Keysha's Drama (12 page)

L
ater that evening, I was sitting in my room at my desk listening to an Alicia Keys song. I loved her voice and her style. I was thinking about my Grandmother Rubylee and decided to write her a letter. I was about to pull out my notepad and begin when there was a knock at my door. I looked over my shoulder and Mike was standing in my doorway holding his football uniform. There were green grass stains all over it.

“What's up, son?” There he goes calling me out of my name again. I swear I was going to beat him down for that, I thought.

“My name isn't son,” I reminded him.

“So are you into girls or what?” he boldly asked.

“Excuse you.” I contorted my face into an angry expression.

“Yo, I heard that you were, like, all out in the open hugging up on Lesbo Liz. I just want to know. Are you into girls or what?”

“Go away, Mike,” I said, not wanting to answer his dumb question.

“You certainly know how to pick a friend. Liz is a real whack job. She's crazy. I've heard all kinds of crazy stories about her.”

“All of the stories you've heard are probably all false,” I said as I got up and moved toward him.

“No, I don't think so. That chick isn't working with a full deck, you know what I'm saying?”

“No, I don't know what you're saying.” I was now standing in front of him. He looked me up and down as if I repulsed him.

“Well, you two deserve each other. And just so you know, I got people watching you, girl. One false move and I'm going to hear about it.” I slammed the door in his face.
Damn jackass
, I thought to myself. I went over to the radio and channel surfed until I found a station that was playing music that reflected the somber mood I was in. I sat back down at my desk and began to write my letter.

Dear Grandma
,

I don't know what it's like for you being locked up but my guess is that it's no fun. I miss you. I miss hearing your voice, even though you yelled and shouted a lot. I miss lying in the bed with you and your cooking. I guess I'll never fully understand why and
how you ended up where you are, but I wanted you to know that I still love you. I'm not sure if you've heard yet, but Justine is back in jail. She was arrested on some drug-related issue with an old friend of hers. When she got locked up, I ended up having to live in a group home. Being there was no picnic and I was really afraid most of the time. I was afraid of being left all alone like that. I didn't know anyone in the place, and I sort of got to the point where I didn't care what happened to me. A good thing that happened is I found my biological father. How I found him is a long story but I live with him now. He has a big house in the suburbs and I have my own room. Can you believe that? I've never had my own room before. Getting to know him is both easy and hard. I'm really trying hard to let our relationship develop naturally, but at times I get angry and mad that my life wasn't as perfect as it could have been
.

I have a stepbrother named Mike. He's a suburban boy who wants to be a thug. Let me tell you, that boy doesn't have an ounce of thug in him. I know he and his mother don't like me very much. I don't know why they don't like me. I mean, I haven't done anything to them. Anyway, I hope to save up enough money to come and visit you one of these days. When I get enough money I'll let you know. I hope you're doing well and I hope that you write me back soon
.

Love, Keysha

I filled out an envelope and placed my perfectly folded letter inside of it. I sealed it and placed it in my duffel bag so that I could mail it in the morning while on my way school.

Early Saturday morning I was sitting next to Jordan in his office. He'd pulled up a bunch of pictures on his computer screen for me to look at. The first photo was of him as a young boy.

“I think I was about six months old in this photo,” he said. The photo was of him sitting on a bed holding a bottled filled with milk. The only garment he was clothed in was a white diaper. He was staring directly at the camera when the photo was taken.

“That doesn't even look like you,” I said, laughing.

“Well, that's me,” he said. He clicked the mouse and another photo popped up. The next photo was of him and his father. They were on the beach. Jordan was standing next to a very large sand castle. His entire body appeared to be covered with brown sand. Also in the photo was another very tall and slim man pointing to Jordan.

“I was about nine years old here. That's your Grandfather Quinton. He and I actually built that sand castle.”

“Wow,” I said, completely amazed that we had that in common. “What happened to him?” I asked.

“He passed away in his sleep shortly after I graduated from college.”

“Are you sad that he's gone?” I asked.

“Yes. He was a good man and I wish you could've known him. He would have loved and spoiled you to death. He loved kids and was a mentor in the church and at the local Boys and Girls Club. Dad was a professor who taught history.”

“He sounds as if he was very smart,” I said, studying the photo.

“He was the smartest man I've ever known. He loved to read. He'd read anything and the library of books he had was incredible.”

“Really?” I got excited. “What happened to all of the books he read?”

“Grandmother Katie has them. When you go visit her I'm sure she'll show them to you.”

He clicked the mouse again and another photo came up. This photo was a very old one. It was of an old black man wearing overalls and a hat. He was standing in a prairie field next to two mules.

“Who is that?” I asked, studying the photo. The man's skin looked like soft brown leather.

“That is your great-great-great-grandfather, Roy Tommie.”

“He looks worn out,” I said.

“Roy Tommie had a hard life, but he did well for a black man during that time period. He was an uneducated but very skilled man. He was a farmer and a carpenter. He helped build houses for emigrants coming in from the Netherlands in the late 1800s. As a young man he worked on an onion farm for a Dutch family who were abolitionists.”

“What's an abolitionist?” I asked. I'd heard the word before but I didn't remember exactly what it meant.

“Abolitionists were people who opposed slavery. Have you ever heard of the Underground Railroad?”

“Yeah, sort of. That's the thing where people were running in the middle of the night, right?”

“Something like that. You see, abolitionists were generally people who had a strong belief that slavery was wrong. They helped slaves escape to northern states through a network called the Underground Railroad.”

“Oh, okay. I understand now. So, Roy Tommie used to work for these people who were against slavery.”

“Yes. Roy Tommie was born into slavery but his family ran away just before the outbreak of the Civil War. He was around six years old at the time. His parents were captured by bounty hunters. He had to survive in the wilderness on his own for five days. He continued to run north until a Dutch abolitionist family named Faulkenberg found him sleeping in their onion field. They took him and kept him well hidden from bounty hunters who came looking for him. After the end of the war, Roy Tommie stayed with the Faulkenberg family, and from them he learned how to become a skilled laborer as well as a farmer. Roy Tommie worked hard and saved up enough money to buy some land from the Faulkenberg family. He built a house on the land he'd purchased and farmed it for years. This is a photo of him around 1925. He was well into his sixties and still farming.”

“Wow,” I said, completely fascinated by the story. “So what happened to the land and the house?”

“Very good question. It's still in the family. The land has been passed down through the generations, and now Grandmother Katie has a house that's on the land.”

“She has all of the land?” I asked, pointing back to the photo.

“No, she doesn't have that much anymore. My grandfather, Willie Curley.” He clicked the mouse button again and another photo came up. It was of a man standing, in a suit. He wasn't smiling and looked as mean as the first man.

“In the late 1950s developers wanted the land to build new homes, so Willie Curley sold a large portion of it to them and used the rest of the money to build a new house and put your grandfather and my father, Quinton, through college.”

“Wow,” I said, feeling a sense of connection. Jordan pulled out a CD and placed it into the CD drive of the computer.

“This CD contains some old eight-millimeter film that I had converted so that I wouldn't lose it. The footage goes back to the 1950s.” My dad and I sat there and watched the film. He explained who the people were and what had become of them. I was hungry for more information and more stories. He clicked on a file from the 1980s. When it opened up, a video of my dad with long, greasy hair appeared.

“Oh, hell to the no, you look stupid on this video,” I said, laughing as he turned up the sound.

“Hey, back then you weren't cool unless you had a Jerry Curl.”

“What are you saying?” I asked, trying to listen carefully to the video.

“I was singing the song ‘Rapper's Delight' by the Sugar Hill Gang.”

“Oh lord,” I said, laughing hysterically as I listened to him try to string all of the words together. “So that's where Mike gets it from,” I said, laughing again. I studied the clothes he was wearing.

“What kind of jeans are you wearing?”

“Those are my Sergio Valente jeans. Everyone was wearing them back then. These fashions are still around, you know.”

“Why are they so tight?” I asked, but then started cracking up again when I saw him trying to do the pop lock, which I knew as a popular dance from back then. “You couldn't dance, either.”

“What are you talking about? I was doing it right.” He laughed.

“You're offbeat. Even I can see that—and what's up with those sunglasses?”

“Hey, those sunglasses cost me twenty-five dollars, and I looked good in them.”

“You needed fashion help,” I said just as the video clip ended. We laughed for a moment, and then I stopped. A feeling of sadness blanketed me. Although Jordan was a complete nerd, he seemed happy. He seemed to have a family who loved and took care of him. I loved my grandmother and mother, but they were con artists and that wasn't cool.

“What's wrong? Why do you look so sad all of a sudden?”

“Can I ask you another question?” I glanced at my hands and began to wring them. I wasn't sure if I wanted to hear the answer to my question.

“Ask,” he said.

“How did you find out about me—I mean, why did you even take the blood test? You could've continued on with your life without me.” He sighed before he spoke.

“Look at me,” he said, but I couldn't. He tilted my chin up and I looked into his eyes. It was hard for me to do that. I felt like what he said next would determine whether I wanted to live or die. Just as he was about to answer my question, Barbara once again barged in on our private time.

“You have to get Mike to his football game. I can't do it,” Barbara said. She didn't look at me or acknowledge my presence, and that really irritated me.

“Why can't you do it?” Jordan asked. He seemed surprised by her request as well as her intrusion.

“Hello,” I said just so she'd look at me. Our eyes locked on each other, and I could see utter contempt for me flowing through them.

“Excuse us for a moment, Keysha. Jordan and I need to speak privately.”

“What about?” I snapped at her. At that moment I wanted to fight her again. I wanted to scratch up her face and pull all of her hair out. I wanted to hurt her for not giving me time with Jordan.

“Listen you little—” She caught her words.

“Little what?” I sprang to my feet ready to set it off anytime she was ready.

“All right, that's enough. Keysha, excuse us,” Jordan said.

“What the hell for?” I yelled out. “I'm tired of her always barging in when I'm trying to talk to you. She doesn't barge in on you when you're talking to Mike and neither do I. So, what's that all about, Barbara?” I worked my neck and pointed my finger in her face. She worked her neck, as well, and was about to say something that I was set to make sure she regretted but Jordan stepped between us.

“Keysha, I'm only going to say it once more. Step out of the office.”

“You know what? This isn't working out,” I said and left. I went into the family room and found Mike packing his duffel bag.

“What are you looking at?” I barked at him like a vicious dog.