Keesha's House (7 page)

to come forward.
Oh, Keesha … Her brother

was a nice kid, decent. The little brother

she was always trying to keep track of. This paper

will be in everybody's hands today—she'll be asked

the same questions over and over. My brother

is the same age as hers. He goes down that street

to go swimming at the Y every Monday afternoon.

Mr. Hyde pulled Keesha out of practice yesterday afternoon—

that must have been when she heard about her brother.

She left in tears without a word to anyone. What a lonely street

my friend walks down, with nothing but a paper-

thin umbrella keeping out the rain. This age

we are—it's supposed to be so fun, but if you ask

me, it's really hard. When I lost the baby, I asked

myself a lot of questions, and then one afternoon

it came to me: I can act my age

again! I'm a
girl
with a mom and a dad and a brother

and
no baby
, and I better get my research paper

done for English class. I felt like skipping down the street,

laughing and shouting:
Look, everyone! Our streets

are paved with gold!
Coach Johnson asked,

What's gotten into you?
I got an A on my research paper

and I thought the whole world was mine. This afternoon,

my feet are on the ground again. If someone's brother

can be here one day and gone the next at age

fourteen, I feel like I don't want to be this age

too long. I just want to cross the street

before the light turns red, get home and tell my brother

to stay inside where he'll be safe. I asked

Jason to go with me to the funeral Sunday afternoon,

and he said yes, although to him it's just a story in the paper.

Tobias Walker, age fourteen, found dead.
Has anyone asked

what Tobias was doing on that street on a school-day afternoon?

Keesha's brother!
Most people will read this and toss out the paper.

INVISIBLE SHIELD     
JASON

I didn't even know Tobias Walker,

but this funeral shook me up. He looked

like a child, lying in that casket, wearing

a clean white shirt, eyes closed

like he was sleeping, except he

had this defiant expression on his face, as if to say,

I don't care what you do to me.
I wanted to say,

Come back and try again. Walk

back here—give the world another chance.
He

almost seemed like he could hear what I was thinking. I looked

over at his sister, sitting in the front row, arms closed

across her chest, eyes blazing, wearing

an expression like a volcano about to erupt. She was wearing

a dark suit that made her look older than she is. I wanted to say

something to her that might come close

to being right, but what? After the funeral, I walked

out ahead of Stephie, and when I looked

back, I saw Steph reach out, heard her say to Keesha,
He …

then stop and step back. That one word,
he
,

was more than Keesha could hear. It was like she was wearing

some kind of invisible shield. Stephie looked

like she was trying hard to think of what to say,

but, like me, she couldn't. Keesha walked

away and got into a car. A guy closed

the car door and drove off.
Who's that, that closed

the door?
I asked, and Stephie said,
That's Joe. He

owns the house.
Later we went for a long walk

down by the river, and she told me more about the house where

Keesha and some other kids live on their own.
Don't say

anything to any grownups
, Stephie said.
Look
,

I said,
they shouldn't have to do this! Look

at all the agencies set up to help.
It's a closed

subject to Stephie. She promised Keesha not to say

anything, especially about Joe. He knows some people think he

should report the kids, but he's not going to. It's wearing

on me, thinking about them, and then about Tobias Walker.

At least Joe doesn't close his door and walk away. He does what he

can. It looks to me like the kids at Keesha's house are wearing

lives designed for people twice their age. But what, if anything, should I say?

A GOOD PERSON     
KEESHA

When we were little kids, Tobias liked to hide

and make me try to find him. He was good

at hiding; he never made a sound

to give himself away. Sometimes I'd keep

looking for a
long
time before I'd see

some small movement, and then his little grin. I can still

see it. Tonight I have to make myself sit still

and not look everywhere he could be hiding,

hoping I might find him. If I could just see

him one last time, smiling that good-

natured smile—if I could say goodbye—I might not keep

thinking he's alive somewhere. I might not jump at every sound,

thinking it's my brother calling me. Now it sounds

like Joe's home. I'm surprised he's still

letting me stay here, after what I did last night. I keep

expecting—I don't even know. What happens if I don't always hide

the way I'm feeling? Joe's gotta be a good

man to stand by and see

me lose control that bad and still see

something good in me. It all started with the sound

of that red cup breaking on the kitchen floor. It felt good

to hear it break. I dropped another cup and then another, and it still

felt good. Threw three plates on the floor and didn't try to hide

the pieces. Felt like, if I could keep

on breaking dishes, maybe I could keep

myself from breaking. I wonder—who did Joe see

when he walked in? I didn't even try to hide

what I was doing, and by that time, some sound

was coming out of me. I still

don't know where it got started—it felt good

and awful all at once. Joe grabbed my wrists, held them.
You are a good

person, Keesha. It's okay. You just keep

on cryin'.
Was I crying? I held still

then and let Joe hold me. I let him see

me cry, let him hear that ugly sound.

Didn't even try to hide.

Maybe Tobias used to keep on hiding

just to hear the sound of me still looking.

Tonight I see how getting found feels good.

READY TO TRY AGAIN     
DONTAY

Only three days after I got to Keesha's house,

we heard what happened to Tobias. I never

felt so scared. I don't even want

to know who did it, or when, or how,

or why. Just wanna keep my distance

from the whole mess. It could

be me, buried six feet deep, and Tobias could

be sleepin' on this couch in Keesha's house.

Seems like, sometimes, ain't no distance

between life and death, even if you never

mean to go that way. Keesha started sayin' how

I should find out if my foster parents want

me back. She'd say,
You should call, at least. I bet they want

to know where you're at.
Sure, but how could

I do it? I knew they'd be plenty mad, how

I stayed gone all this time. One thing about their house

though—I know it's safe. I started wishin' I never

left—might be good to put some distance

between me and Dan. But it's a long distance

between wishin' and doin', and even when I wanted

to go back, I could never

get myself to make that call. I could

tell myself to do it, picture the phone ringin' at their house,

but I could never picture how

they'd answer. Joe must've been watchin' how

I'd pick up the phone and put it down. Could he see the distance

I was feelin' between this house

and that one? Finally, last night, he called there himself.
I want

to speak to Dontay's foster father.
How could

he do that so easy when he never

even met him? The two of 'em talked awhile. I never

even had to apologize or nothin'. Heard Joe say,
How

can you make rules that work for you, that Dontay could

learn to live with?
Man, there's a big distance

between kids and grownups. If I wanted

to talk like that, I'd never know the words. This house

is pretty far from that house, but when I said I wanted

to go back, they said I could. Look at the distance

between
never
and how I'm ready to try again today.

A LONG, HARD TALK     
CARMEN

Grandmama sat me down for a long, hard talk

the day after the judge sent me home.

She said,
We gotta get to the bottom

of this drinkin' business. Tell me why

you started and how you plan to stop.

I went back in my mind to that first

time, when I was twelve, the first

day of summer vacation. I let this girl talk

me into goin' to a party with some older kids.
Stop

right there
, Grandmama said.
Whose party? Were the parents home?

The whole time we talked, she was like that:
Who? Why?

When?
Strange thing is, I wasn't mad. At the bottom

of all her questions was one thing—love—and the bottom

line is, I figured out by now, that's the first

thing I need. Truth is, I don't know exactly why

I started drinkin'. Just fun, I guess. You're talkin'

to someone, they hand you a beer, and by the time you go home

you've had more than you meant to. You don't stop

to think about it at the time.
Okay, but can you stop

when you decide to?
She kept pushin', gettin' to the bottom

of everything I said. That one scared me, 'cause when I got home

even after all that thinkin' I been doin', the first

thing on my mind was: Who's around that I can talk

into buyin' me some beer? Before I answered Grandmama, I said,
Why

you need to know that?
Wasn't bein' sassy, just had to know why

this was so important. She stopped

a minute. Somethin' was hard for her to talk

about. Then she said,
Your grandpa and your auntie both hit bottom

over this.
(Didn't mention Mama.)
If it's hard for you, you ain't the first

one in our family. Nothin' wrecks a happy home

faster than addiction.
That's somethin' I want—a happy home—

and that word—
addiction
—might be why

this whole thing's been so hard. Once I take that first

drink, it's like Grandmama thought, I can't stop

until the party's over and I see the bottom

of the bottle. I need some help on this, someone to talk

me into takin' that first step. Talkin'

about
why
is one thing; stayin' home from parties is another.

I want to stop now, not wait till I hit bottom.

LIGHT THROUGH THE WINDOW     
HARRIS

By the time Katie figured out I was living

in my car, I'd saved some money. Enough

so when they asked me if I wanted to move in, I could buy

a bed that folds into a couch during the day.

I found this little room with a window,

up in the attic, and Joe said I could sleep up here.

Now if I want to be alone, I can come up here

and it's not lonely, because I hear sounds of people living

downstairs in the house. Outside my window

a maple tree is starting to leaf out—it lets in just enough

light to make these dancing shadows on the wall every day

when I wake up. I didn't have to buy

too much. I've learned what I can live without. I might buy

a small rug or something, but first I'll look around up here.

Joe's aunt Annie left lots of trunks and boxes full of stuff. One day

I dusted off an old chess set and brought it down to the living

room. Katie knows how to play, and Joe plays well enough

to give us both a challenge. Yesterday Keesha stood by the window

watching a game between Katie and me. Light through the window

made her face look softer than it used to. By

the time she'd watched a couple games, she knew enough

to try a game herself. It's like having sisters, being here.

I called Mom where she works and told her I'm living

with some friends and doing okay. The next day

we met downtown for lunch. She said ever since the day

Dad threw me out, she's been trying to find some window

she can open in his mind. When someone's lived

as long as he has, thinking one way, it's hard to buy

into something new. I listened to her. But now I'm sitting here

thinking,
Blah, blah, blah.
Neither of my parents has enough

backbone to stand up for me when they see I'm not enough

like the kid they wish I was. Maybe some day