Lakewood(67)

How did this happen? my mom asked.

Chemicals, the man replied, as if that was enough of an answer.

I walked a little farther down. The man didn’t stop me. The dunes were shifting and pulling at my feet. I was on the verge of tripping, rolling down the beach and into the lake. I paused. There were no news cameras around. This is real, I told myself. Real, real, real. Cigarette butts, a shiny gum wrapper. Some gulls were circling above the lake; people were trying to chase them away, encourage them not to land or go after anything they might want on the shore. You’ll die, they yelled, as if the birds could understand English. You’ll die.

The woman still refused to come to shore.

The foam probably felt like bubble bath. It would feel soft until it started to burn.





30


Dear Tanya,

When we got to my apartment, everything they provided—the couch, the bed, the bedroom dresser, the dining room table set—was gone. My clothes were thrown on the bedroom floor, scattered on top of the boxes I hadn’t bothered to unpack. Books everywhere, with letters to you still sealed inside them. They had taken my plates and bowls. I kept focusing on that fact as I went through the rest of the apartment; I think it allowed me to pretend the stakes were lower. It was easier to act like I had just broken up with someone petty who would take things that were obviously mine than think about what this really meant.

Well, this isn’t what I was expecting, my mom joked. She was holding the framed photo of me, her, and my grandma. It was steadying to have her here, to have someone else confirm yes, this is happening and yes, this is not normal. I tried to make a joke. Something dumb about the year’s biggest decorating trend is flee-the-country chic. She didn’t laugh. Instead, she looked around at the walls, the white cabinets, and said that she was getting major déjà vu.

I texted Charlie what felt like a million times. He didn’t respond. I tried to call him. Nothing, not even a voicemail box. Maybe he got a new phone, my mom said. Neither of us felt convinced by what she said.

Online, more and more outlets were covering the hospitals’ admissions to performing studies on African Americans. There were concise reports. Somehow, people had already cranked out op-ed style posts about how experiments like these were a reminder about the United States’ history of racism. Seeing the discussions gave me hope. People cared! And this was about studies done close to 50 years ago. People would keep digging, keep paying attention, and they would find out it wasn’t just hospitals, it was the government. They would find out this wasn’t just once, this wasn’t just in the past, but it had happened over and over.

People were talking about what an outrage this was. But they were already creating dumb jokes and memes. There were already several accounts saying this was all faked. It was just more lies by the blacks. It’s what they do. People asked what they can do to help. There was genuine rage. I knew nothing could be solved in a day or a week or a month, but I hoped, I hoped.

We took a risk and drove to Great Lakes Shipping Company. The gate was wide open, so was the front door. There were no cars in the parking lot. Inside, everything was gone—cubicles, vending machines, computers, the blinds off the windows. There were echoes as we spoke. I held my mom’s hand as we went into the warehouse. It smelled like someone had recently dropped and cracked open several large jars of pickles. But the only things in the space were sparrows flying around and hopping on the ceiling beams. They were ordinary birds.

This happened, I said.

We went up to the second floor, the third. Everything was empty. Every step I took, I expected someone to jump out or round a corner and I would see someone I knew holding a gun. But it was quiet. Clean. Where else have you been, my mother asked me when we were out in the car. I told her about the cabin in the woods, but really, I didn’t know if those were the woods behind Great Lakes Shipping Company or the woods in the state park north of town. We drove to Charlie’s house. In the yard was a FOR RENT sign. I knocked several times. I called his name. Then we peeked in the front window. Nothing was inside.

We drove to Tom’s. A different family was living there. A woman and a man who were watering a garden using jugs of water. A little boy with bright red hair who was chasing a dog around. I wanted to go to Mariah’s house, but I had never been.

Do you still believe me? I asked my mom.

She squeezed my shoulder. I will always believe you.

You have to, though, I said, you’re my mom. Deziree shook her head, reminded me that a lot of parents are not like that. People feel more loyalty to how they think things should be than to other people, including their family. I thought maybe she was talking about Grandma, but I didn’t understand the context. There was so much between them that I didn’t know, don’t want to know. But now, I think maybe Deziree was already seeing things clearer than I was.

Is there anywhere else, anyone else you can think of who could give us proof? my mom finally asked.

I shook my head.

While we went back to my old apartment, started gathering up my things, my phone was blowing up with texts about Lakewood. You, Kelly, Stacy, people who hadn’t spoken to me since April. It was all about the water. Was I okay? What are you going to do? How do you feel? Are you scared? I sent the three of you a picture of the lake. The foam, the people in hazmat suits. How can I help? you all asked.

When I used to go to service, the preacher loved to talk about how to be good in today’s world. He would use generic, often corny, situations. When you’re in the club. When someone sweet from your past sends you an email, but you booed up. He didn’t usually speak like that and I always thought it was condescending when he said things like booed up, lit, wildin—but with the “g” pronounced. The way a cop would say it. Gambling, sex, violent movies, violent video games, opportunities to do violence. He steered all these situations toward the dads in the room. You will blow up your family if you make the wrong decision. Your kids will never look at you the same. Do you want to be another ain’t-crap dad in this world? Mothers, you are angels. Kids, listen to your mothers.