together on a lab report, and once last fall
I sat with him on the bus ride
coming home from a field trip to Oak Point.
Now, it turns out, he has a car,
and I can get from school to work with him. I don’t have to quit
school or my job. It’s like someone’s saying, Katie, don’t quit
now; you’ve come this far and you’ve worked
hard to get here. Every afternoon, I lean back in that car
and close my eyes. Sometimes I actually fall
asleep. Of course, I make it a point
to pay for gas. I’ve never expected a free ride.
2. (two weeks later)
Whenever we get off work together, Harris gives me a ride
home. But I can’t find out where he lives. He won’t say, so I quit
asking. Maybe that’s a sore point
with him, like it sort of is with me. Sometimes after work
I invite him in, and Keesha jokes around that I’m falling
in love. It isn’t that, but I keep thinking about his car,
full of clothes and blankets. I bet anything he lives in that car.
I bet when it gets cold he rides
around until the car warms up, and then he falls
asleep till he gets cold again. Keesha says I should quit
worrying about other people. You have to work
hard enough to take care of yourself! Good point,
but I could make the same point
back to her. She says if it turns out his car
is all he’s got, and if he has enough hours at work
to pay for food, next time he gives me a ride
I could let him know that if he ever wants to quit
all that, there’s room here. I remember last fall,
I met Keesha at a low point in my life. I almost quit
both school and work. Through all that’s happened, she never let me fall.
Now we can both see: Harris has a car, but he needs a ride.
PART VI
KEESHA’S HOUSE
KEESHA’S HOUSE JOE
It used to be when kids showed up they’d say,
I’m lookin’ for Joe’s house. Somebody sent me here
and said to ask you for a place to stay
tonight. They’d stay a week, a month, a year …
It’s still like that, ’cept now they look at me
like, Where’d you come from? Ain’t this Keesha’s house?
I go get Keesha, and I watch while she
checks out the situation, thinks what couch
or bed we got. Time and again, she makes
the right decision. She helps so many kids.
The way she holds her head up, my heart breaks—
ain’t nobody thinkin’ ’bout what Keesha needs.
I love this girl whatever way I can,
too young to be her father, too old to be her man.
SAME OLD STORY CHARLES (DONTAY’S FATHER)
A month now, Dontay’s missing. Letter came
today—his foster father still ain’t said
just why the boy run off. Sound like the same
old story: they get paid, he don’t get fed.
Ain’t nobody seen my boy. I know Lucille
be sick with worry too—our youngest son
in danger, us in here just prayin’ he’ll
be found before he mess up bad. Just one
mistake. He’ll think he won’t get caught. Might
be right, a time or two. But he won’t stop.
Stakes get higher; can’t get out; some night
somebody got no use for him. I got
two years behind me, about one more to go.
There’s too much I can’t see. Too much I know.
HE’S GOT A PLACE ANTHONY (DONTAY’S FOSTER FATHER)
Sounds like Charles and Lucille are blaming us
for Dontay being gone so long. We’ve
tried to keep them up to date, and trust
they’ll call us if he contacts them. We leave
the front porch light on every night in case
he comes back here. Lenora keeps his bed
made up, and we agree he’s got a place
with us if he comes back. We must have said
something that set Dontay off—it’s hard to know.
The rules that make our own kids feel secure
don’t work that way for him. He has to show
how much he doesn’t need us, but I’m not so sure.
There’s so many things he should be told
but he can’t hear them. Fourteen years old.
WHO’D BE HURT? JUDGE DAVISON
The juvenile system is set up
to protect kids and the community at large.
I don’t see it as either “pass a cup
of kindness” or “put the monsters behind bars.”
Take Carmen: I read her case and try to judge
what she did, what she intended, what she knew.
She’s not perfect. There’s a little smudge
or two in here I can’t ignore. But who
would I be helping by coming down too hard?
Who’d be hurt by letting her go home?
I weigh the facts, decide what I regard
as truth, and think what I’d want for my own
child. I believe Carmen will be okay.
I’ll talk straight, then send her on her way.
SHE’S DOING OKAY WILLIAM (KEESHA’S FATHER)
Tobias knows the place where Keesha stays,
that house on Jackson Street with a blue door.
She’s prob’ly better off there. Still, some days
I wonder—if I went over there and swore
I’d stay sober: first, would she come home?
and second, could I keep my word?
Sounds like she’s doing okay on her own,
and why should she believe me now? Third
time I’ve been through this. The other two
I lasted a few weeks, then let someone talk
me into just one drink. Twelve Steps. That shoe
fits some people, but it’s not the way I walk.
Love holds up an angry fist to pride;
they beat each other down till I’m half dead inside.
WHERE’S HARRIS? JEANNINE (HARRIS’S MOTHER)
Hey, King, come here. You miss him too, I know.
The house has been so quiet since he left.
You were a puppy when he was a boy, and now
we’re both getting old. Where’s Harris? What Greg calls the theft
of his blankets and clothes at least lets me hope he’s warm.
I keep setting his place and cooking for three. More
for you, I suppose … 3:17 … An alarm
goes off—you hear it too—each day when the door
stays closed. Harris is not choosing this. Greg’s wrong.
I’ve read enough books by now to know.
Could Greg change his mind? It could take a long
time. Does Harris have any safe place to go?
All these questions, and who am I talking to?
King, the only one listening seems to be you.
SKATING OFF ALONE MARTHA (KATIE’S MOTHER)
I dreamed of Katie skating in the blue
costume I wore when I was seventeen.
Someone pushed her and she fell—who
was it? She sprawled on the ice, weeping, between
two skaters who went sailing on, leaving me—
I mean her—leaving Katie there. Who’s this Joe
who lets these kids stay in his house for free?
Could he be molesting Katie? No,
Mom, no one’s hurting us. This place
is safe. She’s clear on that. But why so cold
toward me? She gets that look on her face
like I should know what’s wrong without being told.
In t
he dream, she slammed down the phone.
Then she—or was it me?—went skating off alone.
PART VII
FINDING HEARTBEATS
KEESHA’S BROTHER STEPHIE
Oh, God! It’s Keesha’s brother in the paper.
Front page story: Tobias Walker, age
fourteen, was found dead Tuesday afternoon
outside a house on Seventh Street.
An investigation is under way. Witnesses are asked
to come forward. Oh, Keesha … Her brother
was a nice kid, decent. The little brother
she was always trying to keep track of. This paper
will be in everybody’s hands today—she’ll be asked
the same questions over and over. My brother
is the same age as hers. He goes down that street
to go swimming at the Y every Monday afternoon.
Mr. Hyde pulled Keesha out of practice yesterday afternoon—
that must have been when she heard about her brother.
She left in tears without a word to anyone. What a lonely street
thin umbrella keeping out the rain. This age
we are—it’s supposed to be so fun, but if you ask
me, it’s really hard. When I lost the baby, I asked
myself a lot of questions, and then one afternoon
it came to me: I can act my age
again! I’m a girl with a mom and a dad and a brother
and no baby, and I better get my research paper
done for English class. I felt like skipping down the street,
laughing and shouting: Look, everyone! Our streets
are paved with gold! Coach Johnson asked,
What’s gotten into you? I got an A on my research paper
and I thought the whole world was mine. This afternoon,
my feet are on the ground again. If someone’s brother
can be here one day and gone the next at age
fourteen, I feel like I don’t want to be this age
too long. I just want to cross the street
before the light turns red, get home and tell my brother
to stay inside where he’ll be safe. I asked
Jason to go with me to the funeral Sunday afternoon,
and he said yes, although to him it’s just a story in the paper.
Tobias Walker, age fourteen, found dead. Has anyone asked
what Tobias was doing on that street on a school-day afternoon?
Keesha’s brother! Most people will read this and toss out the paper.
INVISIBLE SHIELD JASON
I didn’t even know Tobias Walker,
but this funeral shook me up. He looked
like a child, lying in that casket, wearing
a clean white shirt, eyes closed
like he was sleeping, except he
had this defiant expression on his face, as if to say,
I don’t care what you do to me. I wanted to say,
Come back and try again. Walk
back here—give the world another chance. He
almost seemed like he could hear what I was thinking. I looked
over at his sister, sitting in the front row, arms closed
across her chest, eyes blazing, wearing
an expression like a volcano about to erupt. She was wearing
a dark suit that made her look older than she is. I wanted to say
something to her that might come close
to being right, but what? After the funeral, I walked
out ahead of Stephie, and when I looked
back, I saw Steph reach out, heard her say to Keesha, He …
then stop and step back. That one word, he,
was more than Keesha could hear. It was like she was wearing
some kind of invisible shield. Stephie looked
like she was trying hard to think of what to say,
but, like me, she couldn’t. Keesha walked
away and got into a car. A guy closed
the car door and drove off. Who’s that, that closed
the door? I asked, and Stephie said, That’s Joe. He
owns the house. Later we went for a long walk
down by the river, and she told me more about the house where
Keesha and some other kids live on their own. Don’t say
anything to any grownups, Stephie said. Look,
I said, they shouldn’t have to do this! Look
at all the agencies set up to help. It’s a closed
subject to Stephie. She promised Keesha not to say
anything, especially about Joe. He knows some people think he
should report the kids, but he’s not going to. It’s wearing
on me, thinking about them, and then about Tobias Walker.
At least Joe doesn’t close his door and walk away. He does what he
can. It looks to me like the kids at Keesha’s house are wearing
lives designed for people twice their age. But what, if anything, should I say?
A GOOD PERSON KEESHA
When we were little kids, Tobias liked to hide
and make me try to find him. He was good
at hiding; he never made a sound
to give himself away. Sometimes I’d keep
looking for a long time before I’d see
some small movement, and then his little grin. I can still
see it. Tonight I have to make myself sit still
and not look everywhere he could be hiding,
hoping I might find him. If I could just see
him one last time, smiling that good-
natured smile—if I could say goodbye—I might not keep
thinking he’s alive somewhere. I might not jump at every sound,
thinking it’s my brother calling me. Now it sounds
like Joe’s home. I’m surprised he’s still
expecting—I don’t even know. What happens if I don’t always hide
the way I’m feeling? Joe’s gotta be a good
man to stand by and see
me lose control that bad and still see
something good in me. It all started with the sound
of that red cup breaking on the kitchen floor. It felt good
to hear it break. I dropped another cup and then another, and it still
felt good. Threw three plates on the floor and didn’t try to hide
the pieces. Felt like, if I could keep
on breaking dishes, maybe I could keep
myself from breaking. I wonder—who did Joe see
when he walked in? I didn’t even try to hide
what I was doing, and by that time, some sound
was coming out of me. I still
don’t know where it got started—it felt good
and awful all at once. Joe grabbed my wrists, held them. You are a good
person, Keesha. It’s okay. You just keep
on cryin’. Was I crying? I held still
then and let Joe hold me. I let him see
me cry, let him hear that ugly sound.
Didn’t even try to hide.
Maybe Tobias used to keep on hiding
just to hear the sound of me still looking.
Tonight I see how getting found feels good.
READY TO TRY AGAIN DONTAY
Only three days after I got to Keesha’s house,
we heard what happened to Tobias. I never
felt so scared. I don’t even want
to know who did it, or when, or how,
or why. Just wanna keep my distance
from the whole mess. It could
be me, buried six feet deep, and Tobias could
be sleepin’ on this couch in Keesha’s house.
Seems like, sometimes, ain’t no distance
between life and death, even if y
ou never
mean to go that way. Keesha started sayin’ how
I should find out if my foster parents want
me back. She’d say, You should call, at least. I bet they want
to know where you’re at. Sure, but how could
I do it? I knew they’d be plenty mad, how
I stayed gone all this time. One thing about their house
though—I know it’s safe. I started wishin’ I never
left—might be good to put some distance
between me and Dan. But it’s a long distance
between wishin’ and doin’, and even when I wanted
to go back, I could never
get myself to make that call. I could
tell myself to do it, picture the phone ringin’ at their house,
but I could never picture how
they’d answer. Joe must’ve been watchin’ how
I’d pick up the phone and put it down. Could he see the distance
I was feelin’ between this house
and that one? Finally, last night, he called there himself. I want
to speak to Dontay’s foster father. How could
he do that so easy when he never
even met him? The two of ’em talked awhile. I never
even had to apologize or nothin’. Heard Joe say, How
can you make rules that work for you, that Dontay could
learn to live with? Man, there’s a big distance
between kids and grownups. If I wanted
to talk like that, I’d never know the words. This house
is pretty far from that house, but when I said I wanted
to go back, they said I could. Look at the distance
between never and how I’m ready to try again today.
A LONG, HARD TALK CARMEN
Grandmama sat me down for a long, hard talk
the day after the judge sent me home.
She said, We gotta get to the bottom
of this drinkin’ business. Tell me why
you started and how you plan to stop.
I went back in my mind to that first
time, when I was twelve, the first
day of summer vacation. I let this girl talk
me into goin’ to a party with some older kids. Stop
right there, Grandmama said. Whose party? Were the parents home?