Darkness Before Dawn (3 page)

Gerald wound up his pitch, and threw it with full force at the little boy who stood in front of him—knees bent, bat ready, determination in his eye. Monty watched the ball approach, waited for the right moment, then swung with so much power he almost twisted completely around. The ball connected with a resounding wallop and Monty took off around the bases on his short, sturdy legs. He rounded first base with ease. The older boys, who at first had been laughing, were now cheering him on as the outfield
fumbled to get the ball. Monty approached second base just as the ball was thrown, but Tyrone, the second base man, missed because he was laughing so hard, so Monty continued, full speed, to third. He passed third base seconds before the ball did, and he slid into home like the professionals he watched on TV.

Both teams exploded in cheers for him, as well as the girls from the junior high softball teams. Even though the game wasn't over, they put Monty up on their shoulders and marched him all the way back to the food area, where they all got hamburgers and soda.

Leon grabbed a burger from Mr. Hathaway's grill and fixed it with onions, potato chips, and baked beans stuffed under the bun, which Monty gobbled with glee. Leon then took a watermelon and cracked it open by bringing it down with full force on the corner of the picnic table with a loud sploosh. “I've always wanted to do that!” he said with satisfaction.

“Tastes better when it's ragged!” Monty agreed, grabbing a handful of watermelon with his bare, dirty hands. Leon joined him and the two of them gobbled the sweet, red, juicy hunks of watermelon, gleefully ignoring the disgusted looks they got from some of the girls.

I got a small plate of potato salad and corn chips and sat across from them. I just shook my head at Leon and Monty.

“Want some, Keisha?” Monty asked with a grin. “Not a chance!” I told him.

“You don't know what a good thing you're missing!”
Leon said, smiling shyly. He hardly ever spoke to me at school.

I looked directly at him, which made him glance away and pretend to swat insects from the watermelon. “Something about dirty hands and watermelon juice just doesn't turn me on,” I said, smiling back. Leon just laughed and dug out another huge handful of watermelon and gave it to Monty.

I nibbled at my potato salad and looked at Leon closely. He was one of those kids that you know but you never really pay much attention to. Leon was just a little taller than me, brown-skinned and rugged looking. He wasn't what the girls would call fine, but he would be at the top of our list for a second look. His eyes, which were large and dark, were accented by his heavy eyebrows. He wore his hair cut very close, and everybody knew that he could really sing. When Leon noticed me looking at him, he jumped up to get Monty some cake. He brought Monty two slices, then slapped him on the back. “You're really good, kid! Keep it up and you'll be almost as good as I am! Andy would have been very proud of you, kid.” Leon wandered off then to watch the teachers play Scrabble.

Monty grinned with delight. Then his smile faded a little. I know he was thinking about Andy. He gulped and swallowed hard. I could tell he was trying not to cry.

Joyelle noticed. She walked over to him and sat down. “I know what you're thinking, Monty. It's OK to think about him. I think about Robbie all the time. Sometimes I
even talk to him. And it's OK to cry. But don't cry today. You were dynamite out there!” She touched him gently on the hand. “Wasn't he, Keisha?” she asked.

“Best I've seen today!” I said honestly.

Monty sniffed and grinned at me and Joyelle. The sun was setting on the lake and the three of us sat together in silence, watching it go down, each remembering what we had lost.

Just then, Rhonda and Tyrone came laughing and chasing each other from the woods. She was dodging him like she didn't want him to catch her, and he was missing like he really couldn't. “Whassa matter, girl?” he yelled to her, laughing. “You scared to get that fine outfit all wet?”

“You are
not
gonna throw me in that water!” Rhonda squealed, dodging his outstretched arms.

“Yeah, I better not,” he said as they got to the table where I was sitting. “I don't wanna have to face your mama and tell her how your new outfit got all wrinkled and shrunk! That's what happens to cheap clothes when they get wet, you know.”

He ducked as she squealed and pretended to hit him, then grinned at her as he headed over to the grill to get some food.

Rhonda said down next to me, still laughing, her face glowing with perspiration and happiness. “I don't know what I'm gonna do with him,” she said breathlessly.

“Love him,” I replied simply.

Rhonda glanced at me and said quietly, “That's part of the problem. I gotta talk to you, girl.” We walked over to
a bench by the lake, leaving Monty and Joyelle arguing over the last piece of cake.

“What's up?” I asked. Me and Rhonda have been tight since seventh grade when we were assigned as locker partners. Even though I'm sorta serious and studious, and Rhonda uses the “no stress/no strain” attitude toward school, we've stayed close all through high school.

Rhonda sighed. “It's Tyrone.”

“He's not creepin' around, is he?” I asked.

“No way. It's just the opposite. I like him so much, and he feels the same way and sometimes I feel like I'm gonna explode 'cause I want him so bad. And he wants me, too. I don't know what to do.”

I sighed. Andy and I had once felt that way—it seemed so long ago. “Did anything happen just now?” I knew this wasn't just lazy girl talk. Rhonda and Tyrone had been gone from the group for quite a while.

Rhonda sighed and nodded. “We were sitting right over there on that log, watching the sun as it slowly went down. Looked like a big red piece of candy. I'm feeling real mellow, then he reaches over and kisses me—real sweet and tenderlike. Then he kissed me again. And another time. It's like the kisses came so fast that one just melted into the other.”

“And you felt like you were melting into him as well,” I added, remembering.

“Oh, yeah.” Rhonda closed her eyes and remembered. “He was fire. I was wax.”

“And you both felt like a puddle of hot sauce,” I said with a smile. I knew. I had been there.

“‘I love you, Rhonda,' he told me then,” Rhonda continued. “So I told him, ‘I love you, too, Tyrone.' I touched his face and traced the scar on his cheek. It's almost gone—you know, the one he got from the accident.”

“I know which one,” I replied real quietly.

“This isn't upsetting you, is it, Keisha?” Rhonda asked with real concern. “Maybe we better get back to the picnic.”

“No, girl. I'm fine. Let's just see if we can get you through this. Keep talkin'.”

“You know, even though Tyrone's only got that small scar on his face, I know the scars inside are deep and ugly.” Rhonda sighed and watched the shadows where the sun had disappeared. “Andy's death brought everything back to him—the night of the accident when he and Andy and B.J. watched Rob die in that car.”

I started to cry.

“I wonder if Andy realized how much his death would affect so many people,” Rhonda mused, reaching over to grab my hand.

“Probably not,” I said, sniffing. “Andy was fighting his own monsters—he didn't have time to think about anybody else.”

Rhonda added, “You know, I'm probably the only person who's seen Tyrone cry. He looks tough—like a boxer or a soldier. But he's gentle as a kitten. And he's afraid of death. I've seen him tremble.”

“Seems like you do a pretty good job of making him tremble, too!” I teased her, trying to lighten the mood.

“You got that right!” Rhonda agreed with a laugh. “I don't know what I'm gonna do with that dude!”

“Let's head back,” I said as we stretched. “I can smell the bonfire.”

“Must be Tyrone—burning for me!” Rhonda laughed.

“Yeah, right!”

We got back to the main area of the picnic just as the campfire was full and ready. Some of the group had gone home, but a good crowd huddled around the large, crackling fire. Angel and Joyelle were with Gerald. Angel was a little nervous around fire since she'd lived through a terrifying one in their apartment, so she sat very close to her brother. She seemed to like the fire's magic, but was afraid of what it could do. Joyelle drew in the dirt with a stick, her thoughts far from the blaze in front of her. Monty sat near Joyelle. He watched her instead of the fire. Her face seemed to glow as the flames reflected on it.

Me and Rhonda spotted Tyrone and sat with him. I watched as Rhonda snuggled as close to Tyrone as she could. I sat a few feet from them, trying not to be jealous that they had it all together.

“Andy used to love this picnic,” I told them. “Remember last year when he got up and did the Indian dance around the fire?”

“In just his underwear!” Rhonda reminded us. I laughed in spite of myself. I noticed then Mr. Hathaway's son, sitting in the shadows away from the fire. He watched the fire, eating slices of apple that he cut with a small, sharp, silver-handled knife. He seemed like he was listening to
the bits of our conversation that drifted his way, and every time I glanced in his direction, it seemed like those golden eyes were looking right at me.

B. J. joined me and Rhonda and Tyrone then, for most of his young followers had gone home. He started singing. His voice was deep and strong, much more powerful than would be expected for his size. Up into the darkness of the almost summer sky, and across the darkness of the silent lake, B. J. sang the words of the old camp song, “Kumbaya.” The fire crackled, crickets chirped in the distance, and the wind carried his voice to all who sat there, deep in the silence of their own thoughts.

Kumbaya, my Lord, kumbaya,
Kumbaya, my Lord, kumbaya,
Kumbaya, my Lord, kumbaya,
Oh, Lord, kumbaya.

I loved this song. I started the next verse as the rest joined my wobbly soprano.

Someone's crying, Lord, kumbaya,
Someone's crying, Lord, kumbaya,
Someone's crying, Lord, kumbaya,
Oh, Lord, kumbaya.

All of them had shed many tears in the past few months. The fire and the music danced together in the darkness. Rhonda and Tyrone began the next verse together. They
hadn't planned it—seems like their thoughts were really together that night.

Someone's happy, Lord, kumbaya,
Someone's happy, Lord, kumbaya,
Someone's happy, Lord, kumbaya,
Oh, Lord, kumbaya.

They looked at each other and smiled. I could tell they felt almost guilty because of their happiness. But Tyrone had told me earlier that he figured joy had to be grabbed when it was given. He had seen too much taken away in too short a time.

Gerald glanced at Angel and began the next verse. He'd give anything to make sure Angel had nothing but happiness for the rest of her life. And dancing made her happy. I had seen her perform once. She was a feather on the stage, dancing with the air and her dreams.

Someone's dancing, Lord, kumbaya,
Someone's dancing, Lord, kumbaya,
Someone's dancing, Lord, kumbaya,
Oh, Lord, kumbaya.

Leon's smooth bass drifted out of the shadows next. His voice was laced with a pain we all felt, but couldn't explain. He's so silly at school, we might have expected him to sing, “Someone's laughing, Lord,” but Leon's voice came from a place we could all feel. We joined him as he sang.

Someone's hurting, Lord, kumbaya,
Someone's hurting, Lord, kumbaya,
Someone's hurting, Lord, kumbaya,
Oh, Lord, kumbaya.

After several more verses, B. J. ended it with the final verse—I know it was his favorite.

Someone's praying, Lord, kumbaya,
Someone's praying, Lord, kumbaya,
Someone's praying, Lord, kumbaya,
Oh, Lord, kumbaya.

The picnic ended not long after that. No one was much inclined to tell any ghost stories, for which I know Monty was very grateful. School was over, and summer vacation stretched ahead, long and inviting for all of us there who needed time for peace and healing.

“Will all seniors please
rise and be recognized!” It was hot and stuffy in the auditorium on that first day of school in September, but not one of us in the senior class seemed to care. We jumped to our feet and cheered loudly—chanting
“Seniors! Seniors! Seniors!”
while we stomped and made general fools of ourselves in the front of the auditorium. It's a tradition at Hazel-wood High that on the first day, the entire school meets for an assembly to welcome everyone back, review the school rules and changes for the year, and introduce the new class of seniors. Me, Rhonda, Gerald, Tyrone, and B. J. sat together in the very front row and, holding hands, stood up with the rest of our class, feeling proud and victorious that we had made it to that moment.

Leon Hawkins sat behind us. He said to me as I walked in the building that morning, “Lookin' good in that yellow!
Makes you look like butter!” I guess it was a compliment, but getting compared to butter is weird. He stood up on his seat, and screamed at the top of his voice, “Hallelujah! I'm so glad I'm not a
junior
anymore!” Everybody laughed as he almost fell, and I turned around and smiled at him. He got yelled at by Mr. Jasper, the senior advisor, but Leon was used to it and ignored him.

Angel and Joyelle were new ninth graders at Hazel-wood that year. They sat in the back with the freshmen. I know they were looking enviously at all of us victorious seniors in the front. I had heard them talking in the main hall that morning, looking scared and overwhelmed. Angel had whispered to Joyelle, “Do you know how much homework and notebooks and reports and projects we have to do to get to be seniors?”

Joyelle nodded. “Yeah, but they were like us once. We'll get there, too.”