The Battle of Jericho (10 page)

“You're not hungry, are you?” she asked as he trudged up the steps.

“No, thanks. We had pizza at the warehouse. I gotta get up early.”

“Well, then, good night, Jericho. Maybe this club is a
good thing. It's certainly making you work harder than I've ever seen you work at anything.”

“Good night,” he called down to her, but he shook his head. Even her compliments seemed like slight criticisms.

He picked up his trumpet as soon as he closed his door. He needed to work out his feelings. He inserted the mute, partly so Geneva wouldn't bother him, and partly because he loved the way it sounded—almost like it could talk. He played riffs and progressions, improvisations as well as variations on old themes that he knew so well they breathed with him. He felt a little better when he finished an hour later, so he took a quick shower and crawled into bed. Then he picked up the phone and called Arielle. She answered on the first ring.

“Whassup?” he said softly.

“You just getting home?” she answered.

“A little while ago. I'm tired,” Jericho said.

“Getting into this Warrior stuff is a real good thing, right?”

“I guess.” He paused. “Can I ask you something, Arielle?”

“Sure.” Her voice sounded so pleasant and innocent on the other end of the line.

“Can something be both good and bad?”

“I don't get you,” she said.

“What I mean is, can something seem like it's good but really be something else?”

“I don't know. I guess it depends on what you're talking about.”

He wanted her to understand his confusion. “It's like
roses. They're pretty, you see what I'm sayin', but they've got thorns.” He felt frustrated.

“You're not making any sense.” She sounded impatient.

“Never mind. It's not important. I'll call you tomorrow. Good night, Arielle.”

“Good night, Jericho.”

JERICHO DID NOT SLEEP WELL AND WOKE UP
before his alarm went off. He was dressed and eating a bowl of cereal when his dad walked in the back door.

“Hey, Dad, rough night?”

“Like you wouldn't believe, Jericho. From petty criminals to real thugs, they all wait till I come on duty to show off!” He yawned, pulled up a chair beside Jericho, and poured himself a bowl of cereal as well. “Why are you up so early?”

“Today is delivery day, Dad. The Warriors will be by to pick me up in a few.”

“Oh, that's right. I forgot. You know, I'm proud of you, Jericho. This Warriors of Distinction project seems to be one of the best things you've ever been involved in. You've worked hard, and all for someone else.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Jericho swirled his spoon in the cereal. The doorbell rang and Jericho bounded over to open the
door. Rick, wearing a black leather Warriors of Distinction jacket, stood in the doorway.

“Hey, man, I'm ready.”

“See ya, Dad!” Jericho called to his father as he grabbed his jacket.

“Bye, son,” his father said, yawning again.

The deliveries that day were unforgettable. They stopped at a huge apartment building downtown and took a stack of wrapped toys into an apartment that had almost no furniture. The mother of the five children living there cried when they arrived. At another house, an older woman who Jericho guessed was the grandmother, her hands bent with arthritis, made them sit down on the old, flowered sofa while she made hot chocolate for them to drink. Seven children sat quietly in the corner while they sipped the chocolate, and watched with wide eyes as piles of gifts were put under their spindly tree. At a trailer park, they left gifts with a young father who wept as he told of his wife's death three months earlier. He had four children.

Jericho was silent most of the day, overwhelmed with the need and the poverty and the thankfulness of those who received the gifts. Many of them needed more than toys—they needed food and a safer place to stay and jobs. By the end of the day Jericho was exhausted, partly from the physical work, but mostly from the emotional impact. The little negatives about the Warriors that he had been harboring in his mind had vanished.

As Jericho and Rick waited in the parking lot of the warehouse, a police car pulled up next to them. Rick looked up with concern. “Don't sweat it, man,” Jericho
said with a smile. “That's my dad.” Officer Prescott waved and got out of the cruiser.

“Hey, son, I figured you might be finishing up here. Want a ride home before I go to work?”

“Yeah, thanks, Dad!” Jericho thanked Rick once again and gratefully climbed into the front seat of the police car. He looked into the side-view mirror and saw Kofi running full speed, trying to catch them before they left. “Hey, Dad! There's a criminal behind you that wants to get arrested! Got your cuffs ready?”

His father laughed, got out, and opened the back door of the cruiser for Kofi, who was breathing hard. “I'm sorry, but you'll have to ride behind the screen,” he told Kofi.

“Don't let the neighbors see me like this!” Kofi said, pretending to be a prisoner. Kofi's breathing finally slowed to normal, and the two boys laughed and joked all the way home.

“How'd it go today, Kofi?” Jericho asked.

“It was off the hook, man. At this one house there were about ten kids and five cats. Kids and cats everywhere!” Kofi replied with a laugh. “But they cried when we brought their stuff in,” he added soberly.

“Yeah, we got tears too, and hot chocolate and cookies and lots of hugs,” Jericho said.

“At one house, a little girl gave me a peppermint stick without the cellophane.”

“You eat it?” asked Jericho.

“Naw, man, I saved it for you!” Kofi retorted.

Officer Prescott turned on the siren just as he pulled into Kofi's driveway, and Kofi howled with laughter as two
of his neighbors peeked out of their front doors to see what was going on. Neither of Kofi's parents came to the door, however. It occurred to Jericho that he rarely saw Kofi's parents, but the thought passed as Kofi ran up the walkway to his house, waving back at Jericho and his dad. He unlocked his door and went inside.

Jericho and his father rode in silence to their house. “I can't come in, son. I'm on duty in a few minutes, but I hope you had a good day.”

“It was the best day of my life, Dad,” Jericho said with satisfaction. “The Warriors are straight!”

“Don't get overly excited about getting into this club, son,” his father said mildly. “Even though Brock was a Warrior, I made it through Douglass just fine without being a member. Being yourself is more important than being a Warrior of Distinction. Remember that, okay?”

“Sure, Dad,” Jericho replied, but he wasn't really listening as he trudged into the house. He went straight to his room, turned on a Wynton Marsalis CD, and played with him until all the pain he had seen, and the guilt and helplessness he felt about it, melted away.

CHRISTMAS DAY WAS, FOR ONCE, LIKE ONE OF
those pictures on the Christmas cards that were tacked all over the house. Jericho peeked out of his window and noticed that a fresh snow had fallen; everything was white and glistening. Todd and Rory would be in his room in just a few minutes, jumping on his bed and clamoring for him to come downstairs. He knew it was still the middle of the night in Alaska, but he needed to hear his mother's voice.

He picked up the phone and she answered on the second ring. “Merry Christmas, Jericho!” her cheerful voice rang out.

“Hi, Mom. How did you know it was me?”

“Mother's intuition. I know your ring. Caller ID. All of the above!” She laughed. “Besides, unless you're with us at Christmas, you call me at this time every year.”

“Thanks for the package you sent, Mom. I can't believe they sell those new Nikes in Alaska!”

“I knew you wanted them, and yes, they sell everything here you can get back home. I don't live in an igloo, you know.” She laughed again and Jericho flopped on his pillow with contentment. Hearing her laughter took him back to when he was a kid.

“I miss you sometimes, Mom. Especially at Christmas. Remember when I was little, how much fun we used to have?”

“Yes, I remember, sweetheart. I keep those memories tucked in a very special place.”

Jericho said nothing for a moment, remembering the abundance of those early Christmases, trying to block out the memories of the tension and the problems that his parents had tried to keep hidden from him. “How are the kids?” he asked finally.

“Oh, they're fine. Excited, of course. Will and I have been up half the night putting together stuff for them.”

“Yeah, I helped Dad and Geneva put together a couple of things for Rory and Todd.”

“It's a little different now that you're older, and not so much on the receiving end like the little ones,” his mother said.

“Yeah, but this year, I got to do some real major giving to little kids. Remember I told you I was working with the Warriors of Distinction on their toy project? It was awesome, Mom.”

“Yes, I remember that group—your Uncle Brock was a member. They're pretty powerful for a bunch of high school kids. They do some great stuff. You're going to be a member now?”

“Maybe.” He decided not to mention his concerns about the club to his mother. After all, it was Christmas.

“They'd be lucky to have you,” his mother asserted.

“Of course you'd say that, Mom.” Jericho smiled anyway.

“Are you still talking to that girl Arielle?” she asked.

“Yeah, she's really off the hook. I can't believe that a girl like Arielle wants to be with me.”

“Well, it's obvious the girl has good taste,” his mother teased. “Why wouldn't she want to be seen with a hunk like you? You're good-looking and you play the trumpet like no tomorrow. I bet the other girls are jealous of her.”

Jericho grinned. “You're just sayin' that because you're my mom!”

“And you know it's true!” She chuckled. “Tell me more about this girl, son.”

“She's smart and she's fine and she makes me feel like, I don't know, I can't put it into words.” Jericho hesitated, trying to capture all the feelings that swirled around in him when he thought of Arielle.

“My goodness, this girl must be something else!” his mother said.

“Oh, she is. She's got a great sense of humor and she's caring and she's got more on her mind than makeup and hairstyles. She helped with the Warriors of Distinction project and I'm taking her to the Warriors' celebration party on New Year's Eve.” Jericho smiled as he described Arielle to his mother.

“I'm glad you've found someone as special as you are, Jericho,” his mother said gently. “I hope I get a chance to meet her one day.”

“Yeah, that would be cool,” Jericho said. “I guess I better go now, Mom. I hear Todd and Rory in the bathroom. That means I have about three minutes before they pounce on me! Give my best to Will and the kids. I can't wait until summer.”

“I love you, Jericho, and have a very Merry Christmas,” his mother said fervently.

“I love you too, Mom. Merry Christmas.” As he hung up the phone his door flew open, and, just as he knew they would, Todd and Rory jumped on his bed and started screaming.

“Get up! Get up! It's Christmas!” Rory yelled. “Hurry up!” Geneva and his father peeked in his room next, looking sleepy and sorry that the boys had not slept another hour or so.

“I'll make some coffee,” Geneva said. “Merry Christmas, Jericho.”

“Merry Christmas, son,” his dad said.

“Same to both of you. You have to work today, Dad?” Jericho asked as he searched on the floor next to his bed for his bathrobe.

“Yeah, I have to go in at three. Let's go down and do this so I can get another nap. I'm getting too old for this,” he chuckled.

Todd and Rory had already skipped down the steps and were bouncing in the living room like hot popcorn when Jericho and his dad got downstairs. The brightly covered boxes and packages, the lights on the huge tree, even the fake fire in the fireplace—the little red streamers waving in the wind from a little blower—reminded Jericho sadly of
what others did
not
have, and once again he felt a little guilty for his good fortune.

He sipped the coffee Geneva fixed for him while they watched the boys gleefully rip open their packages. Just as he had predicted, they received everything they had asked for, and more. Then he opened his gifts, and thanked his father and Geneva for the watch and the jeans and the black sweater.

The phone rang. It was Uncle Brock, calling to wish them a Merry Christmas. The two brothers talked a few minutes, then Jericho asked to speak to Josh before they hung up.

“Was Santa good to you, Cuz?” Jericho asked.

“Yeah, he dumped a small load under my tree. But you know what I miss, Jericho?”

“What?”

“Remember when we were little and we got so many toys that the whole living room looked like a toy store? I miss the toys!” he said with a silly laugh.

“I know what you mean. You'd come over here with your new toys, then we'd go over there with my new toys, and we played till we dropped.”

“Gettin' older is the pits!” Josh wailed.

“Todd and Rory got laid out with toys, though,” Jericho said. “At least I get to play with their stuff!”

“Hey, I gotta go. Mom's got breakfast ready. Maybe I'll come over later and help you play with Rory and Todd's toys!” Josh laughed and hung up.

Jericho was content at that moment, as he gazed at the sparkling lights on the Christmas tree, giving a feeling of safety and comfort to the family scene in front of him. It
wasn't perfect, but it was what he had, and it was enough, he thought. Geneva was curled up on the sofa with his father, Todd and Rory ran around the living room like they were on batteries, and Jericho thought about the joy in the homes of the families they had reached, and he hoped their holiday was as happy as his.