This Is My America(16)

Jamal stops at the top of the stairs, pausing. I wait for him to speak.

“What’s up, Jamal?”

“I’ll be late. I gotta take care of some things. Cover for me with Mama.”

“Yeah.” I pause. “Okay.”

I stop to watch Jamal leave. Puzzled by his response. The first time he said he would be late, he was joking around, but this time there’s a heaviness to his words. Like something else is on his mind, but he just don’t trust me enough to not mess it up.





THE FAST AND


THE FURIOUS


I’m jolted awake by the shuffle of someone in the hallway. I rub my eyes, then realize what it is. Our upstairs toilet runs, especially at night when someone doesn’t give it a good flush. The sound won’t stop, so I force myself up.

I can’t help but run my fingers along the grooves of the walls, knowing Daddy’s the one who put them up. Every ding or repair is unchanged, like he left it. The only thing different in the house is my room. I’ve painted my walls a rotation of colors, hoping one of them would soothe away my bad dreams. Shake up the house enough to look different, but in the dark, I can see it like it was before.

“Hurry up,” I whisper at the bathroom door, so I don’t wake Mama.

Corinne doesn’t answer. When I notice the door is open a sliver, I push it, blink with the bright light blinding me for a second.



Jamal’s splashing water on his face. His eyes are shut as he wrings his hands together over the sink. I rub my eyes because it looks like red water swirling down the drain.

“Damn, Jamal. What happened to you?”

“Shit.” Jamal jumps back, grabbing a towel. His hands are all jittery as he cleans up his face, then bunches the towel into a ball.

I watch the last bit of pink-colored water disappear down the drain.

“Why you always in my business?” Jamal pushes past me, and I’m taken aback at his response. He sounds like he got caught, but I’d already known he’d be in late.

“What’d I catch you doing?” I hit his shoulder, playing around, and he flinches. He’s scared. But of what?

“Jamal. You okay?”

I touch his neck to get the rest of what’s on him off, then I make a face when I realize it’s blood. There’s a long scratch across his neck.

“What happened?” I flick the water on and wash up. “You okay?”

I watch him hard because nothing about this fits his late-night routine. I can’t tell if he’s coming or going. I move to ask another question, but Jamal’s already heading off to his room. He gives me a look like I better keep my promise and not dare wake Mama, then shuts his door.



* * *





I lie restless in bed and listen for movement. The air is thick and hot. There’s heaviness in the atmosphere, like so many nights when the past takes over the present. I try and tell my brain it’s just the wave of an old smell, a phrase someone says that can put me on high alert. I’ve never been able to get over what happened enough to live fully in the now, always rush back to the night Daddy was taken from us. A moment that won’t erase.

My sense of déjà vu is heightened by the sound of a vehicle riding down our quarter-mile gravel driveway. I listen more closely, and my heartbeat picks up, throbbing when I recognize there must be two or three cars driving way too fast for our road. A minute later, a knock at the door jolts me.

I run down the hallway to the stairs.

“Get back to your room.” Mama’s already at the front door. She waves me away.

“Who is it?” I mean to whisper, but I’m yelling.

She looks through the peephole and rests her face on the door. I see the lights flash blue and red before she confirms it.

“Police,” Mama whispers.

She doesn’t need to say more. Something awful has happened.

Corinne meets me at the stairs in her rainbow pajamas. She clutches her thin arms around me.

“What is it, Tracy?”



“Everything is fine. Go back to bed,” I say, although I’m holding her as tight as she is me.

I want to let her go, but I’m frozen. My heart is beating in my throat, pounding, thrumming out through my ears.

Over my shoulder, I glance at Jamal’s room. There’s no way he’s asleep so fast.

Inside I’m tangled up, searching for a reason why they’re here. If I was standing by Jamal, we could look at each other without saying a word. Just know it’s them that’s wrong, not us. But something went down with Jamal, and whatever it was, I sense I should let him be.

I leave Corinne and make my way downstairs, my Know Your Rights training kicking in.

Mama waves me back, but I don’t stop. I’m concerned it’s gotta be about Daddy.

He’s hurt.

Worse.

“What’s happening?” Corinne calls from the stairs. Her eyes scrunch up like if she thinks real hard, she’ll figure out what’s going on all by herself without having to ask.

I look up one more time at Jamal’s door, but it stays shut. Doubt hits me. He must’ve been on his way out when I saw him. He’s going to trip when he gets home.

“Things are fine,” I say. “I’m sure of it.”