Sorta Like a Rock Star(51)

When I enter his house I see the blank spot on the last wall of his living room—the hole that I have not yet covered with doggie haikus—and it makes me feel really depressed.

I sit down on the couch as Private Jackson makes tea.

Ms. Jenny comes looking for BBB, and when she doesn’t find him, she jumps up on the couch and ducks her head under my hand, so that I will pet her.

I pet her with all I got.

When PJ brings me the tea, it is green—like always.

I sip it.

He sits and sips his cup.

I sip mine again—and then I start sobbing.

I sob so hard I drop my teacup and Ms. Jenny jumps off the couch and hides under the coffee table.

I can’t stop crying.

I can’t stop shaking.

Snot is running down my nose—spit down my chin.

It all comes out.

Everything.

My dad leaving us.

Being homeless.

My mom’s murder.

BBB’s having a tumor.

I’m not even an adult yet.

It’s not fair.

It’s really not fair.

I close my eyes so hard—trying to stop the tears.

I start to cough wildly.

I feel like I might die.

And then Private Jackson is next to me on the couch.

He’s moved toward me for the first time.

I throw myself at him.

He hesitates for a second or two, but then he puts his arms around me.

I bury my head in his yellow button-down shirt, and he holds me.

After a few minutes, I stop coughing, but I can’t stop crying.

I soak his yellow button-down shirt with hot tears.

We stay entwined like this on his couch—father-daughter style—for a long time.

When I finally let go, Private Jackson turns his face from me quickly and says, “I will get you more tea.”

Before he leaves the room, I see that his face is also streaked with tears.

He stays in the kitchen for a long time—longer than it takes to make green tea.

When he returns, he hands me a new steaming-hot cup.

When I sip, he says, “I just wrote a haiku in the kitchen.”

He has a piece of paper in his hand, so I ask, “Can I read it?”

He hands it to me.

It reads:



THE SUN SETTING THROUGH





PINE TREES AT THE EDGE OF TOWN





MAKES ME SQUINT AND SMILE





“It’s good,” I say. “But it doesn’t capture the present moment.”

“Maybe sometimes—on special occasions—every so often, it is best to capture a different moment, maybe, when the present moment is not the right moment for you. It is sometimes nice to think that more moments are always coming. Always. Like the moments when you come to visit me.”

“True,” I say, and then sip my tea, realizing that what PJ just said is like—revolutionary for him, so I don’t push it. I simply enjoy the present moment—having released so much emotional baggage—as this moment bleeds into the next one.

Silence.

We sip our cups for an hour, not saying a single word, just occupying the same space.

When I finish, I stand and say, “You’re a good man, Private Jackson.”

“I will wash the teacups now,” he says.

“I’m going to bring BBB here in a week or so to visit Ms. Jenny, cool?”

“Ms. Jenny will be looking forward to the visit very much,” he says, and then takes our teacups into the kitchen.

I let myself out of PJ’s house and then walk through the darkness, navigating the Childress streets back to Donna’s house—thinking about Dr. Weissmuller cutting open Bobby Big Boy and removing his spleen—and before I know it, I’m praying again, asking JC to be with Dr. Weissmuller, to help him to be exactly who he needs to be, so that BBB will be okay. And then I sorta promise JC that I will try to return to my hopeful self if He spares BBB’s life—even after what happened to my mom—which is a pretty good bargain for JC, as far as I’m concerned.

I’m still sorta mad at JC, but I’ve missed Him too. True.

I sorta need to pray, and all.

Praying keeps me sane.

Maybe it’s my true favorite?





When I get to Donna’s house, I find Ricky in the kitchen eating Ritz crackers and peanut butter.

“I’m sorry, Ricky,” I say.

“Ricky Roberts is supposed to leave Amber Appleton alone because her mother was killed and it wasn’t fair, so she is mad at everyone for now, but she will snap out of it in the future. Yes. In the future.”

I snap both of my fingers and then give Ricky a kiss on the cheek.

“Amber Appleton kissed Ricky Roberts! Yes!”

“I’m sorry I was mean to you, Ricky,” I say, and then I notice that Donna is in the doorway watching the apology.

So I walk over to Donna, say, “I’m going to school tomorrow,” and then I give her a big old hug before I go up to my room and stare at the ceiling all night—wondering how in the hell I will pay for B Thrice’s surgery.





PART FOUR



We’re Not Alone