The Rock and the River (12 page)

“Well, maybe if he did, you'd have a real life instead of being stuck up here in the ghetto.” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying.

Maxie took two steps back. Her lips parted and she blinked hard.

I crossed my arms and stared back at her. I tried to think of something to say, but I'd stepped so far into the wrong, I didn't know how to fix it.

Her eyes filled and she turned away. She walked down the street toward her building. I didn't try to follow her. Some things should never be said out loud, even if they're true.

I
WAITED UNTIL MAXIE DISAPPEARED INTO HER
building. She never looked back. I didn't really expect her to.

The moment the door closed behind her, the misty rain grew more intense. Thick droplets fell, soaking my skin. I wondered if Maxie had some magic control over the weather, the ability to protect herself but dump on me. Apparently, I had the same ability with my words.

I headed for home. I was already wet and already late, so I didn't bother to hurry. I hated myself so much for what I'd said that I could hardly see straight. The rain wasn't helping my mood in any way. I only felt muckier—nothing was washed clean.

A car pulled up alongside me, slowing to match my pace.

Father. I didn't have to turn my head to know it was him. I recognized the engine's hum and caught a glimpse of the tan hood out the corner of my eye.

He tapped the horn, but I ignored him. I walked for a while longer with him rolling next to me. He finally leaned over and lowered the passenger window.

“Getting a little wet there, aren't you?” He spoke lightly, as if it were a regular day when everything was normal. I kept walking, hoping he wouldn't be able to tell that my face was wet with more than just rain.

“Sam, get in the car please.”

“What's the point?” I spat.

“You seem to have gone a little out of your way.”

I rubbed a layer of water off my mouth. “So you came to check up on me because I didn't come straight home?”

Father sighed. He stretched his arm along the back of the bench seat. “I came to offer you a ride because it's raining.”

“I said I'm fine.”

“Suit yourself.” He sped up and passed me. At the corner he stopped and waited. He watched me go by. I shook my head. He drove on ahead.

He was sitting in the car when I walked up the driveway. He got out and we entered the house together.

Mama emerged from the hallway as we came in.

“Sam, you're soaked,” she exclaimed. “Roland, you were supposed to pick him up.”

Father hung up his coat and dried his hands on his pant leg. “Your son inherited your stubborn streak.”

“Um-hmm,” Mama said, raising an eyebrow. “'Cause you're such a pushover yourself.”

They laughed softly together. I didn't see what was the least bit funny. I ripped off my jacket and went to my bedroom. I put on fresh clothes, leaving the damp ones in a pile on the floor.

I started back to the living room, but changed my mind. When Father wanted me, he could come and get me. I sat on my bed and leaned against the pillow.

Maxie would never forgive me for saying what I had. She wouldn't want me around anymore, wouldn't push me to do Panther stuff with her. Maybe now I could return to Father's world, bring all of myself back to the place I'd started from. Maybe I could learn to ignore the gnawing in the pit of my stomach telling me it wasn't enough.

Rain pounded against the roof and windows, steady and low, drumbeats announcing the presence of the sky. The walls groaned back at the rustling wind. But the storm outside couldn't compare to the one in my head. I lay on my bed and stared upward, wishing I could make my mind as blank as the ceiling.

How could I want so many things that didn't match?

 

In the morning, even though it was Saturday, I tried to hurry out of the house. Despite wishing that I could just let her go, I wanted to make up with Maxie. I hoped I could catch her on her way to the breakfast.

Father stopped me in the hall. “I have a couple of new ideas for the demonstration that I'd like to discuss over breakfast.” He gave me a pointed look. Had he known where I was going?

I spent the whole day working with him. Fred and Leon stopped by for a while, permits in hand, to discuss legal issues with Father. He knew the answers to every question they asked, and he only had to look up one thing in one of the thick books on his desk. I was pretty impressed.

In the afternoon we worked at the dining table typing letters and stuffing them into envelopes. I matched the letters Father had typed to each of the envelopes he was addressing. He stopped working and studied me like he was going to say something, then went back to the envelopes as soon as he saw me glance up.

“What is it?” I said. The silence between us was taking its toll on me, too.

He hesitated. “What would you be doing if you weren't helping me?”

It wasn't the question I was expecting. “Probably walking
somewhere with Maxie.” I lied. I was sure she was still mad at me, and I couldn't blame her.

Father nodded. “She seems like a nice girl, Sam.”

I stopped folding, recalling the night I'd brought her home. Father's eyes clouded. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “You can bring her over to help, if you like. I just don't want you hanging around in the street so much.”

I drew my finger along the creases of a letter. “I'll tell her,” I said. If she ever spoke to me again.

 

Several nights later, I lay staring alternately at the block tower and the bedroom ceiling, trying to think of how to say I'm sorry to Maxie. She hadn't spoken to me since our fight; she'd been avoiding me at school. The hurt look in her eyes haunted me. I didn't know how to take back what I'd said.

Tap, tap, tap.
A sound at the window. I moved the curtain aside and looked out.

Stick stood there, leaning against the side of the house.

“What are you doing?” I said. “Come in.” I raised the window.

“I can't.”

I reached past the curtain and grabbed his shoulder, but he pulled away. There were red smudges on my fingertips.

“Stick, you're bleeding!”

“Shhh.”

“Get in here,” I said, lowering my voice.

“I don't think I can,” he said.

My heart began to race. “What happened? Where are you hurt? Stick?” I leaned toward him so far I nearly fell out of the house. Stick braced his hand against my shoulder to stop me, grimacing as he moved.

“Be quiet and stop panicking. I'm fine.”

“You are not.” Stick must have climbed in and out of our window a hundred times. He could have done it in his sleep.

“It's just my ribs are sore. You got something I can step on?”

I dragged my desk chair to the window. “Stand back.” I lowered it out the window, trying not to make too much racket.

Stick stepped on the chair and then turned and sat on the windowsill. He sat with his back to me for a moment.

“I've got you,” I said. Stick leaned into my arms and I pulled him inside. He was too heavy for me to hold. I half tripped, half fell onto the carpet with him on top of me. I moved him to the side and sat up.

Stick's eyes were pinched shut, and he was hugging his chest. He lay still on the floor. Seeing him in the light, I gasped.

“Oh, my God.” His eye and cheek were swollen and his lip split open.

“Would you hush?” he snapped.

I glanced toward the wall between the bedrooms. “Sorry.” I got up and pulled the chair back inside, then closed the window. Stick touched his face and winced.

“Hold on.” I stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind me. I listened for a moment. Father was in the living room and Mama was puttering around in their bedroom. I rushed to the bathroom and dampened a cloth from Mama's clean rags bin. I grabbed a dry one, too, and a couple of bandages, and carried them back to Stick. I closed and locked the bedroom door.

Stick was leaning against the side of his bed. I knelt beside him and used the wet cloth to wipe the blood off his face and neck. “What happened?”

He opened his uninjured eye and looked at me.

“Sam?” The doorknob creaked. “Why is this door locked?” Mama said.

Stick stared up at me with a panicked expression. He clutched his side and leaned toward the window.

“Quick,” I whispered. I helped him to his feet and shoved him toward the closet. He dodged the block tower and slid inside.

“Sam?”

“Coming, Mama.” I shut the closet door and tugged my shirt over my head. “I'm changing.” I tossed the shirt under the desk and unbuttoned the top of my pants. I held on to them as I pulled the door open.

“I'm changing,” I said again. I rebuttoned my pants while Mama watched.

“Sam, what's on your pants?” Mama touched my leg above the knee. “Is that blood?”

“Oh, yeah. Paper cut.” I held up a finger. She studied my hand, so I lowered it. “You can't even see it anymore.”

Mama surveyed the quarter-size stain, bigger than a paper cut should cause. “It must have been deep. You need a bandage?”

“No, it stopped bleeding.”

She handed me an armful of clean clothes. “You'll need these tomorrow. Now, get those pants off and I'll put them to soak.”

“Okay, Mama.” I half closed the door and stood behind it. I tugged off my pants and slid into my pajamas. Mama stepped in and picked up my dirty pants from the floor.

“It's getting late, Sam. Put your light out and go to sleep.” She draped my pants over her arm and glanced around the room. Her eyes lingered on Stick's neatly made bed. After a long moment she kissed my forehead and went back into the hall. “Sleep well.”

“Good night,” I said, pushing the door shut. I listened until her footsteps moved down the hall, then I turned to the closet.

Stick was huddled up in the corner, his head resting on his knees. I touched his shoulder. “It's okay,” I said.

Stick lifted his head. His eyes were cloudy and half closed, his cheeks damp. “I have to go.”

“You ought to sleep here,” I said. “I can lock the door again.”

“No,” he said. “I have to go.” But he dropped his head back to his knees.

“Come on,” I said, helping him up. “Don't be ridiculous.” He leaned against me as we walked slowly back to his bed. I pulled back the covers and he sat down. He looked up at me and I nodded. “Stay.”

Stick started to bend forward but sat up, clutching his chest. He hissed through his teeth for a couple of breaths. “Damn.”

“What is it?” I said, leaning over. “Let me see.” I tried to pull his shirt up.

“No.” He batted my hands away. “I'm fine. Just get my shoes.” I knelt in front of him and took off his shoes.

“You want pajamas?”

He shook his head. “She'd notice that.” He tucked his legs under the covers and lay down. He closed his eyes and
breathed deeply, wincing a little as his ribs expanded.

“Where have you been staying?” I knew he heard me, because his forehead wrinkled, but he didn't answer. I didn't want to press the issue.

“Your hair is long,” I said, patting his Afro.

A hint of a smile touched his lips. “Yeah.”

“I'm glad you came back.” I flicked the light off and locked the door. By the time I got into bed, Stick's breathing had smoothed out. I lay down, listening to the familiar sound. It was like coming home for me, too.

 

I was still asleep when Mama knocked on the door in the morning. I blinked into my pillowcase.

“I'm awake!” I called, my voice muffled by the sheets. The doorknob turned and the hinges creaked. I sprang up. “Don't come in, Mama!” I was sure I'd locked the door.

Mama frowned at me from the doorway. “Here are your towels,” she said, laying them across the desk. “They're clean.”

I looked toward Stick, but his bed was empty, the blankets tucked in and smoothed. He must have unlocked the door too.

“Thanks.”

“You're running late,” she said as she closed the door. “Get a move on.”

I leapt out of bed and opened the closet door. No sign of him. Then I saw the note lying on top of my shoes. Six words in Stick's quick block scrawl:

 

WHERE IS IT? I NEED IT.

 

I crumpled the page and tossed it in the trash. Kneeling beside the bed, I moved my books aside and reached for the box.

I stared at the gun for a moment, then I closed the lid and pushed the box back under the bed. I got ready in a hurry and headed out the door.

W
HEN I GOT TO THE SCHOOLYARD
, Stick wasn't there. I spotted Maxie sitting at one of the tables. I started toward her, but she saw me coming. She got up and hurried in the other direction. I almost went after her, but the look on her face let me know she didn't want anything to do with me. I still didn't know what to say to her, and the Stick situation was too big in my head today, anyway.

I walked over to Raheem, who was dishing out eggs to the line of kids at the table. Raheem watched Maxie rush out of the yard, then he looked me up and down. I didn't appreciate the once-over. I already knew I wasn't good enough. For Maxie, for the Panthers. Any of it.

“Where you been?”

I shrugged. “Around.”

“Not around here, though,” Raheem said.

“I'm looking for my brother.”

“He ain't here.”

“No kidding,” I said, crossing my arms. I don't know how it happened, but I felt myself slipping away from the calm and controlled me into something unfamiliar. “You know where he is?”

“Yeah.”

I fought the powerful urge to scream. I didn't have time to play games. Raheem kept scooping food onto plates. He scraped up the last serving and lifted foil off a second pan. The yellow eggs captured the morning sunlight. My stomach rumbled at the light, salty aroma.

“Where?” I said, focusing on the hunger to distract myself.

“What's up with you and Maxie?”

“Nothing.” I looked at my shoes.

“Don't try to sell me ‘nothing,'” Raheem said. “I ain't buying. What'd you do?”

My head snapped up. “She's the one who—”

Raheem fixed a glare on me so hard I stepped back.

“It was me,” I said, holding up my hands.

“What'd you do?” he repeated.

“Doesn't matter. Anyway, it's none of your business.” I wasn't a fool, even if I'd acted like it toward Maxie. Raheem would mess me up for sure if I repeated what I'd said. I
was lucky Maxie hadn't told him, or I'd be on the ground already.

Raheem pointed his serving spoon at me. A tiny piece of egg flew off it and splattered my jacket. “You better fix it.”

“How am I supposed to fix it? She won't even talk to me. You saw.”

Raheem handed his spoon to the guy next to him and wiped his hands on a cloth. He dropped the cloth on the serving table, then turned to me.

“Can I tell you something, man?”

“You can tell me where to find my brother.”

He motioned me closer. “You gotta come sit with me, 'cause this is heavy.” He walked over to a table where four of the young children sat. Raheem tugged one of the little girls' braids. She grinned up at him, clutching the strand in her fist. I sat down beside him and he leaned in.

“When I go down on Wednesdays, I listen up, you know?”

I nodded, not sure where this was going, or what it had to do with Stick.

“I take notes and all that,” Raheem went on, lowering his voice. He glanced at the school building, then pointed his thumb at it. “They taught me how to read and write in there, but they ain't given me nothing worth reading or writing down.

“Leroy gives me all these books to read,” he continued, “talking about poor people and black people, talking about the problems we have and what we gotta do to make things better.”

“I know. I got the reading list,” I said.

Raheem looked around. “Can you just listen up? I'm trying to talk to you, man. This is deep.”

“Sorry.”

“Leroy says the worst thing is for someone to feel hopeless. But, that's what happens when you live where we live too long. You get so you can't see past where you're at, and you can't believe there's anything better for you. You with me?”

I nodded.

Raheem raised his eyes to the sky and back. He folded his hands on the tabletop and sat quietly for a moment.

“Whatever happened between you and Maxie messed with her head.” Raheem speared me with a gaze more intense than any I'd ever seen out of him. “It's bringing her down, and I can't stand that, 'cause whatever else happens to me, I gotta make sure that girl doesn't spend the rest of her life in this ghetto.” His eyes dug into me, and I had to look away.

Raheem cleared his throat. “It's hard, living down there, you know?” He looked me over. “I guess you don't know, being from up the hill and all. Maxie, she's still got the idea
that she can make it. I'm gonna make sure that she does.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Even if it means patching things up between her and the likes of you.”

“She won't talk to me.”

Raheem laughed. “You got a lot to learn about women, man. You're the one who messed up, so that means you're the one who has to fix it.”

“I'll try.”

“Don't try. Do.” He stood up. “I gotta work.”

 

That afternoon, I looked for Maxie in the yard when I came out of school. She was nowhere to be seen. I asked a couple of people if they had seen her.

“It looked like she had someplace to be,” one girl said. “She tore on outta here.”

“Thanks,” I said. I headed for Bryant Street.

A couple of cops walked ahead of me, so I slowed down. They turned onto Maxie's street. I slowed down more. If I didn't see another cop as long as I lived, it would be all right with me.

I wasn't in a hurry to get to Maxie. I still didn't know how to fix what I had done. I looked away from the cops as I approached Maxie's building.

I stood at the door and pressed her buzzer, 602. After a moment, I pressed it again. Nothing.

Two shrieking kids ran tearing out, and I caught the door. I went in. The hall stank of garbage, urine, and other thick smells I couldn't recognize. There was a second locked door and set of buzzers, so I pressed 602 and held it. Nothing. Then I noticed a bunch of loose wires poking out from the edges of the button plate. I turned around and went back outside.

The cops were still there, standing by this kid Charlie, who was holding a large box. One of the cops had his nightstick out and was digging around in Charlie's box.

I moved toward the sidewalk and looked up at Maxie's building. In one of the sixth-floor windows, the curtain was drawn back. She stood there, her palm against the glass, staring down at the street. I knew she saw me, because her hand slipped a little, then she moved back where I couldn't see her anymore.

I jumped at a loud crash behind me. Charlie leaned over his box as its contents tumbled onto the sidewalk. His eyes widened and he shook his head as the cop waved the nightstick at him like a scolding finger.

I held my breath. This could be Bucky all over again. I wanted to get out of there, but I couldn't move.

A car pulled around the corner, slowing as it approached. It stopped suddenly and four guys got out. I gasped. Raheem, Leroy, their friend Lester—and Stick!

Raheem had a rifle resting against his shoulder; Lester carried one in his hands. They walked up to the curb where the cops were standing with Charlie.

“What's the trouble here, gentlemen?” Leroy said, crossing his arms. He looked first at one cop, then the other. “Has this young man broken some law, caused some disturbance?”

The bearded cop eyed the two rifles warily. “Take it easy, boys. We're just having a little talk. No need to get riled up.”

Leroy smiled. “Good. If we're just talking, why don't you go ahead and holster that nightstick?”

The cop glanced at his partner, then hooked his baton back onto his belt. He held up his hands. “All right, boys, you put those guns down, now. We don't need any more of this nonsense.”

Leroy and the others stood without moving.

The cop's face turned red. He raised his fist at Leroy. “Do it now!”

Leroy shook his head. “I don't think we can do that, boys.” He leaned on the last word. “See, as long as nobody's breaking any laws or causing any problems, there's no reason for you to hang around, is there?”

The cops glanced at each other. Then the bearded cop hitched his chin at his partner. “Let's go.” He took a step
closer to Leroy. “You'd better wipe that smile off your face. You'll be sorry you pulled this stunt. All of you.”

“You'll be sorry if you don't get out of my face,” Raheem said.

The cops backed away. The four Panthers watched as they walked down the street and disappeared around the corner.

I could feel the blood rushing through my body. Everyone else on the street watched in amazement too, as the cops slipped out of sight without another word.

The Panthers turned and walked back to the car. Leroy clapped Charlie on the shoulder as he passed.

“Take care, kid.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Leroy.”

As they neared the car, Stick looked across the street. Our eyes met, but he seemed to look right through me. His glance was empty, but I felt it, as surely as I'd felt the gun this morning. Now I knew why he needed it. Why he couldn't tuck it away and forget about it. Stick blinked, then slid inside the car. Leroy pulled off down the street.

I had to get to Maxie, had to tell her what just happened. I turned around, and there she was. Right in front of me.

Her eyes were deep pools of accusation.

I swallowed hard. “Hi, Maxie. I was looking for you,” I said.

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“Raheem.”

Over Maxie's shoulder, Leroy's car turned the corner, headed the opposite direction from the way the cops had gone. I watched until the taillights disappeared.

“Did you see what just happened?” They hadn't needed to fight, or even to talk too much. The guns had said it all.

Maxie nodded.

“What did you think of that?” My heart was still racing.

“Policing the police? We need that around here.”

I nodded. “It worked. They left.”

“Whatever gets it done.” Maxie crossed her arms. “You wanted to say something?”

I glanced around, feeling uneasy to be standing on the street where we were. “Yeah, but can we walk a little, first?”

Maxie nodded. We made our way down toward the lakefront and sat on our usual bench.

“I just wanted to say I'm sorry about the other day. I don't want to fight with you. And, that thing I said at the end was stupid. I didn't mean it.”

She looked at her hands. “It's okay. You were right, anyway.”

“No, I wasn't,” I said. “I was just—I don't even know where it came from.”

“Forget it.” Maxie stood up. “Was that all?” She started to walk away. But something was still not right.

“Maxie? Where are you going?”

She turned around, fists on her hips. “Home.”

“I thought we could talk some more. Are you still mad?”

Maxie tapped her toe. “I thought you were different. I thought where we lived didn't matter. I thought who our fathers are—or aren't—didn't matter.”

“I didn't mean to say that.”

“It's not that you said it. I care that you even thought it.”

“I was just mad.”

“Can't you see how that's worse?”

I pushed my hands into my pockets. “What do you want me to do?”

She stared at me, her eyes deeper than the lake beside us. “You worry that when people look at you, they see your father, right?”

I nodded.

“It's the same for me. People look at someone, they see what's messed up about their life, not what's good about it.” She put her hand against my chest. “I thought we weren't like that.”

“What do you want me to do?” I said again.

She stood quietly in front of me for a few moments, then she dropped her hand from my chest and stepped back. By the look in her eyes, I knew I had ruined everything.

“Can I walk you home at least?”

“I'm not really going home,” she said. “I have stuff to do.”

“What stuff?”

“Panther stuff. You wouldn't understand.” She flipped her hair back. “You're over it, right?”

“I do understand,” I said. “It's just—”

“Right, well, I guess I'll see you,” she said, moving away.

“We're marching for Bucky tomorrow. I was hoping you'd come.”

Maxie turned back.

“Not for me,” I added. “For Bucky.”

Something flickered in her eyes. “I'll be there.” Then she walked away.

 

My mind raced as I made my way home. I thought about Maxie, how she was able to throw herself so completely into things, how she didn't seem confused. And I thought about Stick. Stick, who was so sure of everything too, while I didn't know anything at all.

The house was quiet when I entered. Father was not here yet with directives for today, so I went to my bedroom.

I pushed open the door, and there was Stick, rifling through my dresser drawers. He jerked his head up, startled. When he saw that it was just me, he resumed his digging.

“Hey!” I said. “What do you think you're doing?”

“I told you, I need it back.” He slammed the last drawer shut and dropped to his knees between the beds. He started moving aside my books. I jumped onto my bed, flopping a lot so that he had to draw back his arm to avoid getting squished by the mattress.

“It's not here.”

Stick straightened up and whipped toward me. “What did you do?”

“You won't find it.” My pulse sped up. I couldn't let him find it.

“Sam, I'm not messing around.”

“Me either.”

Stick advanced toward me, with a menacing scowl. He grabbed a handful of my shirt and hauled me to my feet.

“You can't scare me,” I said, but my heart was pounding.

“Don't bet on it.”

“I'll never tell you.”

He pushed me away so hard, I stumbled back toward
the window. “I don't have time for this,” he said.