Being Davanté

by Michelle St. Claire

Davanté sat in class in a daze. He felt too tired to engage in the complexities of geometry. He had stayed up late most nights drawing in his sketch book. Davanté yawned silently as the teacher busily scratched out several problems on the chalk board.

  Turning towards the classroom windows, Davanté saw that it was raining. The trees glistened with the new rain, their leaves barely flopping as the soft rain fell.

  He began to think about the day he graduated middle school. It was softly raining, too. His mother had bought a beautiful flower dress that she wore for the occasion.

  Davanté recalled how bright she was. She laughed and smiled the entire day. His mother had embraced Davanté tightly to express her joy and pride. He had felt her motherly love so strongly that day. Despite the rain, she was Davanté's sunlight.

  “Davanté Williams?”

  Davanté snapped back to the classroom. All were looking at him. The teacher motioned for him to come to the board and solve the problem. Davanté acquiesced and approached the board. Although he had not been paying attention, he solved the problem correctly.

  “Very good!” exclaimed the teacher as Davanté sat down.

  Davanté decided to remain tuned in during the rest of the class. He always liked geometry and found the shapes interesting.

  He especially considered the circle to be the most complicated shape of all. In his art, he had still yet to master drawing a perfect circle. It was something he practiced regularly.

  When the bell rang, signaling the final class for the day, Davanté immediately headed out the classroom. He almost made it to his locker before Vanessa intentionally blocked his way.

  “I'm mad with you,” she whined.

  “What else is new?” snapped Davanté.

  He stepped around her and continued to his locker.

  “Vanté!” said Vanessa.

  She raced behind him and slammed her hand on his locker to prevent him from opening it.

  “Come on Vanessa!” Davanté said.

  “Oh, so now you know my name,” Vanessa replied.

  Davanté looked intently at her. He knew what this was about. Davanté had not been very friendly with Vanessa since his mother died. He tried to push himself to call her but the thought of speaking with her became exceedingly more of a burden than a desire.

  “Vanessa, I just need my space,” he said.

  “I've given you all the space you need. You talk to Lionel more than you talk to me,” said Vanessa.

  “That's because Lionel's my best friend,” he said.

  “Oh, so I'm not your girlfriend. Isn't that important, too?” asked Vanessa.

  “Yes, you are important to me. It’s just that I need some time,” said Davanté.

  “What's that supposed to mean?” asked Vanessa.

  Davanté shrugged his shoulders.

  “Oh, so you're breaking up with me?” said Vanessa.

  “No. Can't we just take a break for a moment?” asked Davanté.

  Vanessa blinked a few tears. “Whatever!” she said.

  She did not wait for Davanté's response. She ran down the hallway and out the front doors.

  Davanté groaned. He did not want to lose Vanessa, but he just could not give her the attention she needed. He figured in time things would get better. Normally, Davanté would run after her, but this time he decided to let her go. She'll be back, he thought.

  He grabbed his books for the weekend and walked out of the front entrance of the school. The rain had stopped and the sun shone brightly.

  As he walked out, he waived to a few of his friends at the bike racks. While he prepared his bike for the ride home alone, he realized he missed Lionel, who had taken a sick day.

  “Hey s-, I mean, Davanté.”

  Davanté looked up to see Clarence standing a few feet away.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Davanté.

  “I thought I'd give you a ride home,” said Clarence.

  “I already got a ride,” said Davanté.

  “Oh, alright,” said Clarence. He did not put up a fight. He turned around and walked towards his car.

  Davanté mounted his bike but he did not push off. He had been talking to Clarence on the phone regularly and actually found him to be interesting.

  “Clarence!” called out Davanté. “Can you get me some art supplies?” he asked.

  Clarence smiled and nodded his head yes. Davanté quickly locked up his bike and followed Clarence into his car.

  “Where to?” asked Clarence.

  “It's up Twelfth Street, near McDonalds. They cost like thirty dollars or something,” said Davanté.

  “Okay, I got that. Don't worry. What do you need it for anyway?” asked Clarence.

  “Oh, I just have to do a project for school,” said Davanté.

  “Alright,” said Clarence.

  “You know,” continued Clarence. “When I was in school, I was a pretty good student,” he said.

  “Yeah, you told me. You won a lot of spelling bees,” said Davanté.

  “That's right. I was on honor roll, too. Your mother wasn't too bad either,” he said.

  Davanté did not respond.

  Clarence pulled into the parking lot of the art store. The two walked into the store and browsed through the aisles casually. Davanté found the aisle of oil paints and studied them.

  “This is what you need, oil paint?” asked Clarence.

  “Um, yeah. Okay, I need a lot. I need blue, orange, yellow, red and green. I probably need two of each,” said Davanté.

  Clarence began picking out the paints. When he was done he turned to Davanté, “Is that it?” he asked.

  “No, I need a few paint brushes and a canvas,” said Davanté.

  They walked through the store and found the items. When Davanté was satisfied, they stood in line for the cashier.

  “This is a big project,” said Clarence.

  “Well, it's for my senior project. It's worth thirty percent of my grade,” said Davanté.

  Clarence chuckled. “Man, you're a good kid. You're so concerned about your grades. If I had stayed that way in high school, I would have been good, too. Maybe my life would have been different,” he said.

  “Yeah, but this isn't about you, it’s about me,” said Davanté.

  “Next!” called the cashier.

  Clarence and Davanté walked to the counter and placed the items on it.

  “Boy, you're the third one today. This is for your senior project, huh?” the cashier said to Davanté.

  “Yeah,” he replied.

  “You must be so proud of your son,” the cashier said to Clarence.

  Before Clarence could respond, Davanté corrected her. “I'm not his son,” he said curtly.

  “Oh,” said the cashier.

  She quietly rang up the items and placed them in plastic bags.

  “Forty-two seventy-three,” she said.

  Clarence pulled out his wallet and handed her three twenty dollar bills. The cashier took the money and gave Clarence his change.

  “Hey, let's go to McDonalds. I'm hungry. What do you say?” said Clarence as they walked out of the store towards the car.

  Davanté shrugged his shoulders. He gave Clarence his bags who placed them in the trunk of his car. Then they quickly ran across the street and walked into the bustling McDonald's restaurant.

  Davanté ordered a Whopper meal while Clarence ordered a chicken sandwich and a milkshake. After they received their meals, they sat down to eat.

  “Ah! This is good!” remarked Clarence as he swallowed the first sips of his milkshake.

  Davanté ate in silence. His mother loved milkshakes, too. When she began losing weight, she would eat the same meal almost daily in a desperate attempt to maintain her weight. But it was to no avail.

  “Davanté. Davanté!” said Clarence.

  Davanté turned to Clarence who was staring at him.

  “It looked
like you were far away somewhere,” he said. “Anyway, as I was saying, I think it would be nice for you to come.”

  “Come where?” asked Davanté.

  “Come to hear me play,” said Clarence.

  “Play what?” asked Davanté.

  “Boy, weren't you listening?” asked Clarence. “I play the saxophone.”

  “Oh,” said Davanté.

  Without thinking he responded, “Okay.”

  Satisfied, Clarence sat back in the booth and looked out the window.

  “Clarence,” said Davanté. “Do you know how my mother got HIV?”

  Clarence turned his head slowly to the teen. He had not expected such a question. He knew that eventually Davanté would ask but he did not think it would be this soon.

  “Aunt Thelma never told you?” he asked Davanté.

  “Nope,” said Davanté.

  “Well,” said Clarence with a sigh. He leaned forward on the table and clasped his hands. “Your mother got HIV from doing drugs with an infected needle,” he said.

  Clarence stopped and gauged Davanté's expression. The teenager sat motionless, waiting in expectation for Clarence to continue.

  “So,” he said. “She got HIV when she was about nineteen years old. But she didn't know it. And I didn't know it. No one knew it. We all found out when she got pregnant. Luckily, you didn't have it. By that time, I was locked up, so I didn't get to see her when she started to really get sick.”

  Davanté looked down at his half-eaten sandwich.

  “I know she always wanted to protect you. She loved you and... she still does,” said Clarence.

  “I know,” mumbled Davanté.

  A momentary silence fell between them. Both briefly ruminated over the memory of Ms. Williams.

  “Well, I say we get you back home. Apparently, you've got work to do. Come on, son,” said Clarence as they walked out of the restaurant.

  “I'm not your son,” said Davanté as he angrily brushed Clarence's hand off his shoulder.

  “Okay, okay,” said Clarence. “In time, things will change. Let's just get you home.”

  “Nothing's going to change. I will never be your son,” said Davanté defiantly.

  Clarence did not respond. He wordlessly dropped him off at Aunt Thelma's home. Davanté icily grabbed his bag of art supplies and ran up the front porch without looking back.

 

  Six