Miracle's Boys

by Jacqueline Woodson

  Ty’ree thought for a moment. “That’s the story Charlie tells about the guy making a knife out of it?”

  I nodded.

  “Correction officer found it under his bed. That kid’s probably still doing time.”

  “Newchar—I mean Charlie tries to make it seem like he killed someone.”

  “You ever try to just talk to Charlie?” Ty’ree asked. We turned onto Thirteenth Street.

  I shrugged. “And say what?”

  “You know, just talk. Say w’s up. Ask him how his life is going. What kind of things he likes to do. Stuff like that.”

  “I know where his life is going—down the toilet.”

  Ty’ree eyed me. “Maybe he knows you think that and that’s why he acts the way he does.”

  I felt myself starting to shake. I hated when Ty’ree did this. “It’s not my fault!” I said. “Everything ain’t my fault, all right?”

  Some people turned to look at me, but I didn’t care. I started walking fast down Thirteenth Street, past the Quad. Ty’ree was somewhere behind me. I didn’t care. I hoped he would turn into dust. Hoped he would disappear. Forever and ever amen. I sniffed. I could feel tears running down my nose.

  “Lafayette!” Ty’ree’s hand was on my shoulder, yanking me around.

  “It ain’t my fault,” I said, my voice choking up in the back of my throat. “He burned all of Mama’s pictures!” I felt cold suddenly, cold and sweaty at the same time. I hated Newcharlie and I hated Ty’ree. I wanted to be dead. Dead like Mama. Maybe I’d die of hypothermia. Then it’d just be the two of them in that house, every day thinking about what they could have done to keep me alive.

  “Just sat in the window and lit a match to them and let the little—” I gulped. I couldn’t catch my breath. “He... he let the little fires float down.”

  A man with a little girl looked at us, then grabbed the little girl’s hand and crossed the street.

  “He didn’t mean it, Lafayette.” Ty’ree kept his hand on my shoulder. When I tried to jerk away, he held tighter. “It was just his way—”

  “Those two pictures I got are the only ones left.” I hated Newcharlie. Hated him. “Wish he’d never come home. Least then we’d have some other pictures.”

  “I know,” he said. “I know.”

  I felt myself sagging into Ty‘ree like he was a wall, felt him put his arms around me. “Then he got the nerve to put plants in all the windows, Ty’ree. Like plants was gonna change something.”

  “I know, Laf,” Ty’ree kept saying. “I know.”

  “He’s all bad, T,” I cried. “And you’re all good and I ain’t nothing.”

  Ty’ree let out a little laugh. “Nah, Lafayette. Charlie ain’t all bad. And you know you got it going on.” He was quiet for a moment. “And I... I definitely am not all good.”

  I was getting colder and colder. Ty’ree kept his arms around me to keep me from shivering.

  “Brother to brother, Lafayette?”

  I nodded. “B to B,” I whispered. It was something Ty’ree had started saying right after Mama died. It meant I love you, but we’d never really said that to each other. He’d said brother to brother meant that and then some. It meant we’d be there for each other, no matter what.

  “Hey, let’s bag the movie and go get something hot to drink, okay?” Ty’ree said.

  “Yeah. Let’s.” Ty‘ree kept his arm around my shoulder as we walked back toward Sixth Avenue. We went into a coffee shop on the corner of Sixth and Tenth. There weren’t that many people in it, and me and Ty’ree took seats in the back. There was soft music playing and a couple of people sitting at tables writing in notebooks and on laptop computers. I ordered a hot chocolate and an apple Danish, and Ty‘ree ordered coffee. He handed me his napkin, and I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. I felt tired. Tired and empty, and even with Ty’ree right across the table from me, I felt a little bit alone.

  Our stuff came and Ty’ree started talking. I picked at my Danish, hoping he’d tell me about Mama, about the day she died. I hoped he’d change the story around and make me the hero, the one who saved her. But he didn’t. He started talking about our daddy. And when he started talking, we weren’t in that coffee shop anymore. We were in Central Park. I stopped picking at my Danish and leaned in close. Not wanting to miss any of it.

  NINE

  “LOOK HERE, TY‘REE,” DADDY SAID. HE HELD the newspaper out so Ty’ree could get a look at the words there. “Says maybe the Knicks are gonna win this year. That’ll be something new, huh?”

  Ty‘ree climbed over the park bench, then climbed back to the side Daddy was on. He was ten, in fourth grade, and probably the best climber in the whole school. He wanted Daddy to see him, to watch him hang off the side of the bench like a monkey. He climbed up to the back and walked along the edge of it like it was a high wire. When he stepped over Daddy’s head, Daddy glanced up and smiled. It was Sunday, cold enough to see your breath. They always came to Central Park on Sundays. Mama was at home taking care of Charlie and getting ready for the new baby that was coming. Ty’ree wanted a sister, ‘cause he’d already gotten a brother and that wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Daddy’d said he wanted another boy ’cause you couldn’t have too many boys. When he said this, Mama laughed and swatted him with whatever was close by. Mama said she got down on her knees and prayed for a girl some nights ‘cause she didn’t know what she’d do if another little man showed up in her house. When they were laughing and teasing about the baby, Ty’ree didn’t care if it ever came, just so long as his mama and daddy could keep on laughing and having a good time. He figured his mama was probably about the prettiest woman in Manhattan. People said he looked just like her but he didn’t see himself as pretty. He hoped his new baby sister would be pretty like Mama.

  “Look, Daddy,” Ty’ree said. He was a few feet away from his father now, high up in a leafless oak tree. Seemed he could look out and see the whole park from where he sat. Maybe if he went up higher, he could see the whole world.

  “You sure can climb,” Daddy said, then went back to reading the paper.

  It was cold out, and the air seemed to lift up under the heavy coat Ty’ree was wearing. He loved being cold. It made him feel electrified. He loved feeling electrified. He sat down on a branch and let his feet dangle over the edge. His sneakers were white and new, and he promised himself he’d never get them dirty.

  There were only a few other people in the park. Way down, there was a man playing with two little kids, running in circles and making them chase him. The kids were squealing and grabbing at his coat. He kept dodging them. There was a woman in a pink running outfit jogging around the lake. She had a big dog with her, and the dog was running right beside her. Ty’ree wished he could get a dog. Maybe a mastiff. He’d seen one once. That was probably the biggest dog in the world. He’d even settle for a Doberman.

  Ty‘ree heard somebody screaming. When he looked out toward the frozen lake, he saw the dog that had been running with the woman skidding out on the lake. He held his breath. Even from where he sat, he could hear the deep crackle of the ice. “Daddy!” he screamed. The dog kicked out its front legs, then its back. Then it was sinking. “Daddy!” Ty’ree called again. The dog gave a yelp and disappeared underneath the water for a moment. Then the woman was running out onto the ice, screaming. Then she too was disappearing and reappearing, disappearing and reappearing.

  Ty’ree jumped down from the tree and ran over to his father, who was standing now and staring out at the water.

  “You gotta help them, Daddy,” Ty’ree said, out of breath. “Daddy, that dog ... that dog and lady ...”

  But his daddy was already running toward the water. Ty‘ree watched his father break a branch off a tree and hold it out to the woman. But the branch snapped when the woman reached for it. Then his father was running along the icy bank and slipping slowly into the water. Ty’ree screamed. The man who had been playing with the two kids was standing a bit away from him, holding a
kid in each arm and shouting something.

  “Then Daddy was pulling the woman and the dog out of the water,” Ty’ree said. “And far away I could hear sirens.” He looked down at his hands. “Sirens and my own self screaming.”

  TEN

  I STARED AT THE BOTTOM OF MY EMPTY CUP. Ty’ree had stopped talking, but I couldn’t look at him. Not right away. Nobody had ever told me that he was right there watching our daddy slip into that frozen pond. Everybody had known it, but nobody had told me. It was like a secret—a lie that had been in my life since before I was born.

  I could hear people talking all around us. Talking and laughing. I tried to imagine my daddy running out into that pond, but I couldn’t. I could only see Ty’ree there, screaming from under that tree.

  “How come y’all never told me?” I whispered. I wanted to scream it, but I didn’t know what the words would do. Maybe they’d just sink into the walls and disappear. Maybe they’d reappear years and years later—in front of some boy who had spent his whole life thinking otherwise.

  “Why?” Ty’ree asked.

  I looked up at him to see if he was serious. What’d he mean, why? ‘Cause I was his brother. ’Cause it was my daddy. ‘Cause it mattered.

  “ ‘Cause,” I said. “Just ’cause.”

  “You think it would have made a difference if you had grown up knowing that I was there?”

  I nodded.

  “Why?”

  “How come you asking why, Ty‘ree? You must’ve known it would’ve made some difference, ’cause y’all decided not to tell me. I’m not stupid.”

  “You know how you always want to know what were the last words I said to Mama?” Ty’ree asked.

  I nodded.

  “Well, it always makes me think of the last words I said to Daddy.”

  “You know what they were?”

  “Yeah. The lady was in shock when the ambulance got there. But Daddy was okay, so they let him and me go home.”

  Ty’ree swallowed and looked away from me. He stared around the restaurant a minute before going on. “They gave him this blanket to wear even though he kept insisting he was fine in all those wet clothes. But he put the blanket on anyway and the cops drove us home. Mama nearly went crazy when she saw him. She was scared something had happened to me.”

  “Where was Charlie?”

  “By the time we got home, Mama’d put him down for a nap.”

  He got quiet again. I waited, and when he started talking, his voice was real low.

  “After Daddy got out of those wet clothes and climbed into bed, I came into the room. I asked him if he thought the dog was going to be okay.” Ty’ree smiled. It was the saddest smile I’d ever seen in my life.

  “Then what happened?”

  “Daddy said, ‘It’s all right, T. I’m warm now. I’m warm now.’ ”

  Ty’ree shook his head.

  “I wouldn’t talk about it for a long time. Charlie used to always ask me about what happened, but I wouldn’t say. And I made Mama promise not to talk about it. I wanted to make believe I wasn’t there. Figured if nobody talked about it, I wouldn’t go around blaming myself ’cause I had told Daddy to help them. And you know why I told him to help them?”

  I shook my head. Something was coming to me—slow and clear as pancake syrup. Charlie, I kept thinking. Charlie.

  “ ‘Cause I wanted a stupid dog!” Ty’ree said. “I wanted a dog more than anything in the world, and because of it I lost my dad. You know what that does to you?”

  “Yeah,” I whispered. But Ty’ree didn’t hear me. “He would’ve gone in there anyway,” I said a little bit louder. “Right?”

  Ty‘ree shrugged and kept looking around the restaurant. He was sort of bobbing his head, like he was hearing music inside it. The waitress came over and asked us if we wanted anything else. When Ty’ree didn’t say anything, I ordered two refills.

  Sometimes I stared in the mirror and was surprised to see how little and lost I looked. That was how Ty’ree looked now—like he was waiting for somebody to come and take his hand and show him the way home.

  “How come Charlie didn’t go to the park with you?”

  Ty’ree kept bobbing his head. “Too small,” he said, still looking out at the restaurant. “Daddy wanted to read his paper. Didn’t want to have to keep an eye out for him. Sundays were me and Daddy’s time.

  “The thing is,” ‘Ty’ree said, “Charlie wasn’t there for any of it—for Daddy, for Mama. And it’s made him mad. Mad and helpless.”

  I shook my head again, trying to shake Charlie thoughts out of it, but I couldn’t. All those years Charlie must have grown up watching Mama and Ty’ree at the table trying to figure out how to keep us eating and wearing clothes, and him not being able to help. All those years of him being too small or too much trouble. Him not being the one Daddy wanted to take to the park.

  I looked around the coffee shop. There were a lot of people in it now. A woman was sitting in one corner by herself reading a magazine. I wondered if she’d ever been jogging in Central Park. Wondered if she’d ever had or wanted a dog or had a brother who was mad all the way down to his bones.

  “We got all this stuff to carry around with us,” Ty’ree said “You know how they say drug addicts got a monkey on their back?”

  “Nah.”

  “Well, that’s what people say. And it’s like we got monkeys on our backs, except it ain’t drugs.”

  “You wanted that dog,” I said. “And I wanted some breakfast. Just regular stuff people want. We didn’t know what was gonna happen or anything. Charlie didn’t want anything from them... I don’t think. I mean, maybe he just wanted them—maybe he wanted Daddy to take him to the park and you and Mama to let him help with stuff. But that ain’t no monkey.”

  The waitress brought us refills, and Ty’ree waited till she left again before he started talking.

  “Yeah, it is,” he said. “Charlie got the biggest monkey on his back. I can remember the last thing I said to Daddy and you can remember the last thing you said to Mama. Least we got to be there. But not Charlie. And I think he carries that around. It’s more like a gorilla on his back than a monkey.”

  “Nobody told him to go hold up that store,” I said.

  “But he did,” Ty’ree said. “And while he was gone, me and you had each other after Mama died. And he just had Rahway, you know.”

  “It turned him mad,” I said.

  Ty’ree nodded. “And I don’t know where he’s gonna take that mad,” he said. “I really don’t.”

  “Should send him to Dr. Vernon,” I said. “That shrink y’all sent me to.”

  Ty’ree shook his head. “We don’t have Dr. Vernon money anymore. And Charlie said he didn’t want to go to a psychologist—said he had to see one when he was in Rahway. And since he hasn’t really gotten into trouble again, I can’t make him.”

  “But he’s evil incarnate,” I said. I kept thinking about the way Newcharlie’s face twisted up every time he called me Milagro killer. It reminded me of somebody possessed.

  “Evil incarnate?” Ty’ree smiled and shook his head. “You’ll probably grow up to write those thriller movies where everyone’s always screaming.”

  “If I have to keep living with Newcharlie, I will. I’ll have firsthand experience.”

  ELEVEN

  TY‘REE WAS ALL RIGHT AFTER MAMA DIED. BUT I was all wrong. The year before, I’d seen this show about snakes. They showed this one snake slipping out of its old skin and then leaving that old skin on the ground behind him. That’s how I felt—like Mama’d been my skin. But I hadn’t grown a new skin underneath, like that snake had. I was just blood and bones spreading all over the place. Every night Ty’ree stayed with me in my room till I cried myself to sleep. And the next morning he’d find me sleeping curled up on the floor beside his bed.

  After a few weeks of me ending up on the floor, he called Aunt Cecile, and she came back to New York and asked around trying to find a doctor I could go
to—a psychologist. Some afternoons I’d come home from school to find Aunt Cecile sitting at the dining-room table writing down and crossing out numbers as she talked on the phone. And some evenings I’d catch her and Ty’ree whispering about different doctors, their fees, and social service benefits.

  Then one afternoon Aunt Cecile announced that she’d found a person I could talk to named Dr. Vernon. That Wednesday and for a whole lot of Wednesdays after that, Aunt Cecile would take me to Dr. Vernon—an old man with a nice office in Harlem. His office was all wood and windows and smelled like heat and dust and warm blankets. Smells I’d always liked. So while Aunt Cecile sat in the waiting room, I went into Dr. Vernon’s office. I wasn’t afraid, ’cause the warm-blanket smell felt like it was covering me up, protecting me.

  The first time I went to Dr. Vernon, he put some paper and some markers on his desk and asked me to draw a picture for him. There was a little table in the corner, and he told me I could sit there and draw for as long as I liked. But I didn’t want to draw. I sat at that table for a long time just feeling the warm blanket around me and staring at that blank white paper and those markers until Dr. Vernon told me it was okay to go.

  The second time I went, Dr. Vernon gave me the paper and the markers again. I wrote my name in blue. Lafayette Miguel Bailey. Then I wrote Ty‘ree’s whole name, which is Ty’ree Alfonso Bailey. And Charlie’s name, Charles Javier Bailey. I stared at the paper until Dr. Vernon came over to see. He was tall and thin the way Ty’ree said my daddy had been. But Dr. Vernon’s hair was white like Aunt Cecile’s. And he had a white beard—a skinny black Santa Claus. I stared at the paper, and I could feel him standing above me staring down at it, too.

  “That’s your family,” he said.

  I shrugged.

  “Any other members?”

  I shook my head.

  “How does that make you feel?” Dr. Vernon asked.

  I shrugged again. “Like nothing.”