Darkness Before Dawn

by Sharon M. Draper

  I decided to call Monty to see if he’d like to go with me this year.

  “I’m scared to go, Keisha,” Monty admitted after a silence.

  “Why, Monty?”

  “‘Cause Andy won’t be there,” Monty said quietly. “And I’m scared of the ghost stories.”

  “We can leave before dark. I promise.”

  “But the fire in the dark is the best part.” Monty was worried. “Keisha?” he asked.

  “Yes, Monty.”

  “Is Andy a ghost now?”

  I saw now what was frightening Monty. “No, Monty, I don’t think so,” I said honestly. “Andy is in a good place, where he is happy and at peace. Besides, ghosts aren’t real and Andy is real. He will always be real as long as you love him and I love him.”

  “Are you sure?” Monty asked.

  “As sure as I can be, Monty. I know that Andy misses you as much as you miss him. But come to the picnic with me. There’ll be lots of other kids there, and you need to have some fun. Tell your mom I’ll pick you up at three.”

  “OK, Keisha. Thanks.”

  When we got to the picnic, most of my friends were already there. B. J. was sitting under a tree with the smallest children, telling them stories and helping them sing songs. I waved at him, and he waved back, smiling. B. J. was either going to be a preacher or a teacher—everybody said so. He loved kids, especially the younger ones. Maybe that’s because they were smaller than he was. B. J. was only five feet tall, but he was tough and wiry and knew tae kwon do. Kids seemed to collect around him wherever he went. He had managed to collect several younger siblings of the senior class, as well as several children of faculty members. The five-year-old twins of Mr. Jasper, the art teacher, each grabbed one of B. J.’s hands as they dragged him to where their dad was painting the faces of the little ones. He grinned at me as the kids pushed him into Mr. Jasper’s lawn chair and he pretended to protest as tiger stripes were painted on his cheeks.

  The principal, Mr. Hathaway, was cheerfully grilling hamburgers. With him was a young man who was obviously his son, but I’d never seen him before. Mr. Hathaway was tall, with caramel-colored skin. He had probably been good-looking thirty years before, and had very unusual hazel, almost golden eyes. Andy used to tease the freshmen and tell them that Hathaway had X-ray vision, because nothing seemed to get by him; those eyes seemed to pierce right into a kid who got caught doing something wrong. Mr. Hathaway’s son, who was delivering ice and soda to his father, looked like a younger, tighter version of his dad. He was muscular, slim, and strikingly good-looking, for his hazel eyes decorated perfectly his honey-bronzed face. His movements, as he lifted the heavy boxes, reminded me of water flowing down a mountain—powerful and strong, but gentle—almost liquid. I glanced at him, not really interested, but he sure did look good. He flashed a smile at me which I guess was meant to charm me. Didn’t work. My mama taught me to be polite, so I smiled back. Now, I’m no fool—he was really fine—but he looked to be way over twenty-one, so he disappeared from my thoughts about as fast as his smile faded. I didn’t look back, but I was aware he was watching me as I headed over with Monty to speak to Mrs. Blackwell, my English teacher, who had brought her son Brandon.

  Brandon was eight, and he challenged Monty to a foot race right away. I laughed as I watched them run across the grass. Monty left Brandon in the dust and roared with delight as he took his victory lap around a tree. Brandon laughed and tried to trip him. Then both boys wandered down to watch the junior high girls play softball. I walked alone, remembering the places Andy and I had walked last year. The sun was warm, and I felt relaxed and at peace for the moment. I walked over to watch the game.

  Angel sat on the bench with Rob’s younger sister, Kiara, who now insisted on being called Joyelle. Neither of them showed much excitement about the girls’ softball game. Kiara had called me a few days after Andy’s funeral.

  “Can I ask you something serious, Keisha?” she had asked. I could hear the tremor in her voice.

  “Sure,” I replied. “Are you OK?”

  “No, not really. I’ll probably never be OK again,” she said. “I miss my brother, I’m still shaking about Andy, and I’m scared death is just gonna jump in and grab me, too!”

  “I know it’s hard,” I told her, “but you gotta hold on to the good memories and step out into the future—even if it’s scary. That’s what I’m trying to do.”

  “I’m trying to grab hold of something,” Kiara replied. “And I decided I’m changing my name,” she said suddenly, breathing deeply into the phone. “What do you think?”

  “Huh? Can you do that?”

  “I have to do something, or I’ll go crazy,” Kiara explained. “My parents can’t get past Robbie’s death and I can’t either. And now with Andy being gone, too, I think I’m gonna explode! I have to change something so I can deal with tomorrow, like you said. Do you feel me on this?”

  “Yeah, I feel you, I guess. What are you gonna change it to?”

  “I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” Kiara replied. “Robbie and Andy used to call me by my full name to tease me, but I kinda liked it. It made me feel like an actress or a movie star or somebody who gives autographs to other people.”

  “What is your full name?”

  “Kiara Joyelle Leila Victoria Washington.”

  “That’s a mouthful,” I commented.

  “I just want to be called Joyelle. Is that too much to ask?” She started to cry again. “I want some joy in my life—all the time,” she said angrily. “If anybody wants to talk to me, they have to call me with joy on their lips when they do,” she added almost defiantly.

  “I think that’s cool, Joyelle,” I told her. All she wanted was for someone to tell her it was OK. “I got your back on this.”

  “Thanks, Keisha. This is important to me. I’m gonna tell my parents as soon as they get home from work.”

  “What will they say?”

  “It will take them some time to get used to it, but they’ll do it. It’s cheaper than taking me to a shrink, which is probably what they need. Life is rough at my house.”

  As Joyelle had predicted, her parents let her do it. They called her what she wanted, because I think it was easier than dealing with the kid’s pain. I glanced at the two friends watching the game. They looked so bored they could have been in math class. Angel was thin, pale, and almost ghostlike, while Joyelle was round, brown, and solid. Angel was tall; Joyelle was short. But they fit together like coffee and cream. Both of them had started paying more attention to the high school boys playing on the next field than to their own game. They giggled as they watched Gerald miss a hit and Tyrone miss a catch. I just smiled as I watched the boys try to cover their mistakes with loud, macho grunts and roars.

  “I can play better than that,” Monty boasted as he walked to the fence.

  “Go for it, Monty!” I challenged. “I bet you can, too!”

  “Why don’t you go on out there and show them!” Angel told him with a laugh.

  Joyelle laughed, too, as Monty sauntered over to the field. He picked up a bat and stepped in front of the next batter. “Play ball!” he yelled.

  The boys on the field, mostly juniors and seniors, cracked up as the seven-year-old spit in the dirt. “Throw him your fast ball, Gerald!” Leon yelled from the outfield. Leon could always get a laugh from kids as well as teachers. When the biology teacher brought in small minnows to feed the bass in the classroom tank, Leon grabbed a minnow and swallowed it whole. The girls squealed, the boys hooted, and the teacher chuckled and told Leon to stop now or eat all three dozen minnows. Leon laughed and said he’d had enough, but he pretended to breathe like a fish with gills for the rest of the class. He, too, had been with most of them since kindergarten, but somehow he had never been part of their close group of friends.

  Gerald wound up his pitch, and threw it with full force at the little boy who stood in front of him—knees bent, bat ready, determination in his eye. Monty watched the
ball approach, waited for the right moment, then swung with so much power he almost twisted completely around. The ball connected with a resounding wallop and Monty took off around the bases on his short, sturdy legs. He rounded first base with ease. The older boys, who at first had been laughing, were now cheering him on as the outfield fumbled to get the ball. Monty approached second base just as the ball was thrown, but Tyrone, the second base man, missed because he was laughing so hard, so Monty continued, full speed, to third. He passed third base seconds before the ball did, and he slid into home like the professionals he watched on TV.

  Both teams exploded in cheers for him, as well as the girls from the junior high softball teams. Even though the game wasn’t over, they put Monty up on their shoulders and marched him all the way back to the food area, where they all got hamburgers and soda.

  Leon grabbed a burger from Mr. Hathaway’s grill and fixed it with onions, potato chips, and baked beans stuffed under the bun, which Monty gobbled with glee. Leon then took a watermelon and cracked it open by bringing it down with full force on the corner of the picnic table with a loud sploosh. “I’ve always wanted to do that!” he said with satisfaction.

  “Tastes better when it’s ragged!” Monty agreed, grabbing a handful of watermelon with his bare, dirty hands. Leon joined him and the two of them gobbled the sweet, red, juicy hunks of watermelon, gleefully ignoring the disgusted looks they got from some of the girls.

  I got a small plate of potato salad and corn chips and sat across from them. I just shook my head at Leon and Monty.

  “Want some, Keisha?” Monty asked with a grin. “Not a chance!” I told him.

  “You don’t know what a good thing you’re missing!” Leon said, smiling shyly. He hardly ever spoke to me at school.

  I looked directly at him, which made him glance away and pretend to swat insects from the watermelon. “Something about dirty hands and watermelon juice just doesn’t turn me on,” I said, smiling back. Leon just laughed and dug out another huge handful of watermelon and gave it to Monty.

  I nibbled at my potato salad and looked at Leon closely. He was one of those kids that you know but you never really pay much attention to. Leon was just a little taller than me, brown-skinned and rugged looking. He wasn’t what the girls would call fine, but he would be at the top of our list for a second look. His eyes, which were large and dark, were accented by his heavy eyebrows. He wore his hair cut very close, and everybody knew that he could really sing. When Leon noticed me looking at him, he jumped up to get Monty some cake. He brought Monty two slices, then slapped him on the back. “You’re really good, kid! Keep it up and you’ll be almost as good as I am! Andy would have been very proud of you, kid.” Leon wandered off then to watch the teachers play Scrabble.

  Monty grinned with delight. Then his smile faded a little. I know he was thinking about Andy. He gulped and swallowed hard. I could tell he was trying not to cry.

  Joyelle noticed. She walked over to him and sat down. “I know what you’re thinking, Monty. It’s OK to think about him. I think about Robbie all the time. Sometimes I even talk to him. And it’s OK to cry. But don’t cry today. You were dynamite out there!” She touched him gently on the hand. “Wasn’t he, Keisha?” she asked.

  “Best I’ve seen today!” I said honestly.

  Monty sniffed and grinned at me and Joyelle. The sun was setting on the lake and the three of us sat together in silence, watching it go down, each remembering what we had lost.

  Just then, Rhonda and Tyrone came laughing and chasing each other from the woods. She was dodging him like she didn’t want him to catch her, and he was missing like he really couldn’t. “Whassa matter, girl?” he yelled to her, laughing. “You scared to get that fine outfit all wet?”

  “You are not gonna throw me in that water!” Rhonda squealed, dodging his outstretched arms.

  “Yeah, I better not,” he said as they got to the table where I was sitting. “I don’t wanna have to face your mama and tell her how your new outfit got all wrinkled and shrunk! That’s what happens to cheap clothes when they get wet, you know.”

  He ducked as she squealed and pretended to hit him, then grinned at her as he headed over to the grill to get some food.

  Rhonda said down next to me, still laughing, her face glowing with perspiration and happiness. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do with him,” she said breathlessly.

  “Love him,” I replied simply.

  Rhonda glanced at me and said quietly, “That’s part of the problem. I gotta talk to you, girl.” We walked over to a bench by the lake, leaving Monty and Joyelle arguing over the last piece of cake.

  “What’s up?” I asked. Me and Rhonda have been tight since seventh grade when we were assigned as locker partners. Even though I’m sorta serious and studious, and Rhonda uses the “no stress/no strain” attitude toward school, we’ve stayed close all through high school.

  Rhonda sighed. “It’s Tyrone.”

  “He’s not creepin’ around, is he?” I asked.

  “No way. It’s just the opposite. I like him so much, and he feels the same way and sometimes I feel like I’m gonna explode ’cause I want him so bad. And he wants me, too. I don’t know what to do.”

  I sighed. Andy and I had once felt that way—it seemed so long ago. “Did anything happen just now?” I knew this wasn’t just lazy girl talk. Rhonda and Tyrone had been gone from the group for quite a while.

  Rhonda sighed and nodded. “We were sitting right over there on that log, watching the sun as it slowly went down. Looked like a big red piece of candy. I’m feeling real mellow, then he reaches over and kisses me—real sweet and tenderlike. Then he kissed me again. And another time. It’s like the kisses came so fast that one just melted into the other.”

  “And you felt like you were melting into him as well,” I added, remembering.

  “Oh, yeah.” Rhonda closed her eyes and remembered. “He was fire. I was wax.”

  “And you both felt like a puddle of hot sauce,” I said with a smile. I knew. I had been there.

  “‘I love you, Rhonda,’ he told me then,” Rhonda continued. “So I told him, ‘I love you, too, Tyrone.’ I touched his face and traced the scar on his cheek. It’s almost gone—you know, the one he got from the accident.”

  “I know which one,” I replied real quietly.

  “This isn’t upsetting you, is it, Keisha?” Rhonda asked with real concern. “Maybe we better get back to the picnic.”

  “No, girl. I’m fine. Let’s just see if we can get you through this. Keep talkin’.”

  “You know, even though Tyrone’s only got that small scar on his face, I know the scars inside are deep and ugly.” Rhonda sighed and watched the shadows where the sun had disappeared. “Andy’s death brought everything back to him—the night of the accident when he and Andy and B.J. watched Rob die in that car.”

  I started to cry.

  “I wonder if Andy realized how much his death would affect so many people,” Rhonda mused, reaching over to grab my hand.

  “Probably not,” I said, sniffing. “Andy was fighting his own monsters—he didn’t have time to think about anybody else.”

  Rhonda added, “You know, I’m probably the only person who’s seen Tyrone cry. He looks tough—like a boxer or a soldier. But he’s gentle as a kitten. And he’s afraid of death. I’ve seen him tremble.”

  “Seems like you do a pretty good job of making him tremble, too!” I teased her, trying to lighten the mood.

  “You got that right!” Rhonda agreed with a laugh. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do with that dude!”

  “Let’s head back,” I said as we stretched. “I can smell the bonfire.”

  “Must be Tyrone—burning for me!” Rhonda laughed.

  “Yeah, right!”

  We got back to the main area of the picnic just as the campfire was full and ready. Some of the group had gone home, but a good crowd huddled around the large, crackling fire. Angel and Joyelle were with Geral
d. Angel was a little nervous around fire since she’d lived through a terrifying one in their apartment, so she sat very close to her brother. She seemed to like the fire’s magic, but was afraid of what it could do. Joyelle drew in the dirt with a stick, her thoughts far from the blaze in front of her. Monty sat near Joyelle. He watched her instead of the fire. Her face seemed to glow as the flames reflected on it.

  Me and Rhonda spotted Tyrone and sat with him. I watched as Rhonda snuggled as close to Tyrone as she could. I sat a few feet from them, trying not to be jealous that they had it all together.

  “Andy used to love this picnic,” I told them. “Remember last year when he got up and did the Indian dance around the fire?”

  “In just his underwear!” Rhonda reminded us. I laughed in spite of myself. I noticed then Mr. Hathaway’s son, sitting in the shadows away from the fire. He watched the fire, eating slices of apple that he cut with a small, sharp, silver-handled knife. He seemed like he was listening to the bits of our conversation that drifted his way, and every time I glanced in his direction, it seemed like those golden eyes were looking right at me.

  B. J. joined me and Rhonda and Tyrone then, for most of his young followers had gone home. He started singing. His voice was deep and strong, much more powerful than would be expected for his size. Up into the darkness of the almost summer sky, and across the darkness of the silent lake, B. J. sang the words of the old camp song, “Kumbaya.” The fire crackled, crickets chirped in the distance, and the wind carried his voice to all who sat there, deep in the silence of their own thoughts.