And then boom, p.5
And Then, Boom!, page 5
say thank you to everyone.
The volunteer who scoops spaghetti onto my plate,
the one who spoons out the sauce,
and the one who uses tongs to plop garlic bread on top.
I grab a bowl of fruit cocktail and
a glass of milk.
Then Grandmum and I find a table
with people we’ve never met and
don’t know anything about except
they’re just like us.
Hungry,
and too poor to buy food.
Worse Than Hunger
Who’s this little one?
Grandmum asks as a woman slides a high chair
over to the table where we’re sitting and
straps in her daughter.
Candy Sprinkles,
the woman says.
I named her that ’cause
I want my baby’s life to be sweet.
My name’s Rain,
and I swear my mama put some kind of curse on me
by namin’ me that,
since I’ve had nothin’ but sadness
raining down on me my whole life.
Rain tucks a napkin in at the neck
of Candy’s makeshift dress,
a grown-up’s plaid flannel shirt,
and Candy swings her feet in the excitement
of finally being fed.
Candy loves the fruit cocktail.
When she runs out, Rain shares hers,
just like Grandmum slides half her spaghetti onto my plate.
She gives me her food a lot,
even when her stomach’s not hurting.
You’re a growing boy.
You need it more than me,
Grandmum always says.
Sometimes Grandmum acts busy until
I’m done eating and then
she eats whatever’s left.
What she doesn’t know is
I never get my fill.
I stop eating
to make sure there’s food left for Grandmum.
There’s one thing worse than hunger:
watching someone you love
go hungry.
All I Need
On the drive home, Grandmum sighs.
I’m grateful for the soup kitchen,
but I hate that I can’t give you everything you need.
You give me so much!
I say.
And all I really need is you.
Sometimes you’re like
a grown-up in a kid’s body,
you know that?
Taking care of me
as much as I take care of you.
Grandmum reaches over and musses my hair.
What would I ever do without you?
What would I ever do without you?
I answer.
I don’t want to find out,
she says.
Me neither,
I say.
Last Night
Just as I’m drifting off to sleep,
Grandmum groans so loud that
a shiver of fear shoots down my spine.
I run to her room.
You okay?
Probably just a stomach bug,
Grandmum says,
her voice a little higher than usual.
Go back to bed.
Can I get you a pain pill?
Fix you a cup of tea?
Maybe the heating pad will help?
I’ll be all right.
Okay.
I peel back the quilt and snuggle up next to her.
I’ll be right here if you need me.
We watch the oak tree’s branches and leaves
dancing to the rhythm of the wind
outside Grandmum’s open window.
Swish, swoosh, swish.
Grandmum wraps her arms around me.
Did you know that as soon as I saw
the towering oak tree outside,
I knew this was the place for us?
Why? Because we’re named Oak, too?
Yes, and because oaks are like us.
Each season, they face storm after storm.
Some real doozies.
But they keep standing.
Growing.
Adapting.
Surviving.
Nighttime’s for Wishes and Dreams
Whoever lived in The Overripe Banana before us
stuck glow-in-the-dark stars on
the ceiling in Grandmum’s bedroom.
Let’s wish upon the stars,
Grandmum says.
My wish is for you to feel okay,
I say.
No, Joe.
Sunup to sundown’s all about our worries.
Nighttime’s magical.
It’s when we make wishes on stars and
dream of what could be.
One day.
Well, then I wish I could be a pro basketball player.
Hear the crowd erupt in cheers when the score’s tied
and I sink one into the basket right before
the horn honk of the buzzer.
I’d make all kinds of money.
And the first thing I’d do
is buy back The Gingerbread House for you.
I rattle off one dream after another,
wishing on every glow-in-the-dark star
until I have more hope
than worries.
Nighttime is magical.
Everyone Has a one Day
We all have at least one
one day.
One day,
I’m gonna be the world’s best chef
at my very own restaurant, and
the food’s gonna be so good
that when Michelin reviews it,
it’ll create a fourth star just for me,
Hakeem says.
One day,
I’m going to find a cure for depression,
Nick says.
One day,
I’m going back to my beloved old England.
Everybody longs for home,
Grandmum says.
A one day is
a hope,
a wish,
a dream
that gets you through
ordinary days,
hard days,
the worst days.
One day,
I’ll never be filled with
the ache of hunger again.
The Return of Thanos
Uncle Frankie’s waiting for me
when I walk out of school.
Your grandma’s in the hospital, Joe!
Get in! I’ll take you to her.
I hop into his pickup truck, and
when we get to the emergency department,
they say Grandmum’s in room three.
I run down the hallway,
turn the corner,
and then,
BOOM!
Mom’s right there in my face.
What are you doin’ here? I ask.
My mother called me, she says.
That doesn’t make sense.
When Gotham’s in trouble,
you activate the Bat-Signal.
You don’t call Thanos,
the destroyer of worlds.
I start to push open the door
so I can see Grandmum.
Mom stops me.
She’s gone, Joe.
Gone?
They already sent her home?
Mom shakes her head.
Gone, gone.
My heart free-falls to my feet.
But . . .
She can’t be gone.
It was just a stomach bug.
She said she’d be okay.
No, Joe. She had a stomach aneurysm,
a weak spot in a blood vessel.
It ruptured and she lost a lot of blood.
Too much.
Happened fast.
How did you get here in time?
She called me a few days ago.
Said I needed to get home.
I found her in the garden. Called 911.
They did everything they could to try to save her.
But it was too late.
No!
I shout.
No! No! No!
This doesn’t add up!
You’re lying!
You always lie!
Let me see Grandmum!
Mom takes a deep breath,
lets it out,
and pushes open the door
to the hospital room.
Have it your way.
Raven
The room’s cold.
So cold.
I start shaking.
My teeth chatter.
Grandmum’s lying on a bed
with a thin white sheet draped over her,
covering everything but her head.
No cozy, soft quilt to keep her warm.
My knees are Jell-O cubes,
weak and wobbly,
buckling with each tiny step
I take toward Grandmum.
I want her to say something,
like,
I love you, my little nut.
I want one of her Captain America hugs.
But Grandmum’s not
talking,
or moving,
or breathing.
Grandmum’s Raven,
the Marvel character,
her skin so blue.
Now I know what it was like
for the people of Krypton
when their sun went away.
I’ve lost my world.
Seeds of Hope
It doesn’t seem right to be back home
when Grandmum’s not.
In the yard,
I see the recycled milk jugs
that Grandmum turned into little makeshift greenhouses.
I think about what Grandmum said every year
as she filled them with dirt and seeds.
In winter, all we can see
is how lifeless the frozen ground is,
but beneath the surface
there are always tiny seeds of hope
getting ready to spring to life
and change everything.
Grandmum’s trowel and gloves
are still where she left them.
And I can see the imprint of her knees
on the kneeling pad.
The very last thing she did
was plant vegetables to make sure I had food.
All these milk jugs are cluttering up the place,
Mom says.
Grab some trash bags.
Get rid of this junk.
It’s not junk!
I shout.
These seeds will become plants for the garden!
So we can have food all summer!
I. Don’t. Care!
Mom yells.
I want them out of my way!
She kicks a few jugs before heading inside,
squashing all kinds of hope.
Screaming
I stand in the pine grove.
Close my eyes tight.
Curl my fingers into fists.
Dig my nails into my palms and
screeeam
until my throat hurts,
screeeeeeeam
until my ears hurt,
screeeeeeeeeeeeam
until I can barely breathe,
and I just keep on
screaming.
Three Kinds of People
When I slip out of the pine grove,
I find Nick a few feet away,
leaning against the oak tree.
He walks with me to the garden.
While I scoop the dirt and seeds
back into the jugs Mom kicked over,
Nick picks up as many jugs as he can carry
and takes them to his place.
He does that over and over
until all the seeds of hope are safe.
The whole time,
Nick never says a word.
Neither do I.
Actions say more than words ever could.
There are three kinds of people.
Some are hope-planters.
Some are hope-squashers.
Some are hope-restorers.
I Am Falcon
Somehow I presto-chango into Falcon
and fly above my body,
giving me a bird’s-eye view
to look
d
o
w
n
at Grandmum’s funeral.
The Hug Sandwich
All kinds of people come to Grandmum’s funeral.
Guys who served in the Air Force with Grampy.
Grandmum’s coworkers.
People who went to school with Mom.
Uncle Frankie.
Mrs. Swan.
Hakeem and his parents.
Nick.
You’re lucky, kid,
to have someone who loved you
as much as your grandma did,
Uncle Frankie says.
Remember, you can call me
whenever you need something.
We’re family.
I’m so sorry, sweetie.
Hakeem’s mom, Zuri,
wraps her arms around me.
I start to cry.
She hugs me closer.
I got your back,
Hakeem says.
Always.
He wraps his arms around me
from the back.
Me too,
Nick says,
hugging me from the side.
Then Hakeem’s dad, Tyrone,
wraps his arms around us all.
I’m in the middle of a hug sandwich.
I cry even more.
Grandmum Got Her one Day
Remember me telling you about one days?
How Grandmum said,
One day,
I’m going back to my beloved old England.
Everybody longs for home.
Well, turns out there can be a problem
with a one day wish.
Sometimes you get it
in a way you might not have wanted.
It’s as if the universe wasn’t totally paying attention
to what you said you wanted
and only heard bits and pieces before
it waved its wand and went to work.
After they cremated Grandmum,
they shipped her urn of ashes off to England
to bury her beside family.
Grandmum got her one day.
She went home.
The Crow
I doodle
Mom as a crow
circling and swooping down
into Grandmum’s room.
Peck, peck, pecking
through Grandmum’s things.
I doodle
The Crow’s claws curling around
Grandmum’s quilt.
I doodle
me grabbing hold of the quilt
as a tug-of-war begins
with the thieving bird
—scratching,
squawking,
feathers flying—
until a jewelry box gets knocked over
and sparkly, shiny treasures spill out,
capturing The Crow’s eyes
and attention,
and it lets go of the quilt
to curl its claws around silver and gold
before it soars away,
cawing, cawing, cawing.
Chimera
Mom says she’s a butterfly,
but I see her more like a Chimera,
the mythical creature
that’s part lion, part goat, and part snake.
Only, my mom is part butterfly,
part crow,
and mostly storm.
Storms are unpredictable.
Scary.
Sometimes violent.
Storms do all kinds of damage,
then—poof!
They take off.
Turn your world upside down and
leave you to deal with the mess.
I don’t want anything to do with a Chimera.
Because I never know which creature I’m dealing with.
And sometimes I have to deal with all of them
at once.
But now the Chimera’s all I have.
Casserole Surprise!
One thing you can be sure of when someone dies
is that there are gonna be lots of casseroles.
From friends, neighbors, and even folks you don’t know.
We have so much food
that we have to freeze half of it.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen
the whole fridge full, and
I can’t help but be sad
Grandmum’s not here to enjoy it.
Each night, Mom and I heat up a casserole.
Since it’s impossible to tell what we’re about to eat,
we create a game out of it.
Casserole Surprise!
When the food comes out of the oven,
we fold back the foil and
slowly rake our forks through the casserole,
making like archaeologists unearthing artifacts.
Whoever figures out what it is first
doesn’t have to do dishes.
Cream of something soup,
I say.
Mom sighs.
There’s cream of something soup in every casserole.
Okay. Okay. Hamburger.
