Blackout

by Dhonielle Clayton

  “No, no!” Mr. Wright laughs. “Although nowadays that is an option, but that’s not what I’m suggesting. I’m saying that maybe instead of choosing one of them, you could choose yourself, my dear. No one says you have to be in a relationship.”

  I bite my lip. “Even though I have feelings for them both?”

  “All the more reason to give yourself time,” he says. “Your heart will never lead you wrong, but it can be hard to hear it. You have to give it space to speak. That’s a form of love too.”

  Footsteps thump against the staircase, and seconds later Tre’Shawn’s long legs make their way down them. He dips his head to see me. “Kay? You all right?”

  I catch Mr. Wright’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He mouths three words: Help your heart.

  “Yeah,” I tell Tre’Shawn. “I’m getting there.”

  He gives Mr. Wright a polite smile and sits beside me. “What’s going on? For real?”

  I put my hand on top of his on the seat. My adorable, loving, cheesy boyfriend with the soft hands, bad dance move, and dimples.

  “I think that deep down, you know what’s going on,” I say.

  “Huh? No, I don’t.”

  “Yeah, you do,” I say. “Look, I’m not coming at you about lying, okay? But ask yourself why you lied. You said you didn’t wanna break my heart, but . . .” I swallow the lump in my throat. It’s been there for a while, along with a truth I didn’t wanna face. “But I wouldn’t have been heartbroken over you not wanting to stream TV shows with me, Tre. You wanted space, and you think that’s what would’ve broken my heart.”

  “Kayla—”

  “It’s okay if you did,” I say over him. “I promise, it’s okay. But if you love me, just admit it. This wasn’t about a show, was it?”

  He casts his eyes down, and he slightly shakes his head, as if he’s arguing with himself.

  But after a while he quietly says, “No. It wasn’t about that. Shit,” he hisses. “Kay, I’m sorry. That’s foul as fuck—”

  “It’s okay, Tre. I want space too.”

  He looks up at me. “What?”

  “Yeah,” I say, with a small smile that makes zero sense at a moment like this. “Lately, I’ve been thinking about how much everyone expects us to stay together. I wonder if that’s why we’re still together.”

  “Nah, Kay. I love you.”

  “I love you too,” I murmur. “It’s hard for me to imagine myself not being with you, and that . . . that scares me. I don’t know who I am if I’m not your girlfriend. I don’t think it should be that way.”

  Tre takes my hand in his and gently rubs his thumb along my palm.

  “It shouldn’t be,” he says.

  We don’t say anything for a while, allowing New York to fill in the silence.

  Fact: Micah did something to me, and I’m realizing that it goes beyond the feelings I caught for him. He helped me see that there are so many possibilities for me, for my heart. Forget what anyone expects: the only person I have to truly worry about is me.

  To be honest, I don’t know what I want right now. But like Mr. Wright says, maybe I should give my heart some space.

  “Change is good,” I murmur.

  Tre’Shawn kisses my cheek. “Yeah. It is.”

  I rest my head on his shoulder. This doesn’t feel like a breakup, just a break.

  “Damn,” Tre’Shawn says, after a minute. “Remember how we used to plan our fantasy trip to New York?”

  I laugh. “It didn’t include a blackout, that’s for sure.”

  “You wanted to see the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building, right? And ride over the—”

  “The Brooklyn Bridge,” I say. “Yeah. My parents walked over it once during a blackout. My mom was pregnant with me, in fact.”

  “For real? Dang. It would be dope if we could go see it somehow.”

  Mr. Wright clears his throat. “Not to stick my nose into matters that don’t concern me, but I could make a wrong turn here or there and get you to the bridge. Maybe even to that block party I told you about, dear.”

  Tre’Shawn sits up a little. “Block party?”

  “Don’t even,” I say, ’cause I see him getting excited. “There is no way Mrs. Tucker will let us go to a block party in a blackout.”

  “Who says she has to know that that’s where we’re going?” Mr. Wright asks.

  Tre’Shawn laughs into his fist. “Yoo. What if we pull up at the party and convince her to let us stay? We can say it’s some kinda cultural festival.”

  “For you southerners, a New York block party is a cultural festival,” Mr. Wright adds.

  I don’t know if I’m offended or impressed. But I gotta admit—“That might work.”

  Mr. Wright makes a turn. “Oh, would you look at that. Seems like I’m going in the wrong direction and headed toward Brooklyn.”

  Tre’Shawn and I laugh. He gives my hand a little squeeze.

  Who knows, maybe in a couple of months people will be back to combining our names and expecting us to be together forever. Maybe we will be. Or maybe I’ll end up with Micah.

  I don’t know. But for now, I’m fine with being just Kayla.

  The Long Walk

  Act 5

  Tiffany D. Jackson

  The Brooklyn Bridge, 9:46 p.m.

  THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE is nothing more than a shadow hovering above the East River, haunting and ghostlike with the lights off as hundreds of stranded Brooklynites flock to the footpath, trying to make it back home.

  Kareem and I watch from the park across the street, near the City Hall station. Trains still down. I tried to call Dad but when he’s working his bus route, he rarely answers the phone. “So. Now what?”

  Kareem raises an eyebrow with a chuckle. “What you mean? Now we walk.”

  I look back at the sweaty heard of zombies, turtle walking through the darkness, shoulder to shoulder. Men’s ties undone, women limping in their heels, armpits soaked, moaning.

  In the film world, we would call this the climax of the movie. The part where the protagonist meets and faces off with the antagonist in an ultimate battle between good and evil.

  And here she is. Ready to kill me.

  My mouth dries as the tremors in my chest rattle my core.

  “Welp,” I say with a wave. “It was nice seeing you again!”

  I spin around, power walking away as Kareem chases after me, laughing.

  “Girl, what you doing? We almost home!”

  “I am not crossing that bridge. Hell no!”

  He jumps in front of me, blocking my path. “Why?”

  “You know why!”

  Kareem stares, baffled, until it finally dawns on him and he slaps his forehead. “Heights! You’re afraid of heights! Shit, I forgot.”

  “Yeah, soooo . . . later.”

  I try to walk off and he pins my shoulders.

  “Is that why you’ve been dragging your feet this whole time? You didn’t want to cross the bridge? Why didn’t you say something?”

  I open my mouth to defend my point but come up empty.

  “Come on, Tammi, it’ll be quick. I promise. We’ll walk mad fast. Run if we have to!”

  Eyes filling with tears, I choke back a sob. “I can’t!”

  He holds both of my hands, bending to meet my eye.

  “Yes, you can. Just think of it as . . . one of our walks. We’ll play, um, spot the wig! Or . . .” He looks down at my shoes. “Air Max!”

  A chuckle escapes me. Kareem always made up little games for our long walks. One day we were spotting all the brownstones that had red doors, the next we were playing “count the gentrifiers.”

  “Air Max?” I scoff.

  “Yeah. You got this! Besides, this is the only way. Okay?”

  I take some deep breaths, looking back at my two worst nightmares merged into one: a crowd of people crossing over a bridge suspended in air. But beyond the bridge is home. Kareem is right; we’re so close I can almost smell my mother’s pe
rfume. I have to try.

  “Can you . . . hold my hand?”

  Kareem blinks in surprise. “Yeah. Sure. I can do that.”

  Slowly, we merge into the steady stream of people and onto the walkway ramp, leaving Manhattan behind. In an instant, my chest tightens, heart pounds. Up ahead is the first of the two arches, with a web of steel cables supporting it.

  “Just keep your eyes on the ground,” Kareem whispers, hand sweaty in mine. “Look, see, over there? Air Max, white on white. Oh, and over to the right, homegirl got the army green. Or maybe they black.”

  I divert my eyes to the ground, focusing on all the shoes. Can this bridge even support all of us? What if someone falls off? I don’t know how to swim!

  “That’s it, you’re doing good,” Kareem says, gripping my hand tighter. “Almost home.”

  A low hum of muttering fills my ears, the people in the crowd talking among themselves.

  “I was stuck underground for over two hours,” a woman ahead of us says, winded. “They made us walk through the tracks. Never been so scared in my life.”

  “I crossed the bridge like this before, during 9/11. Right after the second tower fell,” a man says behind us. “So many people, felt like the bridge started to sway. Some even took off running.”

  Kareem whips his head around. “Yo, chill with all that talk, man! You trying to freak everyone out?”

  The ground is spinning. Not the ground, the bridge. Made of wood and bricks that could drop us all into the river at any moment. My knees are Jell-O. I’m about to pass out as my chest heaves.

  “I . . . can’t,” I gasp, waving a hand. “Can’t. Breathe. Oh God!”

  Kareem wraps an arm around my back, holding me up as the tears spill faster.

  “Hey, hey, hey, you okay?”

  Torn between running back onto land or staying frozen in my spot, I move to the side, and crumple into a pile, clutch a steel beam.

  “No . . . no . . . no . . .” I whimper. “Is the bridge swaying? Is it moving?”

  “Nah! It’s not. I swear. Chill, okay? Just trust me.”

  Trust him? How can I trust him, anyone, or anything in this world?

  “Just go, Kareem!” I wail, startling the people around us. “Go to your party with all your new friends and new girl! Just go!”

  “Man, fuck a party! I’m not leaving you! Not like this.”

  My trembling hands clutch the metal tighter. “I’m scared! Please, no.”

  Kareem ropes me into a hug that feels life-changing. “Okay! Okay! It’s aight. Let’s just . . . over there! There’s a bench over there. Come on!”

  “No! I can’t, can’t . . . can’t move.”

  Kareem lifts me up by the waist with one arm, carrying me over to the bench. “Here. Sit. Breathe. Deep breaths, remember? Like Ms. Kelly taught you.”

  My lungs clench as I try to sip up air, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt to ground myself. Ms. Kelly was our nurse in middle school who first taught me how to breathe when I get like this. Kareem was there every time.

  “Ain’t you supposed to put your head between your legs?” Kareem asks.

  I nod, assuming the position, hugging my thighs as I watch a parade of shoes pass by. I spot a gray pair of Air Max. Even a leopard pair. I keep counting as my breathing eases. Grounding, that’s what it’s called. Kareem is quiet beside me, rubbing circles into my back. He’s done this before. A few times. Every one of our walks was some type of distraction to keep me from falling apart.

  After a few minutes, I sit up, the world spinning.

  “Easy,” Kareem coaches.

  I take in our surroundings, noticing we’ve barely made it to the bridge’s first arch. “Thanks,” I whisper.

  He chuckles. “Girl, how you expect to go to Atlanta if you can’t even do heights?”

  “Buses and trains still work, don’t they?” I mumble.

  He chuckles. “Man, you stubborn. And . . . beautiful.”

  My back straightens and I meet his gaze, drying tears.

  Unbelievable. Even now, when I’m at my lowest . . .

  “Fine, Kareem,” I snap, shoving him away. “Just fine! You can have the internship, okay?”

  “What?”

  “That’s why you’re being all nice to me, right? You think you slick, but it’s whatever. I don’t care anymore. Take it!”

  Kareem stares at me, a sadness in his eyes. “Is that what you think?” He shakes his head. “Damn, Tammi. Even after everything . . . why can’t you just trust me?”

  He folds his hands, leaning against his knees. Guilt hits me in the throat. There’s that word again—trust. And now . . . it just doesn’t make sense. Every time I’ve had a panic attack, he’s never judged me, never told a soul, not even his mom. I trusted him with that and he never disappointed me. He was always supportive of everything, so why couldn’t I be just as supportive for him? Why couldn’t I trust him?

  He’s a pretty boy. You can’t trust those types.

  No! He’s not “those types” and he never was. He’s Kareem. I know him better than anyone. I should’ve never let anyone make me doubt him.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” I sigh. “You should take the job.”

  “It’s aight,” he huffs, not meeting my eye. “You got into that special program, right?”

  “Yeah, but you’re right. You do know me. I am just running away. But I don’t want to anymore. Not from you. Kareem, you were more than my boyfriend. You were my best friend and I . . . didn’t trust you. You deserve better than that. So, you should take it. It’s the least I can do. You need the money for St. John’s, right?”

  He frowns. “Huh? I’m not going to St. John’s.”

  “Isn’t that where Imani is going?”

  “No idea. Me and Imani been done since graduation. Didn’t your mom tell you?”

  MOM! Of all the times to follow the rules!

  “Oh. I’m . . . sorry?”

  He shrugs. “It’s cool.”

  I try to ignore the flutter in my heart at that piece of good news, forcing my smile back.

  “Still, you should take the Apollo job, Kareem. I know you need the money for school. Wherever you end up going. And I know this city makes you happy and you want to stay. I . . . want you to be happy.”

  Kareem looks off into the distance, at the city skyline, still covered in darkness like a strange painting.

  “I’m going to Clark Atlanta,” he says.

  I whip my head around to face him. “What? Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

  He shrugs, smirking. “We always said we’d go to school together, right?”

  “Yeah but . . . things changed.”

  “Not everything. I know it’s mad stalkerish but . . . I couldn’t let you go down there alone.” He laughs. “Real talk, I wasn’t expecting to see you today, thought I’d have more time to get my game together. Was planning that ice cream move closer to homecoming.”

  There’s a tenderness in his eyes. Has it been there all day?

  Stuff like this only happens once in a lifetime and you won’t take a second to just. Look. Up.

  “You . . . still want to be with me? Even after everything I said in that message? Even after . . . all this?”

  Kareem leans in, wrapping his arms around me. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  I burst into tears. “Because I’m a mess, Kareem! I can’t even cross a damn bridge. I never leave the house and I don’t do parties or crowds and you’re, like, really cute, you should be with girls who—”

  “But you’re my mess. I rather have this mess every day than not at all.”

  “What about the other girls?”

  “Why would I want other girls when I want you? Dummy!”

  I blink and we bust out laughing.

  That’s the thing about finding the right person to love. When someone loves you, all their hang-ups don’t really mean much. Because loving that person is a choice you have to make every day, even when that day isn
’t what you expect.

  So I grab his shirt, pull him close, and kiss him. I kiss my messy, forgetful, silly-ass ex-boyfriend. And as we hover over the water, I forget the world as he kisses me back.

  “Damn.” He chuckles, knuckles grazing my jaw. “We should kiss on bridges more often.”

  I laugh until I notice a strange glow framing him like a halo, and gasp.

  “Kareem, look! The lights are back on!”

  Kareem spins around and just like that, the city has come back to life. Every building is now distinguishable.

  “Whoa! They are!” He turns in the opposite direction. “But . . . don’t look like they back on in Brooklyn. Maybe it takes a little longer.”

  I snuggle my head into the crook of his neck, and he kisses my forehead as we stare at the city skyline, taking in the view of my gorgeous city I could never be sick of. “It’s pretty.”

  “Yeah,” he agrees. “I was gonna say not as pretty as you but that’s mad corny.”

  I laugh, feeling more comfortable than I have all day, even while hovering over the East River.

  “Kareem?”

  “Yeah?

  “Think we can still make that party?”

  He smirks. “Only one way to find out.”

  Kareem takes my hand and we walk the rest of the way.

  Together.

  Seymour and Grace

  Nicola Yoon

  Brooklyn, 10:05 p.m.

  [Philosophy Now! PODCAST]

  ANNOUNCER: On today’s episode of the pod we’re tackling one of the big ones: the question of identity. What makes you you?

  Let’s start the discussion by examining the parable of the Ship of Theseus, also known as Theseus’s Paradox. Now, maybe it’s been a long time since high school and you’ve forgotten who Theseus was, so let me bring you up to speed. In Greek mythology, Theseus was the legendary king of Athens. He was a big-time hero, but what he was most known for is defeating the Minotaur—the half-man, half-bull creature—in the Labyrinth of Crete.

  In one version of the legend, after Theseus defeated Minotaur, he sailed back home to Athens on a ship. His people were so overjoyed by his triumph they decided to honor him by preserving his ship in the harbor. Years passed and, over time, the ship started to deteriorate. In order to preserve the ship, his people would replace the parts, swapping out damaged planks for undamaged ones. After a thousand years of repair, all parts of the ship had been swapped out until none of the original parts remained.