Darkness Before Dawn (11 page)

“All I did was survive! There was no great plan. I just live one day at a time.” I started to chuckle to myself—the poinsettia had no leaves left.

“Well, you make it look easy. Lots of kids at school admire you.”

“Really?” I was genuinely surprised. I decided to change the subject. “How long you been working here?”

“For pay off and on for about six years. I work during summer vacation, weekends, after school, and Christmas break. Before that I'm sure somebody was violating child labor laws 'cause I worked here for no pay at all!” He was smiling again.

“You worked here as a kid without them paying you?” I was confused.

Leon didn't answer at first. “I was just about to close up and go home,” he said, still smiling. “The owner left several hours ago.” He still seemed nervous and excited that I was there—he snipped the entire top of the poinsettia off and it fell with a soft whoosh to the counter. Both of us burst out laughing.

“I guess you got carried away!” I said. “Don't worry. After tomorrow no one will want a poinsettia anyway!”

“You're right,” agreed Leon cheerfully. “Here,” he said, shoving two of the red and green plants toward me, and a Christmas cactus as well. “Merry Christmas! Take these home to your mom.”

“You want to trim them first?” I said, teasing him.

“Yeah, let me go get my chain saw!” he said, laughing. “Seriously, I want your mom to have these.”

“Won't your boss mind if you give his plants away?” I asked.

“No,” explained Leon. “My boss is my dad. He bought this shop when he got out of college, so I grew up here. I guess it's always been me and my dad. I've hung around
this shop all my life. He just started paying me for it when I turned twelve. I love it here—the smells, the beauty, the colors . . . and the way the flowers make people smile.” He stopped, looked at me, then turned away.

“I understand, Leon,” I replied. I could see how embarrassed he was. “Especially in the winter, blooming flowers bring smiles to folks like me who are sad and confused. Just this morning, I got a huge bouquet of roses delivered to my door and it really made my day!”

“Really?” Leon replied with surprise. “Who were they from?” he asked.

“He didn't sign the card, but I know they were from this guy I went out with one time. They were just beautiful and showed so much class, you know what I mean?”

Leon smiled. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Anything that could make you happy must be dynamite!”

Leon tidied up the shop and turned out the lights. I walked out with him, carrying the plants he had given me, still not sure how I ended up at that particular shop, but glad that I had. As we headed out the door, I asked, “Aren't you going to take a flower for
your
mom, or is she sick of flowers from the shop?”

Leon's smiled faded for a moment, then he shifted back into Leon-the-goofy-joke-teller, a place where it seemed like he felt more comfortable. “I could never play the dozens as a kid, you know,” he said instead of answering me. He double-checked the lock of the flower shop door.

“Huh?” I was confused.

“You know, the dozens, where you talk about somebody's mama,” he explained.

“Of course I know what the dozens are,” I replied, laughing. “Yo mama wear army boots. Yo mama got bad breath, and so on. But what does that have to do with you?

Leon tried to act silly, but he just couldn't keep joking. “I could never play the dozens because my mother was honest-to-goodness, straitjacket, rubber-wall crazy. Nuts! Wacko! She would play in the snow in her bare feet and walk to the grocery store butt-naked in a rainstorm! She'd sing real loud and off-key in church during the sermon, and cry during any TV commercial that had a cat in it. She believed she could fly and several times I had to stop her from jumping from windows. All my childhood I tried to cover for her and pretend she was normal, but it's very hard to live with a serious schizophrenic. Finally it got to be more than me and my dad and a whole busload of doctors could handle, so she went to live in California at a residential facility that's run by my Aunt Lucy, who's a psychiatrist.”

I didn't know what to say. “Is she still there? In California?” I finally asked when Leon said nothing. We were walking slowly out to the street to where I had parked my car.

“No. She loved the ocean, and one day she just decided to become a part of it. Aunt Lucy told us it happened so quickly that no one had time to stop her or save her.”

I gasped. “I'm so sorry, Leon. I never knew.”

“I've never told anyone else,” he said. Then he tried to jump back with a joke. “So now you know why I'm so crazy!” he said, laughing halfheartedly.

“That's not funny!” I told him. “Don't joke like that. It's OK to cry sometimes. Trust me. I do it all the time!”

Leon smiled at me with a look that coulda melted snow. But I kinda understood where he was coming from. He slid on the ice and made himself slip and fall. I laughed and we both felt better—less embarrassed. I helped him up, and he headed down the street, turning to say, “Merry Christmas, Keisha. I guess I'll see you at school after the break.”

I was confused. “Where are you parked?”

“Oh, I took the bus this morning. My dad needed the car to finish up the Christmas shopping.”

“You think I'm gonna let you wait on the bus in the freezing cold on Christmas Eve? Be for real! Hop in. I'll take you home.”

Leon didn't hesitate. “Thanks, Keisha. I was hoping you would, but I didn't want to ask. It was the bus this afternoon, or a skateboard! And it's just too cold to be sliding my behind all over this ice! I know—I tried!”

“Well, what are friends for?” I asked as we got into the car.

“Are we friends, Keisha?” Leon asked quietly.

“Of course we are. I've known you since, since ...”

“Kindergarten.”

“Has it been that long?”

“I've always watched you, Keisha. You were always pretty and popular—like a butterfly—fluttering and shining for others to admire. People like to hang around you.
Me, I'm the class fool. I stub my toe in front of the class to get a laugh, or kiss an aardvark at the zoo, or wear my pants and shirt backward to make people laugh.”

“I'm glad I've gotten the chance to know you better.” I told him. “I'm sorry if I, if I . . . ,” I wasn't sure what to say.

“Overlooked me? You didn't. I'm like that tree over there—always hangin' around whether you notice it or not.”

“You're pretty poetic,” I said with real admiration.

Leon grinned as he directed me to get to his house, which was small and white—and just a couple of miles from mine. He insisted that I come in and meet his dad, who seemed to be delighted to meet me.

“So you're the young lady that Leon seems to be so taken with,” his dad began. Leon tried to stop his father from talking, but it was too late.

“You're even prettier than your pictures,” Mr. Hawkins added.

I was confused. “Huh?” was all I could say.

“Didn't he tell you? Leon has a bulletin board covered with pictures of you in his room. He's been collecting them for years.”

I could see that Leon was about to die of embarrassment. I was amazed at what his dad had spilled, but I knew how parents can sometimes make a bad situation really impossible, so I tried to jump in and help Leon out.

“Leon and I have known each other since kindergarten,” I said. “We've always exchanged class pictures. Now that it's our senior year, I'm glad to finally meet you.

Leon glanced at me with a look that said,
Thanks big-time for not flipping out about this.

I smiled back with a look that said,
No sweat
—
I got you covered.
After refusing his dad's offer to help decorate their tree, I told them I had to get home to help my mother finish wrapping gifts, which was at least partially true.

“I hope you don't think I'm some kind of weirdo, Keisha,” he said to me at the door. “I've always admired you. That's all.”

“It's nice to know, Leon. Actually, I think it's kinda cool. I'm just not sure how to act.”

“Just be yourself. I'll continue to be the kid that goes out for the giggles, and you continue to be the butterfly in the bloom. I'll be there for you if you ever need me. Know that.”

“I believe you, Leon.” I smiled at him with newfound admiration. “Merry Christmas, and thanks for a really unexpected Christmas gift. There is nothing more important than a friend.” I kissed him lightly on the cheek and left.

I thought about Leon all the way home—what a genuinely nice guy he was, how rough his childhood must have been, and how special it made me feel that he seemed to think so much of me.
Strange,
I thought.
Very strange.
When I called Jalani and Rhonda that evening, I only told them that I had run into Leon and given him a ride home. I wasn't sure why, but I left out the rest of the story. Some things, I decided, are meant to be kept secret.

Christmas morning dawned cold
and snowy. Several inches had fallen overnight, and my yard looked like one of those pictures on a Christmas card as I peeked out of the window. My parents were still asleep and wouldn't be up for hours. When I was little, I used to get them up right at sunrise, but as I got older, I started letting them sleep while I got up and fixed breakfast. Gifts could wait. I kinda liked sitting alone in the morning quiet, watching the snow.

The phone rang, startling me. “Merry Christmas!” I said cheerfully as I picked it up.

“Keisha? This is Mrs. Washington, Joyelle's mom. Have you seen her or talked to her recently?” Her voice was tight and shaking. “I've called Angel and a couple of her other friends, but no one knows anything.”

“No, I haven't,” I replied with concern. “I haven't talked
to her since we got out of school for Christmas break. What's wrong?”

“One car is gone, and so is Joyelle.” Mrs. Washington burst into tears. “I can't take this. If something has happened to her, I will just die. I can't take this!” she wailed.

I knew that Joyelle couldn't drive. She hadn't had lessons and wasn't old enough to have a driver's license. This was not good.

I couldn't believe that I was trying to calm an adult down, but I tried to calm down Joyelle's mom as best I could. “I'm sure she's OK, Mrs. Washington. Have you called the police?”

“Yes, of course, and my husband is out looking for her. Please call all your friends and find out if any of them has seen her. And please call me back if you hear anything. Anything at all.”

“I will, Mrs. Washington,” I promised.

Just then, she said, “Wait, the other line is beeping. Hold on. This might be my husband from his cell phone.” The line was silent for a moment.

Mrs. Washington returned to the line, hardly able to speak for the huge sobbing gulps. “Joyelle has been in an accident. She was driving her father's car and has been taken to Good Samaritan Hospital. I'm on my way there now.” She hung up.

I felt like a rock hit my gut—memories of another phone call that I had tried to forget rushed to me and my heart began to beat way too fast.

I called Angel and Gerald's house. Gerald answered the phone. “Gerald, they found Joyelle.” I paused and took a
deep breath. “She's been in an accident in her dad's car. She's at Good Samaritan.”

“Oh, no!” Gerald groaned. “Angel is gonna be really wiped out about this. You goin' down there?”

“Yeah, I'm on my way. I'll see you there.” I hung up the phone, woke my parents to tell them what had happened, and headed downtown to the hospital. The beauty of the snow now seemed just harsh and cold. I tried not to think, tried not to cry.

By the time I got to the emergency room, Mrs. Washington was sitting in a chair, crying softly. All she could do was mumble the names “Robbie” and “Joyelle” over and over again. Mr. Washington sat on the other side of the room, biting his fingernails.

Gerald and Angel got there right after I did. Angel looked scared. Gerald walked over to Mr. Washington and took his hand. He said nothing. I remember when Gerald and Angel had to go to court about their stepfather, Mr. Washington had been there for them. The older man returned Gerald's firm grip and thanked him silently.

The doctor emerged then, called the Washingtons to a small room, and talked to them in whispers. Then he escorted them to the back area where Joyelle had been taken. They were only gone for a few minutes, but it seemed like forever.

Mr. and Mrs. Washington returned finally, not holding hands, but both smiling through their tears. “She's going to be fine,” Mr. Washington said to us. His voice held a relief that was so great it could be squeezed. “She was
saved by the air bag and the seat belt. She has only minor cuts and bruises.”

Our sigh of relief could have filled a huge balloon.

“Is she conscious?” Angel asked fearfully, remembering her own bout with the hospital just a few weeks before.

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Washington assured her. “She's wide awake, crying profusely, and terrified that she's in more trouble than she's ever been in her life. Which she is.” She laughed a little then, mostly in relief. “I'm so glad that she's not hurt that I don't know if I can punish her.”

“Can we see her?” Angel asked. Mr. Washington glanced at the doctor who was standing nearby.

“I don't see why not,” the doctor said, “but just for a few minutes. We're going to run a couple of tests before we let her go home.” He directed us to an area behind a blue-striped curtain. Joyelle lay there, looking pale and scared. Two Band-Aids decorated her forehead, and an IV ran into her arm.

“Hey, Joyelle,” Angel said shyly. “You tryin' to take the attention from me?”