Jumped In (20 page)

 

MORNING

I
KNOW
I
SHOULD GO SEE
G
RAVES
.

But I can't.

I won't. There is no way I'm going to those apartments again.

Luis is dead.

I tried to make a friend. I tried and he's dead.

I go back and forth to his place, all over town looking for him. Worrying myself sick for days. And he doesn't bother to tell me where he is? Doesn't bother to mention the one little detail that he might die? Doesn't even have his mom call?

Is that what a
friend
would do?

I'm never going to Graves's place. I'm never going to school again. I'm never gonna get out of this bed.

I pull the covers over my head and close my eyes as tight as I can. I try to get to that place in my head where I don't care … where nothing matters.

I almost get there—

“HELLO, SAM!”

No! I'm sleeping!

“HELLO, SAM!”

Fucking bird.

“HELLO, SAM! HELLO, SAM!”

I press the ends of my tear-soaked pillow against my skull and into my ears as hard as I can.

Nothing will drown out the sound of that stupid parrot.

I try to pull myself up but moving my body is like hauling a laundry bag full of bricks. I fight against the weight and stand up.

“HELLO, SAM! HELLO, SAM! HELLO, SAM!”

I open my bedroom door. Gilbert is looking right at me.

“HELLO, SAM!”

I wanna hate him.

I wanna sleep.

I wanna give up on everything.

I wanna forget about Luis and forget about Graves and anyone else who's expecting anything from me.

“HELLO, SAM!”

But I can't.

I unlatch the door to the cage and reach my hand out for Gilbert.

Shhhh. It's okay.
I take him to my chest and hold him there. I stroke his feathers. Feel his heart beating.

I like you, Gilbert.

I look up and see Ginny and Bill standing there. “Good morning, Sam.”

“Hi.”

We're all quiet together for a minute.

“I gotta get dressed and go see Mr. Graves.”

Bill says, “Sam, I'm proud of you. You're my boy. And I'm damn proud.” He and Ginny wrap their arms around me.

We don't say a word.

We just stand there, together, holding each other like we never have before. Then Bill says, “Now you go do what you have to do, Sam.”

 

OUT TO SEA

I
CALL
J
ULISA
. Give her the sad news. She sobs.

I tell her, “I don't know what to say.”

“You don't have to say anything, Sam.”

“I'm going over to Luis's.”

“I'm coming too then.”

“That's good, Julisa. Thank you.”

I wrap myself tight in my jacket and start up the hill to the Viking Glen Apartments. I'm just a few steps up when I reach for my pocket. It's still in there. The letter to my mom.

I look back down the hill at the house.

I've always called it
my
grandparents' house
, but right now I have this overwhelming feeling that I belong in that little rambler and that Ginny and Bill are all the family I need.

And that house is my home.

This place is my home.

I look down past it now. To Puget Sound. To Des Moines Marina. All the white boats moored up for the winter, bobbing in the midnight blue water.

I head down there.

I run.

I sprint to the marina and pull that letter out of my pocket.

I tear onto the dock—past a family packing up their sailboat, past a couple of old fishermen. I crunch that letter to my mom into a ball, sprint to the last board—

And I launch that letter.

I watch it fly … then drop into Puget Sound.

It pops up to the surface like a bobber.

The letter floats on waves, the tide pulling it farther and farther out.

And everything in it … away.

I take out my phone and hit the Contacts button. I punch in my grandparents' number and type the letters
h-o-m-e
.

 

LUIS'S STASH

I
HEAD UP THE HILL
.

Again.

I'm all sweaty from running and this shirt—the only dress shirt I got—is way too small. I know I look like crap.

I'm not ready to tell Graves.

I'm not ready to face up to the fact that Luis isn't coming back.

I knock on his door. Graves is cooking again. He has on a starched white shirt and a bright blue silk tie.

“Making some enchiladas for Leticia. She taught me, you know.”

“You heard?”

“Yeah. Cryin' shame. I'll break down later. For now, we got to be strong for Leticia.” He shakes his head. “I can't imagine the pain she's goin' through. To lose your husband so young, and then your son … Sam, can you grab the plate of ham off the stove for me?”

“Yeah. Where should I put it?”

“We're taking it downstairs.”

Now stuff starts coming up in my chest. My head tightens all the way around.

I'm going to see Leticia again.

We walk down the stairs, Mr. Graves taking one slow, careful step at a time. I watch, making sure he doesn't fall. We get down there and Graves tells me to knock. I knock and knock. Nobody answers.

I'm used to it.

“Maybe she's not here,” I say.

“Open the door, son.” It's unlocked. He walks in.

“Lunch, Leticia! Lunch patrol!”

“Graves, get in here!” she shouts.

“She's in his room,” he says. “Come on.”

We walk through the dining room. There are two empty root beer cans sitting on the table. Then down the hall. Luis's door is open. Leticia is sitting on the floor clenching tear-soaked tissues, looking like hell. There are a couple journals and all kinds of paper scattered around her.

She stands up holding a bunch of the papers in her hand.

“Look … look!” Leticia has that crazy energy people get when they've been awake for way too long. She squeezes Graves about as tight as his little old man body can take.

Then she looks at me with a sad, intense smile. “Sam.” Then her smile turns excited and she shows me the papers. “Did you know about this?”

I look at a page.

I grab more pages off the floor.

They're all poems typed on Luis's old typewriter. It seems like there are a hundred of them. “We wrote a poem for school, but I thought that was his first one. I had no idea—”

“Read this, Sam.”

I start reading it silently.

“Out loud? Please?” She sits down on the floor and closes her eyes. She clenches her tissues in one hand and holds a stack of poems against her chest. I read to her and to Mr. Graves.

 

SECRET POET

T
EARS ARE FLOWING DOWN
L
ETICIA'S CHEEKS
.

“He was a poet. My son was a poet.” She sounds amazed and surprised and sad all at the same time. “Why didn't he ever tell me?”

“It's kids, Leticia. At his age they aren't going to tell their mama a thing unless they got to. Isn't that right, Sam?”

“We wanna say stuff. But we can't.”

“Can you read another one?”

“Sure.”

“You have such a good voice, Sam.”

There's a knock at the door. It's gotta be Julisa. This is all so heavy, I'm happy to go let her in. “Hey,” I mumble.

“Hi, Sam.” She gives me a tight hug. I introduce her to everyone. It's clear she's doing everything she can to hold it together.

She has some flowers in her hands. She gives them to Leticia and says, “Luis wrote this for me. I wanted to…”

She can't get any more words out so she shows Luis's mom the poem he had written for her and had gotten up the nerve to actually
give
her, which explains a lot about why she's here and why she was searching for Luis.

Leticia asks her to read the poem out loud.

I read another poem.

Graves reads one.

Leticia reads one. We keep on taking turns.

Leyla shows up with more food and she starts reading poems too.

As long as we're reading, it feels like Luis is talking. And if Luis is talking, he's still with us.

So we keep on reading.