Ameka said quickly, “Well, if we told you that, it wouldn’t be a surprise now, would it?” She reached under the Christmas tree and revealed a colorfully wrapped gift. D’Melo snatched off the festive paper and beamed at his new basketball sneakers.
Baba gazed at D’Melo, his heart full, feeling a glimmer of hope that the documentary would finally pierce the veil of lies surrounding the assassination of President Amani. It would mean he could finally tell D’Melo everything, a burden he had been carrying for fifteen years. And he would be assured that D’Melo could live his life free of the dark shadow that has been haunting them ever since they left Kipaji.
Not a moment after returning from D.C., D’Melo went to see Zara. He padded through the drugstore entrance. The bells chimed, again creating the ambience of a simpler time in the neighborhood. “Hey Mr. Zanič. What’s good?” he said, shaking snowflakes off his long leather jacket.
“It’s all good, playa,” Tomáš greeted.
D’Melo laughed. “You’re hilarious, Mr. Zanič. You’re the coolest OG I know.”
“Original gangster?”
“Nah, old grandfather.”
Zara bounced down the stairs. “I thought I heard you down here. What are you guys laughing at?”
“Nunya,” D’Melo said.
“Nunya?” she puzzled.
Tomáš chimed in, “Yeah, nunya business.”
“Ohhh, snap! Mr. Zanič, I didn’t know you knew that.” D’Melo chuckled. He gave Tomáš a fist bump.
“Děda, you need to stop hanging out with this dude.” Zara flicked a thumb toward D’Melo. “He’s a bad influence on you.” She slid her slender arms into her tan puffer coat. “We’re going to Chubby’s. I won’t be too late.”
Tomáš turned to D’Melo. “Keep her out of trouble, huh?”
“I’ll try, Mr. Zanič. It’s not easy.”
“Oooh, you guys are really pushing it.” Zara narrowed her eyes at them. “We better go before I change my mind.”
Snow glistened and fluttered below the streetlights. The crystal flakes contrasted brightly against Zara’s flowing red hair. D’Melo tried futilely to brush them out with his hand. They strolled close enough to inadvertently bump each other every so often. D’Melo blew hard to see his cloudy breath stretch out in front of him.
As they neared Ms. Keba’s house, Zara’s pace slowed. She struggled for air, her breathing long and ragged. Two young kids frolicked in the yard. They lengthened their arms as wide as they would go and cobbled together just enough of the chilly white powder for one flimsy snowball each. They tossed them at each other, but the snowballs disintegrated into dust before reaching their target. The front door squealed open. A woman beckoned the kids to dinner. They clapped the snow off their wool mittens and scampered up the porch stairs.
D’Melo told Zara how uneasy it made him that the world moved on so quickly. In his mind, that was Ms. Keba’s house. And now there was a family living in it. They had their own lives and would make their own memories, but they didn’t know anything about Ms. Keba. He was afraid that after Ms. Keba’s memory faded in people’s minds, it would be as if she never existed.
Zara responded with a different perspective. To her, Ms. Keba would be there forever. Just because people were living in her house didn’t change that. Zara could still see Ms. Keba’s tender face as clearly as she could see the exuberant kids in the yard. In the short time Zara had with her, Ms. Keba left an indelible impact on her. So, in that way, Ms. Keba’s spirit lived on.
Zara bended, resting her hands on her knees. D’Melo rubbed her back. It typically took her a conscious moment to adjust to the powerful sensations that invaded her body, especially when they came from a strong emotion. “I still feel Ms. Keba’s suffering,” she said, her breath puffing thick, rapid clouds. “But I also feel the bliss she experienced when she saw you.” Zara straightened. “It was as if a thousand mountains were lifted off her shoulders.”
“Not a day goes by that I don’t think about what happened here,” D’Melo said in awe. “I know you don’t like it, but man, it’s like you have a superpower.”
“No, dude. I have a super curse.” Zara revealed that she loved being able to help people using her ability, but it took a hefty toll on her mind and body. She didn’t often get to feel people’s joy, only their suffering. She wished she could just shut it off. But it didn’t work that way. At times, the feelings were so overwhelming that not even running helped. On those occasions, to get as far from the suffering as she could, Zara climbed. Fortunately for her, in North Carolina, a towering Sycamore tree on her farm had offered a safe haven. And on the worst days, when not even the Sycamore provided enough distance, there was a mountain near her house. The higher she hiked, the less she felt. But in Lincoln Downs her yard is bare, not a single tree. And the closest mountain is far from the city.
“So,” she explained, “here, to cope, I go to the tallest building in the city and ride the elevator to the top. When I first moved to Lincoln Downs, I was a regular there. The guards all know me now.”
“They know you and they still let you in the building?” D’Melo jested.
“Funny, dude. I know it’s hard to believe, but some people actually like me. Just not the people at school.”
“What do you mean?” D’Melo disagreed. “Lots of folks at school like you.”
Zara pursed her lips, Like who?
“Well, there’s, um . . . no. Let’s see . . . um . . .,” D’Melo giggled. “Dang girl, you’re right!”
She slapped his arm with the back of her hand. “What a jerk!”
“Seriously though, since you’re not feeling anything bad right now, does that mean no one on this street is suffering?”
Zara didn’t have to be near someone to feel their pain. Sometimes the suffering was hundreds of miles away. But that was usually from people she was really close to, like her family. Also, she didn’t feel everyone’s pain all the time. Just sometimes. She wasn’t sure why or when.
“For instance,” she said to D’Melo. “Sometimes your heart squeezes and a pain shoots inside your chest, like when I was telling you about the woman in my dream who was killed in the car accident.”
D’Melo halted, stunned. “You can feel that?”
“It’s interesting. I’ve never experienced that particular pain from anyone before. It’s like a hot knife digging into your chest.”
“Yeah, that’s a good way to describe it.” D’Melo balked, contemplating whether he wanted to talk about his mother. “Well, your nightmare sounds a lot like how my mom died. So it brought up terrible memories.”
Zara slipped her arm under D’Melo’s and pulled him close. “I’m sorry.” She rested her head against his shoulder.
D’Melo had no idea what caused the episodes when his chest seized into searing pain. It had been happening as long as he could remember. Baba had taken him to several doctors, but not one could find anything wrong with his heart. At first, it was frightening, but over time, he had gotten used to it.
D’Melo’s expression turned unusually insecure. “You knowing what I feel is freaking me out. Maybe we can change the subject.” Snowflakes landed on his stubbly cheeks and slowly melted. “How about: what would be your ideal day?”
“Oh! Good question,” Zara perked surprisingly. “I thought, at the very best, you’d start talking about how many home runs LeBron James scored.”
“Why are you so crazy?—acting like you don’t follow basketball. And you know I’m a Sixers fan! So why are you trippin’ talking about LeBron? Ben Simmons had another triple-double last night—thank you very much!”
“Whatever. That dude couldn’t hit an 18-footer if his life depended on it!”
“Yo! Why you throwin’ shade at my boy Ben!”
Zara laughed. “Anyway, getting back to a meaningful conversation, hmmm.” She laid a fin
ger on her lips in careful consideration. “My ideal day, huh?” A snowflake dangled at the edge of her long lashes. “I think I’d start with a long hike up a mountain. At the summit, I’d take in the serene view until my mind was empty and my heart was full. Oooh,” her eyes shot open wide, “then, I’d hang glide over a river valley into the setting sun.” She was imagining clearly in her mind now. “There’s a waterfall, so as I drift in heavenly silence, mist tickles my nose and refreshes my face.”
“You know how to hang glide?”
“No. But you asked what my ideal day would be, not what reality is,” Zara sniffed, pretending to be peeved that D’Melo was ruining her imaginary day. “Now where was I before I was rudely interrupted? Oh yeah, by the time I landed on the valley floor, I’d probably be hungry.”
“Dang, girl. You’re always hungry! For someone so slim, you sure do get your grub on!”
“I’d have some traditional Nečzian food, like my mom used to make. Yum!” Zara licked her lips comically. “After that, I’d be too full to do anything but flop on the couch and finish the day with an animated movie. Then in my sleep, I’d see my mom,” she cooed, her eyes now a mix of dreamy and somber. “How about you? What would your ideal day be?”
“Same,” D’Melo muttered without hesitation. “I mean, not all that hiking and hang-gliding stuff, but seeing my mom again.”
D’Melo and Zara sauntered into Chubby’s and shook the snow off their jackets. They took a seat in “D’Melo’s Corner.” The only thing that Chubby loved more than whiskey was basketball. After D’Melo broke the Lincoln Downs freshman scoring record, Chubby hung a large photo of him in the back corner of the restaurant. Since that time, several photos of D’Melo had found their way onto Chubby’s walls, but that corner had always been set aside for D’Melo.
The waitress shuffled up to the table. Zara ordered first. “Could I please have—”
The waitress interrupted, “Spicy gumbo soup with no meat and piping hot; and the garden salad with extra beets. Now, the last time you asked whether we had vegan pumpkin pie, but of course we didn’t. After that, Chubby said we needed to move into the twenty-first century. So we came up with a small vegan section in our menu. We have vegan pies, corn bread, hush puppies, and other stuff too!”
“Wow. That’s so nice!” Zara said. “And it’s amazing that you remembered my order.”
“Well, you’re a little hard to forget. We were talking about you for days after you put creepy Willie in his place. He had it coming, but we just put up with him because he’s old. He’s been sittin’ on that same barstool for longer than most of us have been alive. He still gawks, but he doesn’t say all that foul stuff anymore.” The waitress gave Zara a fist bump. “Respect.”
The waitress started walking away. D’Melo stopped her. “Uh, you didn’t take my order.”
“I know your order; you’ve gotten the same thing for the past ten years—ribs, country fried potatoes, and corn bread.”
“Well this time, I’ll have what she’s having.” The waitress tucked her chin and shot Zara a look over her red thick-rimmed glasses, Girrrl, this guy’s really into you.
“No meat?” Zara asked, stunned.
“Can’t a brotha try to eat healthy?”
Then, seemingly at nothing, D’Melo started to giggle. “Remember that time we went to Liberty Steak House?”
“Dude,” she said. “Why do you have to bring that up!”
“Because you’re probably the only person who has ever gone to a restaurant and brought her own meal. Who does that?” He blew an incredulous chuckle through his nostrils. “What were you gonna do, break out the Tupperware and start eating your wild rice and red beans right there in the restaurant?”
“Yeah, if I had to! Lots of places don’t have anything for me to eat,” she retorted. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the ladies’ room. Maybe by the time I get back, you’ll have forgotten about the Tupperware incident.”
Zara disappeared down the dark hallway. Two guys from the bar staggered over to D’Melo. “What, black girls aren’t good enough for the big basketball star?”
D’Melo glared up at them. “It’s not like that.” His face tensed. “But even if it was, it’s not really your business.” One guy clamped D’Melo’s arm. “Chubby’s is for black folks,” he snorted. “You see any other snowflakes in here? You need to go find another place to eat.”
D’Melo snatched his arm away. “Listen, I don’t want any trouble.”
The waitress arrived, balancing two bowls of steaming gumbo soup. To ease the tension, she told the guys that drinks were waiting for them at the bar. “On the house,” she offered.
“Great,” D’Melo simmered. “That’s exactly what they need, more alcohol.” The waitress shrugged apologetically.
Zara returned. “What happened?”
For a moment D’Melo was surprised by her question, but then remembered that she could feel when he was upset. He played it down. “No big deal. Just some drunken fools flexin’.”
“Who? Those knuckle draggers at the bar? They kept looking over here, but I didn’t say anything because I’m trying to be on my best behavior.” Zara peeked up at them.
“Zara! Don’t look over there,” D’Melo urged, directing his eyes toward the bar without turning his head.
“Oops, too late,” she said. “They’re coming.”
“Did you have to look at them! I told your grandfather I’d keep you out of trouble. But you make it impossible.”
Zara shrugged a shoulder, What can I tell you.
The waitress stepped in front of the drunkards, trying to keep the peace. They brushed her aside. Chubby yelled from the kitchen, threatening to call the police if they started any trouble.
“Man,” D’Melo groaned. “I just wanted to have a nice quiet meal.”
“Don’t worry. I got this,” Zara winked. “When I say duck, duck.”
“What do you mean?” D’Melo asked, then realized what she was planning. “Oh no, Zara. Don’t.”
Just as the guys stalked menacingly behind D’Melo, Zara shouted, “Duck!” D’Melo dipped his head. She slung her piping hot soup on them. D’Melo followed suit. Then they tore out of the restaurant.
“Run! Run!” Zara screamed, laughing. Slipping on the snow-dusted sidewalk, they stumbled upon a narrow alley. Zara skidded around the corner. D’Melo caught her before she hit the ground. She peeped around the brick building, while D’Melo peered over her with his arm still around her. “They’re not coming. We’re fine.”
D’Melo spun her toward him. “Are you out of your mind! That’s your best behavior! You could’ve gotten us killed . . . again! Those guys are lunatics!”
“But I told you,” she said, her eyes still crazed with excitement. “I got this.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know whether you even knew what you were saying. He put on a slow drawl, trying to imitate her in a Southern hillbilly accent, “Heeyyy, I gottt diisss.”
Zara snickered, covering her mouth. “That’s the worst redneck impression I’ve ever heard.”
“Well, I couldn’t do the impression right because I have all my teeth. I can’t get the toothless whistle sound going.”
“Oh, my God!” Zara stared wide-eyed at him. “You’re horrible!” She slapped his arm. D’Melo caught her hand against his shoulder. He held it there. Their eyes lingered in a tender gaze.
“You know,” he said softly. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you.”
Zara fixed her emerald green eyes warmly on his. “Yeah,” she said, clearly in anticipation. “What’s that?”
“You really need to work on your passing. Your soup went everywhere! Did you see how my soup went right in that guy’s face?”
“Oh, shut up!” She yanked her hand free and punched him playfully in the stomach. He chortled heartily. �
�Anyway,” she said. “I had to throw my soup around you because you didn’t duck quick enough!” A smile twinkled on the corner of her lips, as she rubbed something off his cheek.
“Is that soup?” he groaned. “I knew I felt something burning through my flesh!”
Zara flipped a dismissive hand at him. “Oh shush, you big baby.”
They waited a few minutes to make sure no one was coming. Zara blew a hot breath into her cupped hands. “Dude, we left our jackets in the restaurant.”
“That’s alright. Baba will get them for us.” D’Melo rubbed her arms up and down to chase the chill away. “Dawg, your grandfather was right. You are trouble! Chubby’s never gonna let me back in there.”
“What! Chubby loves you,” she piped. “You could pee on the floor and he’d still let you come back.”
D’Melo grimaced disgustedly. “Where do you come up with these things?”
“Hey,” Zara suddenly remembered. “What happened to the third guy?”
“What third guy? There were only two.”
“No. There was a third guy at the bar staring at us. I don’t know how you could have missed him. He had a patch over his eye and a nasty scar down his cheek.”
“Are you sure?” D’Melo said, feeling light-headed.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just that the guy who killed my mom had a cut through his eye. But it couldn’t be him,” D’Melo reasoned, shaking off his paranoia. “That was in D.C., and a very long time ago.”
Although D’Melo’s nightmare had waned over the past few months, it returned with a vengeance that night. This time, after killing D’Melo’s mother, the one-eyed shadowy figure slithered to their mangled car. His dark face appeared in D’Melo’s shattered window. In a demonic voice, he vowed, “You and your father are next.” D’Melo jerked awake, the hairs on his neck bristling.
After completing a magical season at Lincoln Downs, D’Melo was named to the All-American team. It was an honor bestowed on the twenty-four best high school basketball players in the country. He was invited to play in the All-American game at the famed Madison Square Garden in New York.
Spirit King: Return of the Crown Page 12
