"Wait, Ronald," Amir called, running down the stairs behind him.
Amir heard him shouting, "Mama, Papa, look what Amir did. He drew a picture of you, but it don't look nothing like you."
When Amir reached the kitchen, Ronald was waving the drawing like a banner. Alvin and Grace Smith both looked confused. Then Mr. Smith grinned as he took the drawing from Ronald. "Oh, man, this is great, son." He held the sketch at arm's length. "Look at this, Mama. The boy's got talent. Look at how he captured your beauty, Peaches."
Mrs. Smith giggled. "You go on with your foolishness." She looked over her husband's shoulders. "This is beautiful, Amir. You have a gift." She shook her head in disbelief. "You're so young to be able to draw like this."
"But it don't look like you," Ronald insisted.
Mrs. Smith's eyes clouded behind her glasses as she glanced at Amir and then turned away. "Artists can draw people to appear any way they want to, Ronald."
Amir said nothing, but his face burned with anger.
Mr. Smith, still holding the drawing at arm's length, smiled. "I like it. It looks just like me. What I like about it most is how young Amir made me look. So can I keep it now? I want to show those young scamps at work how good my son made me look."
Amir averted his eyes. "I'm not finished with it yet, sir ... I mean Mr. Smith ... I mean..."
"Amir, I told you about that sir business. I don't know why you—"
"Come on, food's getting cold," Mrs. Smith interrupted gently. "Let the boy finish his drawing." She took it out of her husband's hand and gave it back to Amir.
After supper was over and he'd helped clean the kitchen, Amir went outside to the backyard, where Ronald and Mr. Smith were playing one-on-one basketball.
Mrs. Smith stepped outside, too. "Alvin, you have no business stepping so high around this yard with Ronald," she said. "You won't be able to move a muscle tomorrow morning."
"I'm beating this kid, Grace," he said, huffing and puffing. "You know I was a star in high school."
"You'll be a fallen star, trying to keep up with a seven-year-old."
Ronald laughed. "Hey, Papa, look at this move." He dribbled around Mr. Smith's legs and threw the ball so that it hit the backboard and spun around the rim of the basket before falling inside.
"Look at this kid!"Alvin shouted.
Ronald, grinning proudly, threw the ball at Mr. Smith. "Come on, Papa, let me beat you again."
Amir went inside the house and ran upstairs. He took Doris's letter out of his backpack and reread it before answering.
July 18th
Dear Doris,
Tonight I'm feeling like you. You are the only true friend I have, and the only person I can talk to. I'm beginning to think that it was a mistake to come here. I should've just stayed in the group home. I try to fit in, but I don't, which doesn't make sense because the Smiths do everything to make me fit in. I try to be myself like I always used to be, but "myself" doesn't feel right anymore. I haven't felt like a part of things since I left you and all of my friends in the Bronx. Also, Ronald is not the way I thought he'd be. He acts more like Mr. Smith. Neither one listens when you try to explain things to them. They're both excitable.
Ronald did something this evening that made me so angry, I had to keep reminding myself about how he once was a little baby we loved so much. If I didn't think about that time, then I'd almost hate him. I was trying to draw the lake for you, but it turned into a sketch of my mom and dad.
Ronald showed it to the Smiths, and Mr. Smith thought I'd drawn him. He looks nothing like my dad. I felt like snatching the picture out of his hands and tearing it up in his face. But I couldn't do that. It would have hurt his feelings, and it would have been a mean thing to do. Mrs. Smith, though, thinks about things, and she knows it wasn't her and her husband.
I went outside thinking that maybe I'd try to explain things to Ronald again. He and Mr. Smith were playing basketball, and they both looked so close and seemed so happy, like a real father and son, I didn't feel like I should stay. And I knew if I stood there and kept watching, sooner or later Mr. Smith would say in his loud voice, "Come on, son, why don't you play some ball?"
He'd try and make me play, and Ronald would look at me like I was weird. I'm like a person who's nowhere, dangling in the middle of nothing.
But I will try and think positive, Doris. Getting the names of the flower shops would be impossible, though it's a good idea. I keep thinking that the last place we lived in was Manhattan, but who knows, it may have been Brooklyn. We moved around a lot since my dad was a musician and worked in different places. He wanted us to be with him wherever he made music. Ronald was very young when my parents had the car accident, and we had just moved.
Maybe I'll get some news soon. I made five more copies of the letter and the sketch the other day and sent them out. I think you'd make a good reporter. You ask a lot of questions. I don't mind.
Love,
Amir
PS. I'll try again to draw you a picture of the lake. A real nice one.
THE BRONX NEWS
Issue #1
Editor, Star Reporter, and Owner,
DORIS WILLIAMS
Wednesday, July 22nd
TODAY'S WEATHER. The Bronx is hotter than the Sahara Desert
EDITORIAL. One Girl's Opinion
Be glad that you do not have any friends They're a pain most of the time. They do not want you to have your own opinion about things, or your own thoughts and ideas. You can't be yourself around them but have to follow whatever they do. They even want you to like the same people they like. They will spread lies and gossip to turn your mind sideways so you think stupid thoughts like they do. Without friends, I'm free to be me.
Of course, everyone should have one true friend that you could trust with your life. It doesn't matter whether that one friend is far away and you don't get to see him in person. That's your "soul friend" and the only friend you really need. The rest are just acquaintances (people you know who don't get on your nerves) or nuisances (people you know who get on your nerves).
PERSONAL
Amir, you are truly an extra-nice, kind, wonderful human being. If I were in your sneakers, and the Smiths mistook themselves for my parents, I would have blurted out, "They're not you!" But it was nice of you not to bust everyone's bubble when they're so happy. It was only a case of mistaken identity. Just explain to Ronald that the sketch was his real mother and father. But are the Smiths fakes? To Ronald they're real as rain.
At least they're not mean to you. Why would you want to be in a group home again? Remember you said you always had to figure out ways to keep the ruffians from bothering you? At least you don't have that problem at the Smiths'. If, however, you move to a group home in the Bronx, then that would be another story. Then you wouldn't be dangling. Your two feet would be on the ground in the Bronx. My advice to you is to stay positive. Send more letters out. Say over and over: My letter will find my aunt. My aunt will find my letter.
LATE-BREAKING NEWS
By D Williams
Charlene is becoming a very nice acquaintance of Doris's (see definitions in editorial column). They met again in the library today. "I hate double dutch," she told Doris, who was shocked. "My sisters are obsessed," she said. (She uses very big words.) The next shocking thing is that she likes to come to the library to read, because her sisters annoy her and she can't read at home. She and Doris love the same book, their all-time favorite, Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry. It reminds Charlene of her grandparents down South.
Trouble in the playground again—teenagers caught selling drugs, allegedly. Charlene's sisters were on the 6 o'clock news. Not for being in trouble but for being in the background with a bunch of other kids, jumping up and down and making faces at the camera while the reporter talked about what had happened in the playground—part of a report on drugs in the city.
On a personal note, my parents are very upset about today's events, and my mother might stop working. That mea
ns she'll be home with me all day. I don't know if I'm ready for that. What an adjustment!
TOMORROW'S FORECAST, hot and boring like today
My Dear Amir,
I guess you think I'm going crazy. But the only good thing about today was spending time with Charlene and creating this newspaper just for you. You gave me the idea. Oh, by the way, you said that you all moved around a lot to be with your father, but I thought that your dad was away on the road playing music. I guess you guys couldn't go on the road with him, because then you'd miss school, right? And since Ronald was a baby, he couldn't travel, right? Anyway, just being curious—not nosy. Nuisances are nosy.
Your soul friend,
Doris
P.S. Did you finish the drawing of the lake yet? Here's a tip for today. Draw a picture of Ronald like you do for the kids at camp. I bet he'd like that.
July 27th
Dear Doris Williams, Star Reporter,
I received your letter/newspaper today. It made me laugh and think about things, too. You should definitely be a reporter when you grow up. You asked about my father. Sometimes he had to go on the road and we couldn't go with him. Ronald was just an infant then.
So the playground was featured on the 6 o'clock news! Is the playground that bad? I laughed when I thought about how those sisters must have looked on television. It sounds like you and Charlene are getting to be friends—or nice acquaintances, as you say. Maybe she'll be a "soul friend" one day.
Your letters are like my mom's geraniums—they make a cloudy day bright. I'm trying to be positive. My dad always used to say: "Think positive. Negative thoughts cause negative events." So I remind myself over and over that Ronald is my brother.
You reminded me of something. When I was in the group home, I used to draw pictures of the kids there, and I would make some of the ruffians look so handsome, they were real nice to me. I took your advice and tried the same thing with Ronald.
I drew a picture of the lake and I put him swimming in it, even though he can't swim. He liked it more than I thought he would. While I was drawing him, I was thinking of a way to talk to him about his true family. And his real mother and father. But he was so excited sitting next to me on the bench and watching me draw, and even giving me helpful hints like "Amir, you made the water too wavy." Or "Amir, you made me too small." Then he stood up and started posing as if he was swimming. He makes me laugh sometimes. I didn't want to see that blank look on his face when I talked about our real parents, so I didn't say anything. I'll wait for the right time.
Anyway, I was going to give you the picture of Ronald swimming in the lake, but he wanted it, so I let him keep it. He's been showing it to his friends like it was a photograph and he was really swimming. Haven't gotten any answers yet from the letters I sent out. Mr. Smith thinks my aunt may have moved to another state. I hope not. I hope she lives in the Bronx or Manhattan—even Brooklyn or Queens would be better than another state.
Answer soon.
Love,
Amir
P.S. I promise—you will get a picture of the lake.
2 P.M.
Friday
July 31st
My Dear Amir,
I hope that you are very fine —just like the sugar. I wait patiently for my picture. Put me swimming in the lake, too. Be sure and make my arms very long—to answer your question before you ask it, no, I do not know how to swim. I don't blame you for giving Ronald the drawing of himself swimming. Your drawings are like magic to him. You can make him be anything he wants to be.
I've been thinking over what you said in your letter about telling Ronald about his real family. I guess you could say Ronald has his real family—the Smiths and you. Remember I told you about friends—soul friends and acquaintances. Family is like that too. Here's what I've been thinking: There's blood family and chosen family.
Blood family is the people you are related to by blood—all of y'all look alike. Maybe everyone in the family has a square head or something. Like I am tall like my father's side of the family. Chosen family is like soul friends. People who really take care of each other even if they don't have to. The Smiths could send you and Ronald back to foster care if they wanted to. Now, the best thing is if you have blood and chosen family all in one—like me and my mother and father and Gerald (sometimes). But then again, maybe it doesn't even matter.
When you find your aunt, everything will be perfect and Ronald will understand and your blood family and chosen family will be one. That's One Girl's Opinion.
My mother calmed down and will continue working. To tell the truth, even though Gerald is a pest, I like being the boss of the house and taking care of him until she gets home. My father is threatening to move us. But he's always been talking about buying a house and moving someday. I can't imagine living anywhere else but 163rd Street—I don't think I want to live anywhere else until I grow up.
The block association and some other people in the neighborhood are getting together to "Take the Playground Back." Everyone got all worked up—said the television news programs only come to our neighborhood to report bad things and would never report anything good.
Well, I'm going to change all that. The next issue of my paper will only have good news. I think I would like to be a reporter, but I'll only report the good stuff. I'm working on a new issue of The Bronx News. Guess I missed my deadline. If I don't do better, I'll have to fire myself.
I ran into Charlene again this morning in the library. She's baby-sitting her sister Claudette like I have to baby-sit Gerald. Seems like her sisters have made her the one who always has to baby-sit. We read together while we waited for storytime to finish. As we read, Charlene changed right before my eyes. She lost her sad face and it was like she became a character in the story. Listening to her read was like watching television almost. She made the story so alive that I stopped noticing that her cornrows needed redoing.
Then Charlene said she had to go to the playground because she didn't want her sisters coming to the library looking for her. "All they think about is double dutch and being in first place in that double-dutch tournament in the fall." I thought to myself how terrible it must be to have bossy, loony sisters bugging you all the time. It makes me appreciate Gerald. At least in his world I'm the boss.
Anyway, me and Charlene have a lot in common. She might even become a soul friend, like you. We're going to meet in the library again tomorrow. Also, she's coming around the block to visit me later on—I'm not allowed to have company when my parents aren't home So we'll just sit on the stoop in front of my building. I know the rumor factory will be working overtime—Doris is hanging out with those drugged-up sisters, Doris is getting wild, Doris is doing ... You know the rest. They better not say it, otherwise I will be going upside some heads—starting with Lavinia and the twins.
Only one month more of summer vacation, and then a whole new world of middle school. I can't wait. It'll be so nice to get away from all of my immature ex-friends.
Well, I guess that's all for now. Gerald just woke up, and Charlene just rang the downstairs bell. Bye for now.
Love,
Doris
Your one true friend
Amir folded Doris's letter and put it in his pocket. Though he was sitting on the bench in the backyard, he hadn't heard the car coming up the driveway.
Ronald's voice startled him. "Mama and Papa bought you a paint set and two sketchpads."
Alvin Smith slammed the car door and frowned. "Boy, you like a broken refrigerator. Can't hold nothing."
Mrs. Smith shook her head. "Ronald, we wanted to surprise Amir."
"He is surprised. Ain't you surprised, Amir?" He smiled earnestly at his brother.
Amir stood up, looking more confused than surprised. "Thank you," he stammered. "I ... uh ... I ... I really appreciate this."
Mr. Smith handed Amir a large package. "Now you can finish that drawing of me and Mama here, son."
Amir nodded but didn't flinch.
"
Alvin, don't worry the boy, telling him what to paint."
"He's going to paint me, right, Amir?" Ronald looked up at him.
"Ronald, you, too. Stop worrying your brother. He'll paint what he wants when he wants," Mrs. Smith said.
"Thank you," Amir repeated, and his eyes opened wide when he pulled up the lid of the large aluminum case. Inside were colored pencils and markers—shades of red, purple, tan, brown—cakes of watercolors, oil pastels, drawing pencils, paintbrushes, a mixing tray, and a pencil sharpener and eraser. He was speechless.
Ronald tugged at Amir's shirtsleeve. "Come on, Amir, paint a picture of me."
"Boy, you think the sun rises and sets on you," Mr. Smith said. "Amir is going to finish the picture of me and your mother." He fingered his mustache."Going to put some color on our faces. Because we are people of color, you know."
Mrs. Smith giggled. "Hush your foolishness. Now where is the sun rising and setting? You and Ronald are like two peas in a pod. Leave Amir alone."
Alvin studied Amir for a moment. "Do you really like the paint set?"
"Yes, sir. I do."
Ronald tugged at Amir's sleeve again, "So you going to paint a picture of me now?"
"Okay, okay, I'll paint a picture of you."
Mr. Smith folded his thick arms. "I think me and your mama spoiled you, Ronald."
Grace rubbed Ronald's head. "He's a sweet kid. Not spoiled, just pampered and treasured, the way all children should be."
"That's right, Mama. I'm not spoiled. Come on, Amir, paint my picture." He pulled Amir toward the bench as the Smiths went into the house.
Ronald and Amir sat facing each other, and Amir began sketching out Ronald's round face. He was surprised that Ronald sat so still. He didn't begin to fidget until Amir was almost finished. As his drawing came to life, Amir recognized traces of familiar images in Ronald's face—his nose with gracefully flaring nostrils and his deep dimples. Amir's heart raced, and he put his pencil down. "You tired now?" he asked Ronald.
One True Friend Page 4
