The True Definition of Neva Beane

by Christine Kendall

  Nana gets a return call from Mrs. Giles’s assistant, who says she hasn’t seen him since yesterday.

  “Yesterday?” Granddad sputters when Nana tells him what she just learned. “Where’s he been all day? I’m talking about this day. Not no yesterday.”

  Nana calls Anton, who says he ran into Clay crossing the playground at Forty-Seventh and Spruce Street this morning.

  “Did he say where he was going?” Nana asks. “Was he with anybody?”

  Anton says he isn’t sure about that but he may have seen Clay with a big bag. Anton’s an unhelpful, no, what’s that phrase? A reluctant something?

  Reluctant witness: someone unwilling or disinclined to say what they have has seen

  Anton’s definitely a reluctant witness.

  Granddad keeps checking his cell to make sure he hasn’t missed any message Clay might have sent. “He is officially in trouble now.”

  Granddad says officially like an invisible line has been crossed. If Clay came home even thirty seconds before Granddad’s pronouncement would his trouble just be casual? It’s dark now. Is that what makes his trouble official?

  “I’m about ready to call the police,” says Nana.

  The POLICE. You don’t call the police unless there’s a serious problem. I didn’t want to see Clay anytime soon but I didn’t want anything to happen to him.

  “Let’s give him until ten o’clock,” says Granddad. “It’s not ten yet. He’s probably just messing around somewhere like that time he went to that party over in Powelton Village without telling us. Remember that, Cecily?”

  Nana nods but she doesn’t say anything. She starts to clear the table and I get up to help her when my phone buzzes.

  Michelle Overton has my number?

  “Hey, Neva,” she says. “Clay asked me to give you a call. He’s okay. His phone just—”

  “Uh, thanks for letting me know,” I say as fast as I can. “Bye.”

  “Is that Clay?” Granddad asks.

  “No.” I do not want to bring Michelle Overton up with Granddad again so I concentrate on gathering the dirty dishes and avoiding eye contact. That could work, but too bad it doesn’t. Granddad’s heavy breathing says more than words ever could so I add, “Don’t worry, Clay’s okay.”

  “Who told you that?” Granddad says, staring at me like he did this afternoon.

  That look scares me so I say the first name that pops into my head. “Jamila. It was Jamila.”

  “Jamila’s out with Clay?” asks Nana. “This late?” She and Granddad are both staring at me now and I wish I hadn’t lied. “Does her mama know?” Nana continues.

  I shake my head no. I don’t know where Jamila is or what Mrs. Mensah knows but I don’t want Nana to call over there.

  “It was Michelle,” I say. “Michelle said Clay just lost track of the—”

  “Michelle Overton?” Granddad’s eyes narrow and he sighs like he just can’t take any more. “Okay, everybody listen. I’m only saying this once. Clay knows what his curfew is.” Granddad taps the face of his watch. “He knows he’s supposed to have his BEHIND in this house before ten on weeknights.”

  “Watch your tone, now, Dexter,” says Nana. “It doesn’t work on her and it’s not good for your pressure.”

  My hands are full of dishes but I look up and meet Nana’s gaze. She’s studying me. I look away but I can still feel her eyes on my face. My phone buzzes again so I free up my right hand to pull it out of my pocket and recognize Michelle’s number on the screen.

  Both of my grandparents are looking at me in a way that says I better tell them who it is.

  “Where are they?” asks Granddad. “They better not be out on some date.”

  Michelle and Clay are dating? I cannot keep my mouth from falling open.

  “Take the call,” says Granddad. “I want to talk to that girl.”

  My hands are trying to hold on to too many things—dishes, dessert cups, forks, and spoons. Plus, I still don’t want to believe that Clay and Michelle may be into each other like that. It’s no wonder I drop my phone and it crashes to the floor, spewing its parts under the dining room table. I feel my face contorting into an ugly grimace.

  “It’s not the end of the world,” Nana says, stunned by my near-tearful reaction to the dead phone. “We’ll get you a new one tomorrow.”

  I hear her but I don’t move or say anything right away. My phone was my private connection to Mama. And now the distance between West Philly and Amsterdam just got a million times bigger.

  n. the action or process of affirming something or being affirmed: He nodded in affirmation.

  Clay’s room. I’ve been in Clay’s room so many times. We listen to music and stargaze through his telescope. I don’t know why Granddad carries on so much about a man’s room. Clay’s room is cool with its cathedral ceiling and an outside covered balcony where he keeps his telescope. He has a hammock and he sleeps out there sometimes too. He says sleeping outside gives him the space he needs to think about important stuff. Stuff like the kind of world we live in and what we can do to help other people. We can help other people by not spying on them is what I think. What happened this morning still feels bad.

  “Geneva,” Nana says. “Do you know where Clay is?”

  She’s calling me by my full, old-fashioned, named-after-my-great-grandmother name now. A sign that things have progressed to a totally different level. I shake my head no.

  “Well, maybe we’ll find a clue up in his room.” Nana walks into the living room and starts up the stairs.

  Granddad jumps up and squeezes past her. “Let me go first,” he says.

  “Dexter, this is no time for your nonsense about a man’s room.” Nana’s right on his heels. “I’m going in there.”

  They’re both moving fast and I’m bringing up the rear. We pass my room on the second floor and charge up to the third. Nana’s breathing heavily. She’s not used to having to go up a second flight of stairs in our house, and it shows.

  Granddad opens Clay’s door, and it’s a big mess inside with clothes all balled up on the floor and a trash can that needs to be dumped. It always looks like this. There’s a pair of Jockeys on Clay’s bed and Granddad trips all over himself trying to hide it.

  “Dexter, please,” says Nana. “She’s seen that in the laundry.”

  Nana sits down at Clay’s desk and looks at every single piece of paper, front and back. Pamphlets about the causes of homelessness, flyers requesting book donations for inmates, movie ticket stubs, all of it. I don’t think Mama and Daddy ever did anything like this. I make a mental note to never leave anything even halfway incriminating in my room.

  Incriminating: making someone appear guilty of a crime or wrongdoing

  You definitely should know that word.

  Nana opens the top desk drawer and comes across Clay’s stash of cards from our parents. I can tell she’s not sure what to do. She starts to open one but then puts it back down with the others. They’re private in a way all the other stuff isn’t.

  Granddad looks under Clay’s bed and out on the balcony.

  “Don’t forget the closet,” says Nana. Granddad opens the closet door and pushes aside lopsided hangers overflowing with Clay’s shirts and pants. Bigger posters about book donations are stacked up against the far wall. TAKE ACTION: OPPOSE THE PENNSYLVANIA DOC’S NEW MAIL AND VISITATION RESTRICTIONS. An image of Anton’s clinched fists when he heard about the new book restrictions flashes through my mind. If Clay’s fighting against that law I’m glad.

  Granddad pushes the posters aside and spies a bunch of red canisters with black tops tucked away in the corner.

  “What’s this?” he asks, grunting as he squats to examine them more closely. “Police-duty pepper spray?” He picks one up and waves it around in front of his chest.

  “Be careful with that,” Nana says. “You may accidentally light us up.”

  “What’s Clay doing with this?” Granddad’s holding the canister dangerously close
to his face. “That’s what I want to know.”

  It’s ten minutes to ten and I’m wondering if Nana’s going to call the police, although I’m not sure what she’d be calling them for. To come retrieve their pepper spray or to help us find Clay?

  I walk out on Clay’s balcony so I’m not in the line of any accident Granddad may trigger and I see somebody dart from the sidewalk to the side of the house. It’s got to be Clay making his way around to the back door unless, on top of everything else, somebody’s breaking in.

  Granddad sets the canister down on the far corner of Clay’s desk and sits on the bed, watching Nana go through my brother’s stuff. He’s still fuming but he holds Clay’s pillow in his lap like he doesn’t want anything to happen to it.

  Sort of how I feel, but it’s confusing. My brother humiliated me but I still feel protective of him. Like I don’t want him to face the full force of my grandparents’ wrath. That’s much more than plain anger.

  Wrath: extreme anger

  Clay laughed at me but I can’t let him walk into a tornado unprepared.

  “I’m going to get some water,” I say. Neither of my grandparents respond or even look up so I race down the two flights of stairs as fast as I can. One hand on the banister and one hand on the wall even though Nana hates that. The hand on the wall. She says it leaves a mark.

  I make my way through the living room and hit the dining room just as Clay’s entering from the kitchen.

  “I hope you know they’re mad,” I say, before noticing how wide his eyes are and the way he’s sweating. “Are you okay?”

  Clay leans up against the wall. “Where are they?”

  “In your room going through your stuff.”

  “Why are they doing that? I’m not late,” he says. “It’s just now ten o’clock.”

  “Nice try,” I say. Clay’s still breathing hard so I soften my tone and walk over to him. “You missed dinner and nobody knew where you were. Nana called Anton and he said he saw you running across the playground with a big bag this morning.” Clay sighs. “They called the swim club and Mrs. Giles’s assistant said she hadn’t seen you at all today. Plus, Michelle—”

  “Michelle Overton …” Clay says.

  “Yeah, Michelle called to tell me you were all right.”

  “Did you tell them that?”

  “I had to. They think I’m in on whatever’s going on with you.”

  “Nothing’s going on with me,” says Clay. He makes air quotation marks when he says the words going on. Not even I believe that.

  “Well, what do you do on Mondays?”

  Clay’s head jerks back so I tell him what Mrs. Giles told me.

  “So, you were spying on me?” he asks.

  “Not intentionally,” I fib. “Not like what you did to me this morning.”

  Clay sucks his breath in hard. “Neva, you sound whack,” he says. “Mama and Dad told me to take care of you. Nobody said anything about spying.”

  Clay’s statement lingers in the air. His light brown eyes are wide but his eyebrows are drawn together. Mama and Daddy asked him to look out for me?

  I look down at the vase of flowers on the dining room table and shrug.

  “I was in Nana and Granddad’s bathroom getting toothpaste and soap from under their sink to donate to the homeless shelter,” says Clay. “Toothpaste and soap.” He spits out the word soap like it’s a dirty thing. “Somebody in this house needs to be doing something,” he adds.

  I sneak a peek up at my brother. If I didn’t know better I’d swear there was smoke coming out of his flared nostrils.

  “We have it good, Neva. Granddad bought this house years ago and managed to hang on to it.”

  “Didn’t Nana help him buy it? She worked up until she retired.”

  Clay nods but he doesn’t make the correction out loud. “Lots of folks never had a chance to buy anything. We should help them out.”

  “But Mama and Daddy lost our old house, remember?”

  “Yeah, and look where they are now. In Europe. Plenty of people never get past Fortieth Street.”

  My brother goes on to tell me about how community organizations don’t have enough money to help everybody who needs it. He spends his Mondays collecting donations of clothing and other stuff. Michelle works with the group sometimes too.

  “You two have a lot in common,” he says. “That’s why I gave her your number.”

  “We do?”

  “Yeah, you’re both hardheaded in a good way,” he says. “I’m surprised you don’t know each other.”

  Hardheaded but good? He hasn’t mentioned what he saw me doing this morning at all, but he sees me as determined? I’m either real good at hiding all the questions swirling around in my head or he’s just not looking.

  “I hung out with Michelle today.” That’s what comes out. I tell Clay how Michelle came over to make sure I was all right when she saw me all by myself at the swim club. “And then she called tonight.”

  Clay nods too many times. “She knew I missed dinner and that everybody would be mad.”

  “But … the way you laughed this morning,” I say hesitantly, going back to the event I still don’t know how to process. The thing that made me feel so bad and messed up my whole day. “You laughed so hard when you saw me …”

  “I know, I’m sorry,” he says, “but you were pretty funny.” Clay’s eyes sparkle as he chuckles, but I don’t say anything so he puts his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I just wasn’t expecting to see all that when I opened the door … somebody so fine.” Clay smiles. “You definitely know who you are.”

  I do know it even though I’m not totally sure of what it is. It’s not that thing that Michelle has but it’s something pretty great. I know. I can feel it. Sometimes.

  Clay rambles on about how Mama and Daddy don’t want him to be politically active while they’re away. We won’t be there to help you out is what they told Clay. They’ve had arguments about it and Granddad promised he’d keep Clay on the straight and narrow this summer. Now our whole family blames Michelle for Clay’s activism.

  “As if I don’t have my own mind,” Clay says. “Like I’m just following some girl.”

  Clay goes on about how he hadn’t meant to miss dinner but there was a late-afternoon rally down at city hall. There were counter-protesters and there was some pushing and shoving.

  I’m only half listening because I’m still thinking about what Clay saw this morning. He saw somebody fine. Somebody who doesn’t take any stuff. Fine is much more than cute and well on the way to beautiful. That’s the word I’m going with, but it doesn’t really matter what word we use. What’s important is we both saw the same thing. We saw me.

  My brother wipes the sweat off his forehead with the tip of his T-shirt and walks through the first floor of our house over to the main staircase. He puts one foot on the first step but then leans way back so he can see me standing against the far wall. I strike a pose and Clay beams before flashing the peace sign and taking the stairs two at a time.

  n. 1. a distressing emotion caused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined 2. a specific instance of or propensity for such a feeling: An abnormal fear of heights. 3. concern or anxiety

  Clay isn’t a very good liar. I can tell that even though I’m on the second floor and they’re still up in his room. He first tells my grandparents he went to the movies with some friends and forgot what time it was. That’s not necessarily a bad start but he can’t remember the name of the movie he said he just saw. Pit-i-ful. If I were going to use that as an excuse I would have checked the Cinemark website to see what was playing.

  “What about the pepper spray?” Granddad asks. “You need all that to keep folks’ hands out of your popcorn?”

  Clay ignores the questions but switches his story to splitting a pizza with Michelle and some Penn students he said they met on campus. I guess he thinks Granddad will be happy to hear he’s researching colle
ges, but it’s summer and there aren’t many students around. That excuse would only have worked if he’d said his new college friends were in an orientation program or something. Plus, Clay underestimates the impact Michelle Overton’s name has on my grandparents.

  “I knew that girl … that little missy was in the middle of this,” Granddad yells.

  “Her name’s Mich—”

  “I know what her name is. You think I don’t know that?”

  “She’s no good for you, Clay,” Nana says. “Nothing good can come from having a girlfriend like that.”

  “Like what?” Clay’s voice is steady. “I don’t know what you mean by girlfriend like that.”

  I don’t hear anything for a few seconds, but I bet they’re all breathing hard and staring at one another.

  “She’s not my girlfriend, okay?” Clay finally says. “She’s a woke sister. Something that’s missing from this house.”

  Granddad tells Clay he didn’t invent political struggle and Clay says the world would be a better place if there were more people like Michelle in it. I have to look up woke ’cause I’m not exactly sure what it means.

  Woke: actively aware of systemic injustices and prejudices

  Sounds like Michelle.

  My ears perk up again when Clay mentions Anton. “His family’s struggling, you know. He could be my little brother.”

  Clay wants a brother? My stomach cinches up again and I have to lean against my bedroom wall to steady myself. What about me?

  Somehow they get on the topic of the bag Anton told Nana he saw Clay carrying this morning. I guess Clay’s tired of lying, and like I said, he’s not very good at it, so he admits he spends his Mondays collecting donations of clothing and toiletries for the homeless support group.

  Granddad reminds Clay that he didn’t sign the permission slip the homeless help network needs before kids can volunteer. Clay calmly tells him that wasn’t necessary because he used Nana’s name. Yes, you heard that right. He forged Nana’s name on the permission slip. Something that is definitely wrong.