On the Come Up(87)

Maybe it’s not on me to save Aunt Pooh. Maybe it’s on Aunt Pooh to save herself for me.

Maybe it was. “She’s not getting out for a long time, huh?” I ask.

“Probably not.”

“What do we do?”

“Live,” he says. “I mean, we’re gonna support her through this, but you gotta remember that she made choices, Bri. She always knew there was a chance this would happen and did it anyway. This is on her. Period.”

The kitchen door opens just barely, and Kayla peeks in. “Trey? Sorry to bother, but Sal needs your help with something up front.”

I take that as my cue to sit up. Trey stands and gives me a hand up, too.

“No more radio interviews, all right?” he says. “Having one DJ on my list is enough.”

“What list?”

“My ass-whooping list. If I see him in the streets, I’m whooping his ass.”

I laugh as he kisses my cheek. Fact is, even when he’s mad at me, even when he’s so disappointed that he yells at me, my brother will always have my back.





Twenty-Nine


Monday morning, I knock on my mom’s bedroom door.

I’ve been up a while. Gotten dressed, had some cereal, and cleaned up my room a little. Jay hasn’t come out of her bedroom yet.

The first two knocks don’t get a response. I try again, and my heart knocks even harder against my chest. It takes two more tries before I hear the small “What is it?”

I slowly crack the door open. There’s no smell. I know, that’s a weird thing to look—well, sniff—for, but I still remember the odor that would come from her room when she first got sick. It was like rotten eggs and burning plastic mixed together. Crack reeks.

The room is covered in darkness—the lights are off, and the blinds and curtains are closed. But I can make out the lump beneath a mound of bedding that’s my mom.

“I just wanted to say bye,” I tell her. “The bus will be here soon.”

“C’mere.”

I inch over to the side of the bed. Jay’s head pokes out from under the comforter. About half of her hair is protected by a silk bonnet. It partially slid off at some point, and she doesn’t seem to care enough to fix it. Her eyes are puffy and pink, and there’s balled-up tissues on the nightstand and scattered around her pillow.

She reaches up and runs her fingers through my baby hairs. “You’re starting to outgrow these braids. I need to do some new ones soon. Did you eat?”

I nod. “You want anything?”

“No, but thank you, baby.”

There’s so much I wanna say but don’t know how to say. I mean, how do you tell your mom that you’re scared you’re losing her again? How selfish is it to say, “I need you to be okay so that I’ll be okay”?

Jay cups my cheek. “I’m okay.”

I swear, moms are equipped with mind-reading abilities.

Jay sits up and pulls me closer. I sit on the edge of the bed. She wraps her arms around me from behind and kisses the back of my head, resting her chin on my shoulder.

“It’s been a dark couple of days,” she admits softly. “But I’m getting through it. Just needed some time. I’m thinking about going downtown to see Pooh tomorrow. You wanna come? We can go after your ACT prep.”

I nod. “Any word from Dr. Cook yet?” It’s been over a week since she gave him her résumé at the PTA meeting. I get it, that’s not a long time, but days feel like years lately.

“No,” Jay says, and sighs. “Those folks at the school district probably don’t want a former drug addict working with them. It’ll be okay. I gotta believe that.”

“But will you be okay?”

I sound five. I feel five. I sat on her bed once back then, stared into red eyes hazy from drugs, and asked her that same question. A day or so later, she left me and Trey at our grandparents’ house.

She stills when I ask it now. Several moments pass before she responds.

“I will be,” she says. “I promise.”

She kisses my temple to seal the deal.

My mom’s up and getting dressed when I go outside and wait for the bus.

She’s doing it for me, I know it. Making herself be strong so I won’t be scared.

I sit on the curb, slip my headphones over my ears, and hit Shuffle on my phone. J. Cole’s “Apparently” starts. I rap along as he talks about all the hell his mom went through. Then that part where he says he wants his dream to rescue him? I don’t think I’ve ever repeated truer words. It’s like he knew I’d be sitting on a curb in front of my house, listening to this song and needing it.

I used to say I wanted to do that for some kid. Have them listen to my music and feel every single word, as if I wrote it just for them. Lately, though, I just wanna make it.

The song stops as my ring tone goes off. Supreme’s name appears on the screen.

“Li’l Law!” he says the second I answer. “I got big news.”

“Another radio interview?” I’d rather eat all the leftovers in the world, and I hate leftovers.

“Bigger!” he says. “I got some execs that wanna meet you.”

It’s like I’ve suddenly broken into a sprint, that’s how much my heart speeds up. I almost drop my phone. “Ex—” I can’t even say it. “Execs? As in record execs?”