Kids of Appetite (25 page)

For my mother, my father, my sister

PROLOGUE

Dr. James L. Conroy does not approve of prologues (Conroy, v–vii). I imagine, should his eyes ever land on these pages, he will find a great many of my methods to be lackluster, and very possibly substandard. I am okay with this. His pages contain almost no luster at all. (More on this in a moment.) Notwithstanding the aforementioned, Dr. James L. Conroy does believe that good stories take time (Conroy, 18–154). I find this very encouraging. If the value of one's story is found in the amount of time one spends working on it, this will be a very good story.

For it has taken a very long time.

Truth be told, it's been a struggle. There are many things happening, many reasons not to write this book. My work in the church and at the local shelter takes up much of my time. My brother and I are seeing a therapist, which has been vital in helping us process our past, present, and future. When it comes to writing, I find myself repeating those four dangerous words:
I'll do it later.
And then—last night I had a conversation with my brother. This has become a habit of ours: we spend hours under a tiny tree behind our apartment in the Windy Palms apartment complex, talking long
into the night. Until recently there were four of us who participated in these late-night chats, but one of our number moved, and the other was adopted by a close friend. (Good-byes are often bittersweet, I know, but these were more sweet than bitter.) So my brother and I usually devote a few minutes of our discussion to the past before moving on to the future. I find a great deal of luster in these conversations. They are, in fact, far above standard.

Last night my brother said, “You have spoken for long enough, Baz. It is time to write.” (Since attending community college, he has grown somewhat big for his britches if you ask me. But okay, he was not wrong.)

So here I am. Writing.

Our mother used to say we were all part of the same story, and while we could not choose the setting or plot, we could choose what kind of character we wanted to be. (Dr. James L. Conroy says nothing of the sort, though I admit I have yet to finish his book,
Writers Who Write Right Write Right Now
. I do wonder if Dr. James L. Conroy had followed his own advice and gone with a shorter title [Conroy, 178–186], then perhaps the book itself would be less of a bore. I doubt it. It really is a heaping pile of excrement.) It is all, of course, one big metaphor, comparing life to a story, but it was the way we lived, Mother and I. Even today, I find enormous comfort in it.

So—my story has many Chapters. I had planned to write them sequentially, giving an account of my life, and the life of my family, from the time I was born to the time I sat down in this moderately comfortable chair in this moderately comfortable apartment in the Windy Palms apartment complex. But I recently listened to something, and am now convinced that my story should be told using a “nonlinear
narrative” (Conroy, 402–403, then again at 411–414, and also at 1, I suppose). I could—and will—tell the stories of my mother, the films of my father, the cries of my sister, the words of my brother. I will write of war and ruin, of a very long walk through hard lands, of a trip across an ocean, of finding family and losing it, of an orchard, a butcher shop, a restaurant, a tattoo parlor. I will write things that seem impossible; I will write places that seem improbable. I will write of death, whose presence makes itself known to all; of life, who got there first; of disappointments; of broken promises; of bad choices, some made by me, some made for me; of my many families, and how each of them, for better or worse, shaped me.

But first, I will begin (that is, Chapter One will begin) with two interviews, which were recorded one year ago this month. I recently acquired these interviews during my research, and upon hearing the audio knew exactly how to begin this nonlinear narrative of mine. It would begin not with plot or setting but with the most important aspect of story: character (Conroy, 209–222). And while it may not be the
best
story, I do hope it is a good one. I am optimistic. For it took a very long time.

It begins with my friends.

Baz Kabongo
Tampa, Florida
December
2

AUTHOR'S NOTE

While Vic is entirely fictional, Moebius syndrome is not. It is a rare congenital neurological disorder primarily manifesting itself in facial paralysis. Most individuals with Moebius cannot smile or frown, and many have respiratory problems, sleep disorders, difficulty swallowing, strabismus, speech and dental complications, clubfeet, and visual or hearing impairments. These conditions often lead to a variety of other issues, including prejudice and discrimination. Many teens with Moebius are ostracized and bullied by their peers, which can cause depression and low self-esteem; it is not uncommon for people with Moebius to be treated as though they lack intelligence.

I believe
people
with facial differences need to let others know we are just like everyone else. . . . I learned when I am stared at, instead of crawling under a rock, which I always felt like, that just opening my mouth and talking breaks the tension
.

The above quote was pulled (with permission) from one of many e-mails with Leslie Dhaseleer. I had the pleasure of
hearing Leslie's story, and the story of Roland Bienvenu, Daphne Honma, and Sheyenne Owens, each of whom have Moebius syndrome, and each of whom had a profound impact on the arc of Vic's character development. I owe them a tremendous amount of gratitude for sharing their stories, for patiently answering my many probing questions, and for reading various drafts of this manuscript along the way. Thanks, too, to Vicki McCarrell at the Moebius Syndrome Foundation, and to the Many Faces of Moebius Syndrome Facebook page, who, when I asked for help, eagerly gave it. Each of you showed me how to smile with my heart, and for that I am eternally grateful.

(For more information about Moebius syndrome, go to moebiussyndrome.org, or visit the supreme awesomeness that is the Many Faces of Moebius Syndrome Facebook page.)

Likewise, while the Kabongo brothers are a work of fiction, many of their experiences are based on historical events. From 1997 to 1999, the Second Republic of the Congo Civil War saw thousands of Congolese citizens killed or displaced—among the latter were the Kinzounzas.

For some years I had the privilege of working with Gigi Kinzounza, and while I knew she and her family were from the Republic of the Congo, devout Christians, and devoted teachers, I knew few details of their past. Until I asked. Through conversations, e-mails, and an in-home interview (which I will never forget), I heard their remarkable story. Baz and Nzuzi's exile from the Republic of the Congo, their time spent in the DRC refugee camps, and a few misconceptions of them here in the States are largely informed by my interviews with the Kinzounzas. I cannot thank them enough for their time, for answering my questions, for reading drafts of this manuscript, but most of all for having the courage to speak about something I could never begin
to truly understand. To Raymond, Gigi, Natey, Siama, and Kutia (Abigail)—my heartfelt thanks.

I would also like to thank Patrick Litanga, for valuable insight, and for sharing some of his own experiences with me; and Darko Mihaylovich and Colin Triplett at Catholic Charities for their time in helping me better understand the refugee resettlement process.

To each of you, I offer a resounding mountaintop
thank you
.

—David
Arnold

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To my family, Arnolds and Wingates alike, you guys are seriously the bee's knees. So thanks for that. And everything, really.

Thanks to Ken Wright and Alex Ulyett at Viking, who, in addition to making me a better writer and person, are in fact magical unicorns of wisdom and benevolence. Thanks to my Penguin family: Elyse Marshall for generally ruling; Theresa Evangelista (cover design) and Yuschav Arly (illustration) for knocking this cover out of the park; Kate Renner (interior design); Dana Leydig; Jen Loja; Allan Winebarger; Tara Shanahan for the Hackensack knowledge; fabulous copyeditors Janet Pascal, Abigail Powers, Krista Ahlberg, and Kaitlin Severini; and John Dennany for being an excellent road companion and friend.

Thanks to my incredible agent, Dan Lazar (also a magical unicorn), and to everyone at Writers House who has had a hand in this story: Torie Doherty-Munro, James Munro, Soumeya Bendimerad Roberts, Cecilia de la Campa, and Angharad Kowal. Thanks to my film agent, Josie Freeman, and all at ICM.

Thanks to the following kids for having serious
appetite: Courtney Stevens, Ashley Schwartau, Erica Rodgers, Josh Bledsoe, Kristin O'Donnell Tubb, Sarah Brown, Lauren Thoman, Victoria Schwab, Ashley Blake, Nicki Yoon, Emery Lord, Kerry Kletter, Rae Ann Parker, Dhonielle Clayton, Jeff Zentner, Daniel Lee, Kurt Hampe, Kate Hattemer, Ruta Sepetys, Sabaa Tahir, Renée Ahdieh, Brooks Benjamin, Gwenda Bond, Sarah Combs, Megan Whitmer, and Dave Connis; Stephanie Appell and all at Parnassus Books in Nashville; Amanda Connor and Trish Murphy at Joseph-Beth Booksellers; Wyn Morris and all at the Morris Book Shop; everyone at the Carnegie Center for Literacy and Learning; my sister-in-law, Michelle, and Jennifer Heidgerd, for their racehorse expertise; everyone at North Lime Coffee and Donuts; Carl Meier and the good people at Black Abbey; Dan Garcia, for his vast knowledge of all things art; the dream factory otherwise known as the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators (scbwi.org); Marge and all at the late, great Harley's Irish Pub in Hackensack; Meg, Perry, and Chris at Fresh & Fancy Farms in New Milford (fresh andfancyfarms.com); and a certain dormant submarine who sparked an early idea—you know who you are, you sexy thing, you.

Thanks to my beckminavidera kids: Jazzy Wargs, Becky “Just-Put-Down-the-Double-Stuf-and-No-One-Gets-Hurt” Albertalli, and Adam Silvera-Arnold. You guys save me every day. And I love you. (Romantically, I mean.)

Thanks to Sergeant Eric Hobson, Robbery/Homicide Unit, and Detective Billy Salyer, Forensic Services Unit, from the Lexington Police Department for lending their time and expertise.

Thanks to Gary Mac Smith and Bunny Welch, who (in addition to the respective publishers) graciously permitted me
the use of their son's work. Elliott Smith is one of my heroes if it wasn't pretty obvious, and I am beyond thrilled to have his lyrics included in my book.

Thanks to S. E. Hinton for getting me caught in the Vortex. I'm still there, actually.

Over the past year and a half, I've met countless librarians and booksellers who have absolutely leveled me with their knowledge of books, yes, but more importantly, with their ability to get the right books into the right hands at the right times. I would be aimlessly wandering the tall grass without you guys, and I think I speak for most authors when I say THANK YOU. A million times over.

I mentioned them in the author's note, but it never hurts to say thanks twice: Roland Bienvenu, Leslie Dhaseleer, Daphne Honma, Sheyenne Owens, Vicki McCarrell, everyone at the Moebius Syndrome Foundation, and the Many Faces of Moebius Syndrome Facebook page; the entire Kinzounza family—Gigi, Raymond, Natey, Siama, and Kutia (Abigail); Patrick Litanga; and Darko Mihaylovich and Colin Triplett at Catholic Charities—THANK YOU.

Lastly, thanks to Stephanie and Wingate. I'm a big believer in the power of words, but sometimes there are none. The only four that come close: I love you two.

Looking for more?
Visit Penguin.com for more about this author and a complete list of their books.
Discover your next great read!