He thought about Senior. Since Lawrence’s death, Junior had been the balance between many volatile discussions at home which had ended in broken furniture and holes in the wall. He wondered what his absence would do to his parents’ marriage. Finally, with all his courage, he moved his lips to speak. The words rolled from his tongue unscripted and organically.
“If going to New York will help you get better, I’d go tonight.”
Sandy’s eyes opened immediately. “What’s that, dear?” she asked him.
Junior cleared his voice and spoke again. “I said, if going to New York would help you to get better, I’d go tonight if I could.”
Her face softened at Junior as she invited him in close for a hug. As the two embraced, Senior appeared at the door with Sandy’s dinner from the cafeteria. Nervous about his daddy’s reaction to his decision to leave, Junior tripped over his words before Senior set Sandy’s tray of food down and looked at him.
“Well, son.” Senior reached into his pocket and placed a quarter into Junior’s hand. “Always remember: If it’s right for you, then it ain’t no need for you to explain yourself. We understand. Why don’t you make that call while you still can?”
Relieved by their validation, Junior excused himself out into the hallway to make a phone call to Casey. She answered on the first ring, and rather than a drawn-out explanation of how he had changed his mind about Langston, Junior kept it short.
“I’m ready, Casey,” he told her.
Early Tuesday morning, Junior wheeled his mother around the hospital’s complex to a window overlooking the courtyard. Shortly thereafter, the two ate breakfast and talked up Fort Foote, New York. The transition instituted new guidelines for Junior as he was now under the courtesy of Casey’s care.
“The zip code may be different, but the rules are not,” she told him. “Don’t you disappoint us up there! Make us proud, Junior. As soon as I get well enough, I’ll be there to see you walk. And walk you will. Love you, son.”
With his heart on the outside of his jacket, Junior knelt next to his mother’s wheelchair and kissed her hand. He then placed his mother’s hand against his cheek, hoping his warmth would restore what loss of function had occurred after her stroke. Before long, Senior showed up and placed his huge hand across his son’s back. He looked up to the sky to where his daddy’s head was and stared into his father’s grim eyes. Not a tear was shed as neither said a word. Senior then offered his hand for Junior to shake.
“I’ll call as soon as I get to New York,” Junior promised. “First phone I see. I won’t even put my bags down. I’ll be back Friday – that’s for sure. It’ll be like I never left.”
As Junior started toward the elevator, his daddy called out to him.
“Junior?” he said. “Fort Foote ain’t Brooke’s Rowe. Show ‘em how we do it down here.”
Grinning back, Junior disappeared into the elevator. Waiting for him outside, in her car was Casey Haughton, his big sissy. With his bags packed and loaded in the back seat, Junior took a breath of hometown air and plopped into the front seat.
“All set?” she asked him.
“One more stop,” Junior requested.
As Casey parked her car out front of Medgar Evers Secondary School, Junior asked if she could give him ten minutes to say goodbye to Brother Gay. He ascended the staircase and passed by the crumbling mural of the school’s namesake and his contemporaries on the wall. The dice shooters who Sandy had tormented six months earlier were still out there. They stared at Junior as he stared back at them, unphased. Six months ago, he’d walked with his head slumped and his hands shoved into his pockets. That day, however, he walked upright.
“Th’fuck you lookin’ at, nigga?” one boy said.
“Nothing at all,” said Junior as he vanished into Medgar.
It was just after 11 a.m. when Junior entered Mr. Levy’s office to inform his old principal that he was withdrawing. In his usual stupor, Mr. Levy leaned on his chair with his arms folded across his fat chest.
“You can’t,” he said. “Only a parent or guardian has the authority to withdraw a student.”
“My dad will bring the paperwork over this week.”
Mr. Levy looked him up and down. “You’ll be back. Sure enough. Just like everybody else.”
In mocking audacity, he then extended his hand out for Junior to shake. Junior paused, thinking of the perfect getback at Mr. Levy’s attempt to doom his future. He referred to the quote inscribed beneath the mural of Medgar Evers out in front of the school.
“You can kill a man but you can’t kill an idea, Mr. Levy,” he told his principal.
He shook his head at Mr. Levy and left.
For his last stop, Junior appeared at the door of room 454. The moment his old teacher saw him standing there, Brother Gay interrupted himself at the board.
“So, you out?” he asked.
“It was too good to pass up,” Junior said, shrugging. “You were right.”
Impressed, Brother Gay nodded his head at Junior. Flabbergasted, his classmates stood in awe of him as he stood near the door, refusing to take his seat.
“Don’t be a stranger, Junior,” said Brother Gay.
“I won’t, sir. Thanks for everything.”
Upon leaving the building, Junior descended the stairs to where Casey was waiting for him outside in the lot. He took one last look around at Medgar and breathed in the February cold. He felt like a wrongfully convicted man on death row who had finally been afforded justice. A small smile appeared on his handsome face as he opened the car door. Junior threw on his seatbelt and exhaled again.
“Ready? Casey asked him.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready.”
The ride into New York was filled with reflection. Along the way, Casey’s car passed by Hyatt Park where Lawrence was buried. Junior thought of his brother’s last words to him. In his heart, he asked Lawrence to forgive him for leaving him behind.
From the interstate, he stared into the eyeball of Philly from his rearview mirror, watching as his hometown slowly faded from view. Guilt washed over him during the ride as Junior imagined Sandy’s slanted face missing him with each passing mile. He wondered how Senior would fare without him there during the week. A bittersweet tear left his eye the moment Casey’s car reached the New York line. For Junior, New York was more than poetry. It was paving the way for giving him a new life, bigger and greater than the one he had grown to know. It was about perseverance after navigating through a tough life which many failed to escape, including his parents.
At his new home, located on the outskirts of New York City in a small township called Fort Foote, Junior fished out his key and opened the door. The second his nostrils reached the foyer, he smelled his favorite scent – Domino’s Pizza. Posted on the walls of their colonial-style living room were pictures of Casey from her teenage years along with Courtney. With his bags hooked over his shoulders, he lugged his stuff up the wooden staircase and into his bedroom at the end of the hall.
As he turned the light on in his bedroom, the ceiling fan hummed to a gentle spin. He spotted a poster of the Philadelphia Eagles’ quarterback, Randall Cunningham, posted on the wall next to a picture of Whitney Houston. Next to his celebrity crush was a framed, polaroid image of the mural of Medgar Evers from his old school. Written below on the white was the same quote he had used to disarm Mr. Levy earlier: “You can kill a man, but you can’t kill an idea.” Next to his freshly made bed was a work desk along with a new journal wrapped in a pretty bow sitting on top. Also on the desk was a framed photo of Junior and Lawrence taken during the summer of ’93. It was the exact photo on his nightstand in Brooke’s Rowe. Standing behind Junior at his bedroom door was Casey, waiting to welcome him.
“Hope you like it?” she asked. “Your mom helped out with some of the ideas. I wanted it to feel special, Junior. Like home, you know?”
Junior placed his bags onto his bed and walked over to Casey.
“This is sp
ecial,” said Junior. “And so are you. Casey…Yo, I just…I don’t have any words for all that you’ve done for me. I don’t know how in the world I can repay you, but one day I will.”
“You don’t owe me anything except a high school diploma, and the promise that you’ll make this journey worth it for all of us.”
“I promise.” Junior grabbed her by the hand. “Thank you.”
As the two toured throughout the room, Casey walked Junior over to his bedroom window to show him a nightly view of the Empire State Building lurking in the city’s backdrop. The feeling of being in New York was euphoric to Junior. With Casey’s help, he opened his new bedroom window to catch a glimpse of the February moon sitting atop his adopted hometown. Beside him on his nightstand, the sound of a pager sliding across the wooden furniture sounded like city construction.
“Just in case we need to reach you,” laughed Casey. “I wanted to get you a phone with a few minutes on it, but your dad said, no. ‘Boy barely keeps his room clean. I ain’t buying no goddamn phone’,” she mocked as they both shared a harmonious laugh. “I’m really glad you’ve decided to come live with us, Junior. You’re gonna do well at Langston.”
Junior looked at the number on his pager and noticed it was from a Philadelphia area code. He grabbed the portable phone next to his bed and dialed the number back. Sandy answered on the first ring. It was the phone from inside her room.
“Junior?! Junior?!” Sandy hollered. “You won’t believe what I just did. I just called you with my bad hand! Can you believe that?! The doctor says I can start outpatient therapy in another couple of weeks! That means I can go home!”
Delighted by the great news, Junior looked over at Casey and beamed as she smiled back. Before leaving him to talk, Casey whispered into his other ear.
“Don’t stay up too late, J.,” she said. “We register at Langston tomorrow!”
The End
School fools with kindness.
Bless worry with wisdom.
Burn yearns for chaos.
That is my religion.
—LEONARD G. ROBINSON JR.
Epilogue
GRADUATION 1999
Buried behind a pile of library books at a back table inside Langston’s library in Fort Foote, New York, Junior found himself intoxicated by the sanctity of his latest poem. Lost in his works, the headset to his portable Walkman blared as he took a break from completing his valedictorian speech for his high school graduation scheduled that Saturday. With six days to go, Junior had decided to spend his eighteenth birthday preparing for the unfathomable: finding a few words to describe his experiences over the passing years. He reached into his backpack for his latest hip-hop CD entitled Things Fall Apart, by The Roots. Bobbing his head to his favorite track, Junior failed to notice the group of knuckleheaded troublemakers entering the library. Obnoxious and oblivious to their peers around them, the agitators – two boys, and a girl – made their way to the back of Langston’s library to where Junior was preparing for the speech of his life. Upon finding him stuffed inside of his journal, the group decided to confront him. Meanwhile, Junior was unmindful of the danger ahead of him. To bedevil him, the group decided to approach him from behind.
While multitasking on his speech and a manuscript for his first-ever poetry book, he felt the sensation of a warm tongue slide across the back of his neck. Alarmed, Junior’s pencil skidded across the page of his journal as he shot onto his feet, slamming his knee into the table. Removing his Walkman, Junior turned to find his girlfriend, Vanessa, along with his two friends, Melvin and Eugene. As the hairs on the back of Junior’s neck stood erect from Vanessa’s perfect kiss, Junior slumped down into his chair and balked at his graduating class members as they teased him.
“Y’all are fucked up!” He violently erased his page. “What if that was the speech?!”
“Did you really think we’d let you work all day?” Vanessa asked him. “It’s your birthday. C’mon. Everyone is waiting back at the house, Junior.”
“Ten more minutes.”
As Junior attempted to reach for his Walkman, Melvin ripped the headphones from his Sony CD player and Eugene took Junior’s journal. Scowling, mad, Junior glared at his buddy Eugene.
“Yo, Gene! Quit playin’,” he fussed. “Do you remember what I told you about the last kid to mess with my journal? That’s what’s gonna happen if you keep on!”
“Junior, listen to your girl, man,” said Melvin. “It’s your birthday. Your parents came all the way up here from Philly to see you. You still got six days – you can take one of those days off, bruh. I promise. Tomorrow, we’ll all help. Casey got your favorite: Domino’s pizza!”
Domino’s had always been the magic word since Junior was young. Conceding to his insatiable hunger, Junior began to pack up his books as both Melvin and Eugene ran down to book the next shuttle to Junior’s New York neighborhood. Frustrated by the interruption, Junior stuffed his books inside of his bag as Vanessa placed her hand over his, stopping him.
“Don’t be upset with the homies.” She wrapped Junior in her arms before caressing the sprinkle of adolescent fuzz around his soft face. “Meet us on the shuttle?”
As Junior went to roll his eyes, Vanessa kissed him again.
“Love you, too.” He kissed her back. “Let me get up all this stuff, and I’ll be down.”
Caught up in the moment, Junior took a glance around Langston’s library at the mound of underclassmen working, some buried behind their IBM computers.
Nearly four years earlier, Junior had entered Langston’s doors as a shy and quiet kid afraid of his own shadow. Now, he was leaving Langston as a young man, prepared to take on the challenges awaiting him in the everyday world. As he zipped up his loaded backpack, he thought about his long road beginning on Joseph Boulevard in North Philly before his unfortunate detour to Brooke’s Rowe on the southside of town. He then closed his eyes and thought of his younger brother, Lawrence, who in Junior’s mind had sacrificed his life for Junior to discover writing as an outlet. Overwhelmed with bittersweet joy and pain, he stood beside the window and stared out into the bushy landscape of Langston’s campus.
Down below, Junior watched as Vanessa, his lover, stood next to an awaiting shuttle bus. The two had found each other going into their sophomore year when a mutual friend, Melvin, had introduced the two at a play. Initially, Vanessa wanted no part of the joyless boy from Brooke’s Rowe who filled blank journals he bought down at the drug store. But after seeing him perform a live read at a school event in July of ’97, Vanessa had taken an interest in Junior and pursued him. “You’re nothin’ like any of these boys here I’ve ever met.” She wrote down her home telephone number inside his hand. “Shall we get ice cream?” It went from ice cream to the movies, and then to Junior’s first kiss. Vanessa was nothing like any girl Junior had met before either. At 5’2, she wore a nose ring, and had hazelnut eyes, kinky hair and came from a well-to-do family unlike Junior.
As the two lovebirds noticed each other, she blew Junior a kiss, pointed at her watch, playfully threw up her arms, and smiled at him. Vanessa was right, it was time to celebrate. Shortly thereafter, Junior exited Langston’s library and boarded the bus with Vanessa, Melvin, and Gene for the ride back to his Fort Foote townhouse.
For Junior, the ride home was quiet as he chose to partake in a flow of nostalgic thoughts on his eighteen years. In less than a moment, he would be surrounded by a living room filled with precious supporters who had made his journey possible. Holding Vanessa by the hand, Junior leaned down to kiss the back of his lover’s hand.
“What was that for?” she asked him.
“Just ‘cause,” he said. “If only you knew.”
Near the front of their shuttle were Junior’s two best friends, Melvin and Eugene. Since Junior had started at Langston as a freshman in March of ’96, they’d taken him under their wing, introducing him to the New York way of life while respecting his Philadelphian roots. As Junior’s eyes wandered th
roughout the passing trees on the cobblestoned roadway, he nodded to Melvin sitting near the front of the bus. Melvin, not the mushy type, mouthed the words “fuck you” back at him. Unlike the boys at Medgar, however, Melvin’s ‘fuck you’s’ were full of love.
As their shuttle arrived on Ellis Street in Fort Foote, Junior stepped off, took in the spring air, and looked to his left and right. Parked in front of the townhouse was his mother’s unstable Buick along with a host of other cars he hadn’t seen in some time. Lost between nerves and gratefulness, he shooed Melvin and Gene away, as he felt the spirit of his emotions coming onto him. As ordered, the boys ascended the staircase as Junior and Vanessa took a short walk up the street.
“Lawrence should be here, man.” He shook his head. “It seems like yesterday that I was just living in Crawford with him. Sometimes, I feel like I don’t deserve any of this, Vanessa.”
“What happened to Lawrence wasn’t your fault, Junior,” she told him. “OK? It’s not your fault. It was just…life, you know? And we both know life sucks sometimes. But we gotta make the best of it while we can, right?” She kissed him. “C’mon babe, everybody’s waitin’.” She held his face. “Your parents. Casey, and her sister, Courtney, Brother Gay from your old school. Melvin. Gene. Me…Lawrence, too.”
Junior placed his hand onto Vanessa’s face and kept it there.
“You’re right,” sighed Junior.
With her hand at the small of his back, Vanessa led him up the stairway. Reaching into his pocket, Junior removed the house key Casey had once given to him and placed it in the lock. As the door pushed open, the filled living room erupted at his grandiose arrival. Before Junior could remove his backpack, Sandy wobbled across the living room on her cane. Her face was still groggy from the stroke she had sustained three and a half years earlier. She rushed to the door with motherly kisses.
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