The Girl Who Fell from the Sky (19 page)

“It’s a song I knew once. Now I think it’s a song I made up,” he said.

“What do you call it?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“It needs a title. I think I’d call it ‘Flight.’”

How would he say what he had to say?

Instead he said, “I’m not twenty-five. I’m seventeen. I lied so I could get in the center. I didn’t want to end up in foster care. I ran away. I was eleven. I kind of lived with anyone who would take me in for years. I mean, I say ran away but I thought I was going to something. I just kind of lost my way at some point.”

“Where were you going?”

“Right here, I guess. I guess I was going right here. Don’t they always say that you end up exactly where you’re supposed to be?”

“Do you miss home?” she asked.

He shrugged. Missing people, missing home. He hadn’t allowed himself a feeling like that in so long. “I did so many different things when I lived on the road: ranch hand, factory worker, piano player in a bar. I don’t think I missed out on much. Even if it wasn’t a proper growing up, I think I had a lot of growing up experiences.”

“Except,” and unable to explain why roller coasters and cotton candy, roasted peanuts and Ferris wheels were suddenly on his mind, he said, “an amusement park. I never got to go on one of those rides.” He felt young around her—back to his own age—and maybe younger. He missed out on the chance to seek out a fright just for fun.

“I was small for my age. If you can believe it. I was never tall enough to get on the big rides as a kid,” he said.

“That’s easy then,” she said. “We’ll pick a day and we’ll go. I used to love amusement parks. There’s Oaks Park. It’s not Disneyland, but . . . it’s closer.”

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.” Okay, he thought, it’s a date.

“Next week. Next Saturday?”

“Sure. Yeah, okay.”

They sat silently watching the birds come and go. They were common birds: sparrows, robins, and the occasional large crow. Brick put his hands back in his pockets now, afraid of the silence. But certain today he would not tell.

“I won’t tell your secret. That’s a promise,” she said. “I’m good at not telling.”

Nella

Day 766. I don’t know what to do. Why did he do it? Anything could have happened. When I came home from work there was just Doug on the couch watching TV. When I said where are the kids, he said he took them to the park. He said they wanted to go. I know they wanted to go but they can’t go alone. They can’t be alone out there. They don’t know this place. He said he told them how to get home. He showed them the way. I can’t believe he took them out and left them there. I went to take them home. They were right there when I walked out. I hugged them to me. I think Robbie was scared because he saw me crying. I was so happy they were okay. My babies were okay. What if something happened? I cannot think of it. It is all on my mind.

Rachel

Jesse’s regular pizza place in Southeast is crowded. Tonight it’s busy with young rockers with dyed black hair and chains that hang from their belts. They’ll be gone soon, Jesse says, to drag race along the wide boulevards near the college and downtown. But right now the juke box is blasting “white people music,” as Lakeisha says too loudly. “Can we go someplace else?”

I agree with Lakeisha for the same reason, but say instead: “How about if we get it to go and have a picnic in a park somewhere?”

Jesse and Brick agree and walk to the counter to ask for the pizzas to go. At the counter Brick accidentally bumps one of the young rockers.

“Hey, watch it,” the kid says.

“My bad,” Brick says.

“Yeah, it is.”

Brick is so much larger than the rocker—really than everyone else in the room—it’s hard to imagine that the rocker would dare to fight him. But it’s the tone in his voice that makes me think he’s eager to prove to his friends, or to his girl, or to himself that he’s not going to be pushed around. Not tonight.

“Okay, chill,” Brick says. It’s like he’s used to being a target. He’s the guy that you have to challenge to prove that you’re not scared.

“Yeah, cool it, man,” Jesse says. There’s nothing more forceful or threatening in what Jesse says. But Jesse looks the rocker in the eye, and it’s like they share some secret code. It’s something like: He’s with me. He’s okay.

“Well, just tell your ‘brother’ to cool it. He almost knocked my pop out of my hand.”

But before any of us thinks about it longer, the pizzas are ready, we run out the door. It’s summer. It’s a perfect summer night.

A
T
L
AURELHURST
P
ARK
we spread out on a blanket Jesse finds in his trunk. It’s hot still even though it’s after dark. The sky is full of stars.

“Gotta have something to drink for a party.” Jesse’s bought two six-packs of beer from the grocery store with a fake ID.

“That’s what I used to say,” Brick says when he sees the beer.

“Well, not you, man. We should’ve got a root beer for you, man. Sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

Lakeisha takes a beer and hands one to me. “I ain’t gonna tell, if you don’t.” She opens the beer. I do too.

It is a perfect summer night, and I am sitting closer to Jesse than I normally would or maybe he’s sitting closer to me.

Jesse asks a bunch of what-if questions. What if . . . what if you could live anywhere, where would it be?

“In a big old house,” Lakeisha says.

“Jamaica.” Jesse’s choice.

“Somewhere in Europe,” I say.

“Right here. This town.” That’s Brick.

“This is probably where I’ll end up too. Working in my dad’s law office,” Jesse says.

We talk about everything. So we also talk about sex. The boys talk about sex. Lakeisha and I listen.

“I got my sex education from the Sears, Roebuck catalog,” Jesse says. He’s two beers into the night, and I can see the red rise into his cheeks. “I was like nine years old and my older cousin—he was twelve and didn’t know anything. But I didn’t know that then. The things he told me. Anyway, he said I could see it for myself right there in the Sears catalog. There were girls in their bras and underwear.

“I go home that day. Sneak the catalog into the bathroom with me, find the right page, and start wonking off. Then my dad opens the door. I’m like shell-shocked. He says, ‘Son?’ and he can see I’ve got the catalog open to the bigger-sized women. He says ‘Excuse me, son. Go on ahead.’ He closes the door
and I go right back to it. That’s the whole sex-ed talk he ever gave me. Guess he was just glad I wasn’t gay.”

We all laugh.

“Bet your grandma had a thing or two to teach you . . .” Jesse says, grinning at me.

I smile but I am glad that Brick speaks up and takes the attention away from me.

“I didn’t get much of a sex-ed talk myself,” Brick says. He’s smiling but something is shaking in his voice.

“Come on, man,” Jesse says. “What’d you need to learn? I want tips from you. Women throw themselves at you.”

Lakeisha giggles.

“I’m not into that. You have to be careful with people.”

Already the mood has changed. “I’m just saying,” Brick says, “I was introduced to what sex was or something that—”

I can tell there is more than the secret of his age in his eyes.

“Ah, never mind,” he says. “I’m making this sound like a meeting.”

“Hi, my name is Brick,” Jesse says. “I’m a buzz killer.” Brick smiles and gives Jesse a playful shove on the shoulder. They play fight, and Brick wrestles Jesse to the ground and pins him. It’s easy. Even if it is just for pretend.

I
T’S GETTING CHILLY
. Clouds cover the stars, but the moon is still bright. It is a bright, nearly full moon. Jesse gets his jacket for me and another blanket from his car for Lakeisha. He doesn’t drape the jacket on my back like a cape, but puts it on me like a blanket and kind of tucks me in. When he sits
down, and no one is looking, he puts his hand beneath the jacket, touches my knee and gives it a squeeze.

You can hear the ducks in the rushes by the pond now. And for some reason that makes us quiet. We can’t see them from where we sit, but it sounds like a whole flock has landed and is settling down for the night.

“Come on,” Jesse says out of the blue. “We’re going to feed the ducks the leftover crusts.” We run down the hill to the pond. Brick carries the box; Jesse leads the way; and Lakeisha and I trail after them.

We can hear the ducks but not see them. We each throw out several bits of crust into the water. No birds appear.

Jesse decides if they won’t come to him, he’ll go to them. He takes off his shoes and rolls up his shorts and walks into the water toward where they seem to be nesting.

“You crazy,” Lakeisha says and takes a seat on a bench by the pond.

Jesse’s in the water to his thighs. He keeps throwing bits of crust into the water, at first like coins in a wishing well, then like Frisbees across the water’s top. There’s a loud squawking, and suddenly a flock of birds lifts up above the rushes. They dive down to the water where Jesse stands. He’s surrounded by them, and they snap up the crusts he’s already thrown. “Hey, come bring me more.”

Brick turns to me and extends his hand. “I don’t want to get wet,” I say.

“Then I’ll carry you.”

He kneels so that I can jump on his back, and he strides into
the water where Jesse stands. He’s so tall that my feet barely skim the water when he’s in up to his thighs.

“Those—those are just mallards, but those over there are swans,” Brick says. “If you look real close, you can see them by the tall weeds.”

“I can’t see them,” I say.

“Then you have to listen. You’ll recognize them by sound.”

Brick puts his hand to his mouth and makes a bird sound like nothing I’ve ever heard. Once. Twice. And then the third time, the sound isn’t one he’s made but one that we hear.

“Oh wow. What does that sound mean?” I ask.

“It’s a contact call,” he says. “I guess it means, ‘Hey, I’m here. I’m with you too.’”

Just then one of the swans swims through what seems like dozens of ducks to where Brick stands. We stand in the water among the birds until we have no food left to feed them. As soon as the food is gone, the birds take flight. We watch them fly away.

The boys are soaking wet. They smell like the pond. Jesse’s stripped down to his boxers and has wrapped a blanket around his legs. Brick keeps wringing water from his shorts and is standing in a small puddle now. We’re all shivering so we pile into Jesse’s car to get warm. Jesse and I sit in the front—Brick and Lakeisha in the back. Jesse turns on the heat and then reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a pouch.

“Do you have a light?” Jesse asks Brick.

“That’s drugs,” Lakeisha says.

“It’s harmless,” Jesse says.

“It’s not legal,” Lakeisha says. “You could get arrested for having that.”

“Shhh . . . don’t tell.”

“My hair’s gonna smell all like that. I’m gonna get in trouble,” Lakeisha says.

“Open the window. So man you got a light?”

Brick shakes his head no. Jesse rummages through the glove compartment then the side pocket on his door. He asks me to check mine too.

“How often you do that, man?” Brick asks.

“I’m casual. Not much. It’s not like those people,” he says.

“It’s not a big deal, Brick,” I say even though I’m not so sure.

Jesse finds a matchbook and lights up. I pick up a beer. It’s sweaty from the heat. “Will you open this for me?” I ask Jesse.

“I’m out,” Brick says.

“I’m gonna go with you,” Lakeisha says.

“Rachel?” Brick looks at me.

“I’m okay. Jesse can take me home.”

Lakeisha and Brick get out of the car. It is quiet for a long time after they leave, and smoke fills the air. Jesse passes the joint to me, but I wave it away. I keep drinking my beer.

“What did you mean it’s not like those people?” I ask after Brick and Lakeisha are gone.

“You know, all crazy. Turn into a bum.”

“Brick’s not a bum.”

“I wasn’t saying that.”

“It sounded like maybe you thought he was a bum, or even like you weren’t like the men at the center because . . . It sounded like you meant black people or . . . I don’t know.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Jesse says. “Don’t think that,” he says and takes another puff. “You’re not mad are you?” The way he says it is like an apology.

I don’t want to be mad.

“You’re different anyway, you know? It’s like you’re black but not really black,” he says. “Don’t be mad, okay? You want some? Do you want to try?” He gestures with his hand after he takes another puff.

“No,” I say, but I reach for another beer.

T
HE SKY IS SWIRLING
. And a lovely pressure rises into my head. We’re lying on the ground again, watching stars. Jesse is talking about traveling: Ecuador, Peru, Argentina, Chile.

“Brazil,” he says. “You know you’d look just like everyone else there.”

“Really?”

“Everyone’s a mulatto there basically. Brown with green eyes, gray eyes, blue eyes. It’s all the same. Exotic. Those are your people,” he says. “Wouldn’t you love to go? To be somewhere like that?”

“Like what? A place where all the people look like me?”

My bottle of beer is empty. Jesse hands me another. I drink it like I am thirsty.

“So let’s go. We’ll just go,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll take the check my parents gave me to pay the tuition, we’ll buy a couple of tickets, and backpack all over South America. You’d love it. You’d fit right in.”

“What about college?” I ask.

“When we come back, college will still be there,” Jesse says.

“It’s called running away,” I say.

“Or it’s called wanderlust,” Jesse says. “Or lust.”

And then he gives me a look that should not surprise me but it does. Because even though I thought that I was liking him, it seemed impossible until this moment that he was liking me too.

He leans toward me then and raises his hand to my lips. He touches me like a child touching a stranger’s face. He wants to translate what is happening between us to his fingertips, make sure he can trust what he is feeling by taking me in through his hands. Are you a kind person? Well, let me feel your lips. Are they soft? His fingers move across my cheeks and my closed eyes; he’s like a blind man creating me for himself. Heat grows in me in widening circles.