Keesha's House Page 5

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

  my friend walks down, with nothing but a paper-

  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

  letting me stay here, after what I did last night. I keep

  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?