah, we cool. He good.”
“Oh, aight, aight.” The rest of the boys left us to it and headed back over to their huddling spot.
“Zay, what are you doing walking through here alone at night?” he asked.
“Coming from an event at the community center. Me and Feven got into it. She was there with some dude.” I coughed out a mixture of blood and spit.
“So?” he asked.
“So?” I said. “What do you mean, ‘so?’ She ditched me.”
“Were y’all supposed to go together?” he asked.
“No,” I admitted.
“Then I don’t know, Zay. Sounds like nerds just doing nerd things to me. Weren’t you the one just saying she wasn’t your girlfriend? Now you trying to control who she hangs with?” Kenny leaned down and tightened the strap on his orthopedic shoe.
I sucked at my teeth. “I mean, yeah, but … we always do fun stuff together. Like dates. We do everything boyfriends and girlfriends do, we just don’t call it that. I love her, Kenny. And she doesn’t love me back.”
“Whoa, now. That’s a big word you throwing around, city boy,” he said. “I think you need to be sure you mean it before you try to judge Feven on how she feels. Dates are fun. Everybody like dates. Maybe Feven just wanted to enjoy somebody else’s company. Everything ain’t about you.”
The tears came back. I turned, embarrassed. Kenny turned to the side as well, so we didn’t have to look each other in the eye. I hung my head. Kenny couldn’t be right. He hadn’t been there to see. Feven and I built something special. And now I was losing her. My head spun. From pain or embarrassment, I couldn’t tell which.
“Zay,” he started again. “You’re a good kid, man. A little naive, but you mean well. You gotta get yourself together. For real. You won’t be in Broadlawn much longer. And I, for one, hope you never have to come back. But you gotta stop letting life happen to you. You need to focus on what you can control.”
I stood silent, fidgeted from side to side. Kenny gestured toward the gang.
“Most of us ain’t never leaving Broadlawn. Ever. It’s crazy because you can know exactly how the game’s set up—to trick you, use you, eat you alive—but that still don’t mean you can get away from playing. School-to-prison pipeline if I’m in school. Straight-to-prison pipeline if I’m in the streets. Only one of them gets me paid in the meantime though.”
He dragged his toe through a muddy spot on the concrete and half-chuckled to himself.
“But I still gotta have a plan, Zay. In case something goes right, you know? I’m not trying to do this shit forever.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Alyssa probably leaving for college next year. I already told my grandma, wherever Alyssa go—I’m going too. All the bills will be paid before then. Swear I’m cleaning everything up. But I know if I really wanna be on some other shit, I need to get away first. You? You already have a ticket out. It’s already stamped. Don’t waste it. Make a plan. Follow it.”
“I understand,” I said.
“You sure?” Kenny countered. I looked back at the ground again.
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
Kenny nodded, accepting. The sleet started to come down a little harder, and Kenny’s crew slowly dispersed. He zipped his coat and looked me up and down.
“Get outta here, man. Get home safe. And damn, nigga, be careful.”
He handed me the muddy plastic bag with my book still inside. I nodded and lifted it from hanging off his extended finger. I looked at him for a second, hoping I could think of something profound to say.
“Thanks for saving me, Kenny.”
Kenny huffed. “Getting your ass beat don’t feel so bad when someone comes to check on you, now does it?” Kenny raised his eyebrow. My ears got hot and I hung my head.
“Don’t thank me,” he said. “Consider yourself lucky. I did this for karma. I’m out here doing a lotta shit I wish I didn’t have to do, just to get by. I need whatever sort of good fortune I’ve earned to kick in at the right time to make up for everything. You’re good, man. Get going.” Kenny followed after a couple of his crew with a hobble in his step.
I nodded, tucked my bag under my coat again, and turned back down the path through the park. I started to jog, my steps splashing in deepening puddles. Before I got too far, I turned to look at the clearing where Kenny had once stood, but he was already gone.
* * *
A lot of what Zay knows about his father isn’t true.
They’re lies that came from me.
Keith stayed out of prison for a few years. He didn’t keep his nose totally clean, but he did the best he could. He got a job at a restaurant with dreams to have his own one day. He wouldn’t be in the streets much longer, and then we could live our perfect life. That’s what he said. That’s what I believed. We didn’t live together, but he visited all the time. To see Zay. Play with him. Read to him before bedtime. It was so close to perfect.
