Speak 2 U Soon, Page 3

the shallow shore, off of the rocks that scraped the boat’s bottom, and each stone that Davey felt through his Converse sneakers, his heart raced more and his mind knew, without a doubt, he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life.

  13

  News

  “No, Bill, I haven’t heard from Reneta either. I’m not surprised though. You watching the news?”

  There was a pause while Bill answered. That’s all me and Mama had done the past two days. Mama even fell asleep at the kitchen table last night, a cup of cold coffee by her side, her arms outstretched and her head angled so that her cheek lay resting on the floral table cloth she bought at Fred’s Dollar Store.

  “Sure is bad, Bill. Worse than I ever seen. I know, I can’t get through to the shelter either, but I know they’re all in a safe place. The lines are down, powers out, that’s what the news says.”

  Uncle Bill responded.

  “I seen them, all walking to the Superdome, like a war hit us at home, Bill. Like the end of the world in New Orleans.”

  Mama paused.

  “No, I don’t suspect you will be making a run back down there any time soon. Them roads are blocked off, Bill. They’s turning people away who are trying to leave on foot. Did you see that? They got armed guards making them turn around and go back. That I don’t understand. And, them levees. New Orleans is under water on account of the levees not holding the ocean back.”

  Mama waited, motioning to me to bring C.J. out of the backroom and in with us. Now that he was crawling, he was one lot of trouble, that baby.

  “No, I don’t think Mississippi got hit near as hard as Louisiana. I seen some aerial shots they filmed going over. It’s bad alright, but not as bad as New Orleans.”

  Uncle Bill must have asked Mama a question. C.J. hollered and arched his back way back as I carried him back into the kitchen. I gave him the plastic keys that’d come in his box of clothes from Auntie Reneta, but he didn’t want no part of them.

  “Raven,” Mama whispered, “take out the pot and a spoon or two. See if he’ll play with that.”

  “They was flying over and then some of them are out in boats now, looking for people who’re stranded. That’s what’s on right now,” Mama sighed. “If you hear any news, have somebody call me, will you, Bill? I don’t have long distance, no. All right, I’ll be here. Me and Raven and C.J., we’re here all day. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  14

  Wilson Street

  “The woods, Mom, over by Wilson Street, remember? Davey and Charlie used to play in there everyday,” KiKi said.

  “Oh, honey, that’s such a good place to look,” Mom nodded through her tears. Mom drove through our old neighborhood, huge two family houses that had fallen into disrepair even while we lived there. The original homeowners had moved or died off, leaving the properties to be rented out.

  “Remember when Davey swapped one of my old records for Charlie’s Led Zeppelin?” Mom tried to smile. “He drove us crazy playing that record up in the attic full blast, remember?”

  “I remember,” I said. “Kerstin had the lyrics to one of the songs memorized when she was in kindergarten.”

  “One of her teachers called me at work to tell me it was very inappropriate for KiKi to sing, `Whole Lotta Love,’ for share,” Mom laughed until she started to cry again. She drove down the dead-end street and put Grandma’s lights on bright, revealing even more of the woods than before with the full moon.

  We all jumped out and ran to the forest’s edge and called, “Davey! Davey! Davey, answer us please!” Then we paused, waiting, our hearts pounding with the expectation, the hope, the dream of a response.

  Nothing.

  “Come on,” Mom said. “Let’s go by the house.”

  Mom pulled up in front of our old house, but in the light, the deep blue of its siding looked dark gray.

  “It’s for sale, Mommy,” KiKi pointed to the sign in the yard.

  “It’s empty, Mom,” I said kicking a pile of newspapers as I led the way around to the side entrance, our entrance.

  “Julie, try the door,” Mom said.

  The hall light came on and I climbed up the stairs and tried our old door, but it was locked.

  “I’m checking the attic,” Mom said as she squeezed by me and Kerstin. We followed her up and waited for Mom to pull the cord dangling from the light bulb.

  There was no sign that anyone had been here for a long time.

  “Oh, God,” Mom said sitting on an old faded velour chair, its scarlet color barely visible the fabric was so worn away. “Davey where are you?” she cried, putting her head in the palm of her hands. “Davey, Davey, Davey. Where?”

  “He always said he wanted to come back here,” I said to Mom. “That we never should have moved away.”

  Mom nodded her head in her hands.

  “He hid some stuff up here ‘cause he was that sure we’d come back. Stuff you said we had to get rid of, stuff we didn’t have room for in the U-haul.”

  “What stuff?” Mom looked up.

  I walked over to the far left corner of the attic and pulled the pink insulation out of a panel. “It might not be here anymore, though.” I moved one panel over, and there, deep in the recess hidden where no one but the two of us would ever know, lay Davey’s things.

  “I’m coming back here,” Davey said. “Mom and Jake won’t last for long, even if she has his baby. We’ll be back. It’ll be just like it is now, me and Charlie’ll rule the neighborhood, you and Kerstin will be fighting all the time over the stupidest stuff, and . . .”

  “KiKi starts it, Davey! You know she does!”

  “Yeah, whatever. Sisters. I hope Mom has a boy. At least then I won’t be so outnumbered.”

  “Look, Mom,” I said.

  “What is it?” KiKi asked running over to see.

  I walked over to Mom carrying the wooden box Davey kept all of his treasures in. Mom’s hands clutched the armrests so tightly her fingers were turning white. “Is that Davey’s?” she asked.

  Among the old birthday cards was a yellow envelope with Mexican dollars and pesos, a blue plastic case with 5p and 6p coins from England, a white ceramic bootie with Davey’s birthday, July 19, 1993, and his birth weight, 7 lbs. 9 oz. hand-written on the sides, a golden flame Pokemon card made to look like a real gold brick, loose coins from Italy and more from Mexico and England, plus a real meteorite and a real fossil Mr. Ross had given Davey in fifth grade right before we moved away. “You’re going to be a biologist someday, son,” Davey had mimicked Mr. Ross’ baritone voice when he brought them home. “Keep these safe. These will be worth money someday.”

  Tucked in a book of cheat codes for Game Cube was a folded piece of paper, unlabeled on the outside. I opened it. The date read 5/24/01: “My hero.” I skimmed it quickly. “It’s about you, Mom,” I said looking up.

  “Me? From Davey?” tears welled up in her eyes again. “Can you read it to Mommy, honey?”

  “`My hero is my mom. My mom is one of the nicest people I know. She is always doing something helpful. My mom puts me and my sisters before herself. Even if I am mad at her, she does something nice. My mom tries to make me happy and have fun.

  “My mom is very brave. She has taken care of us by herself almost our whole lives. And, she hardly ever loses her temper. If I didn’t have my mom, I don’t know what would happen to me. She keeps me safe no matter what. My mom: my hero.’”

  15

  The Shooting

  I’d sneaked outside without Tino that morning, left him upstairs in our room eating Apple Jacks and watching Sheri Lewis’ Lambchops. Sometimes a year makes a big difference, you know? I wasn’t going to sit there and watch that old lady sing to her hand puppet when I could be outside playing.

  I heard a tap from the porch window and looked up from my army men. Tino looked down at me, trying to hold his bowl and keep the spoon from falling out while using the finger of his other han
d to tap on the window. He used to do that when I first went off to school and he wasn’t old enough yet. I’d be waiting for the bus right outside our house, in the driveway that separated our yard from the fire station next door, and he’d tap, so I’d wave goodbye to him. He stayed there, at the window, till he grew smaller and smaller and smaller and I couldn’t see him anymore.

  Me and Tino used to go over to the fire station and visit the firemen. They knew us by name and would bring us upstairs so we could slide down the pole just like they did when there was a real fire. For a while, one of them even brought his dog to work with him: Shoe. He wasn’t a Dalmatian, but it didn’t matter. That station closed down a few years ago. Dad said our neighborhood was too dangerous for them to be in there. That it was a shame ‘cause the very people who needed their help most don’t have no one now. The Po Po don’t do a damn thing. They still haven’t caught Tino’s killer and that was seven years ago. If they haven’t caught him by now, they never will. That’s why I hate the police. They don’t do nothing besides eat donuts and interfere with people’s lives where they got no business interfering.

  He was looking at me with those big brown eyes, “puppy dog eyes like Shoe, you got on you, little man,” the firemen would say about Tino. No one could say no to him with eyes like that. Abuelita said Tino had an old soul, that his eyes were wise beyond his years. “Your hermano was an old man in a young body,” Abuelita would say, holding her rosary and saying ten Hail Mary’s for each of