One True Friend (6 page)

"Thank you," Amir answered, remembering not to say sir.

Ronald rushed upstairs with the drawing. "Where are you going?" Alvin asked.

"I'm gonna hang it up."

Amir ran after him. "No, wait. I'll buy a frame for it when I get paid."

"No. I like it the way it is." Ronald pulled off his sneakers, jumped on the bed, and quickly taped the picture to the wall, next to the one of him swimming in the lake. He stepped back to see whether it was crooked and almost fell off the bed as he was backing away. Amir caught him, and they both tumbled to the floor. They laughed together for the first time since Amir had been living there. Ronald's chuckling and giggling reminded Amir of his other brothers and sisters. In this moment the memory didn't hurt.

When Amir returned home from camp the next day, he checked the mailbox as he always did before entering the yard. He found the usual bills and letters. He had two letters from Doris and a return of another of the letters he'd sent out—addressee unknown.

He walked around to the back of the house wondering why Doris had written him twice.
Must be some rocking news in the Bronx.
He was disappointed, though, that he had received another addressee-unknown return.

When Amir walked into the yard, Ronald stopped playing basketball and ran over to him. "Amir, draw a picture of me and Bruce."

"In a minute," Amir said, surprised that Ronald had seen him entering the yard. He rarely noticed anyone when he was shooting hoops. "Let me go in the house first. I have something to do."

"What do you have to do?"

"Something. It won't take long. I'll be right back."

Amir opened the screen door and quickly stepped into the kitchen. Ronald was at his heels.

"You left Bruce out there alone," Amir reminded him.

"I know. That's why you have to draw us now. Bruce been here all day waiting for you. He has to go home soon."

"He can't wait five minutes more?"

"No, Amir. Please?" Ronald whined.

Grace Smith waved to them as she talked on the telephone, and Amir handed her the mail. Ronald's sharp round eyes glanced at the other letters, which Amir put in his backpack.

Amir ran up the stairs, but Ronald raced ahead of him. He plopped himself on the top step and folded his arms as if he were blocking Amir. "What do you have to do now?" Ronald asked.

"I told you I'll be right down. You sure treat your friends bad, leaving Bruce alone like that." He gently
moved Ronald out of his way and entered the bedroom. Ronald followed.

"Who wrote you letters, Amir?"

"My friend, Doris."

"Your girlfriend?"

"No. She's not my girlfriend. Where you get that idea from?" Amir rested his bag on the bed.

Ronald's eyes twinkled as he sat on the side of Amir's bed. "You just want to read your girlfriend's letters."

"I told you she's not my girlfriend."

"She's always writing you letters and saying nice things to you."

Amir's mouth flew open in surprise. "You been reading my letters?"

Ronald grinned. "No, I can't read her letters. She uses too many big words."

Amir opened the drawer where he kept his letters and started stuffing them into his backpack. "It's not right, Ronald. You're not supposed to read other people's private mail. I can't believe you did that."

"Gotcha!" Ronald lay across the bed as laughter bubbled out of him. "I didn't read your old letters from your girlfriend, but I see you reading them over and over, and..."

Amir sighed and pulled Ronald off the bed. "You're like a little ant in my pants. Come on, I'll
draw you and Bruce. You sure you ain't been reading my letters?"

"I hate to read," Ronald said as he dashed out of the room.

Ronald and Bruce had already started playing ball again when Amir came outside and sat down on the bench. He adjusted his sketchpad till it was comfortable on his lap and watched them playing basketball—jumping as high as their short legs would allow. Ronald was spinning and dribbling like he'd seen the stars do on television. As Amir watched them, he began to sketch. He drew their legs and arms very long, so that they seemed to be stretching way above their heads to the sky.

Then he drew buildings and fire escapes and a milk crate with no bottom tied to one of the fire escape rungs. However, the game ended when Bruce's mother called him home, shouting his name from the next yard.

Ronald bounced toward Amir and peeped over his shoulder. He pointed at the drawing and laughed. "This ain't me and Bruce. Who are these people you drawing? Where is this?"

"Where I used to live, in the city," Amir said. "A Hundred and Sixty-third Street in the Bronx. These were some of the guys who used to play basketball. I'm going to put you and Bruce in this neighborhood. It'll be like you took a trip."

Ronald's eyes grew wide. "Yeah? What's their names?"

"Yellow Bird, Big Russell."

"They play as good as me and Bruce? Their legs that long?" he asked in amazement.

Amir smiled. "That's just a style of art. They're older than you and Bruce, so they have more experience playing."

"What kind of hoop is that?"

"A milk crate that they made a basket out of."

"That's stupid. Draw a picture of me playing ball. Just me, and make my legs and arms long like that."

"What about Bruce?"

"Draw him tomorrow."

Amir smiled. "Okay. You know our mother and father and all of us used to live in the city."

"How come you don't play ball?" Ronald asked, skipping around Amir's comment.

Amir wondered how many times Ronald would ask him the same question. "I never learned how."

"Why didn't you learn how? Why didn't Yellow Bird and Big Russell teach you?"

"I don't know why I never learned. I wasn't good at it. Right now I'm trying to draw you playing ball like you asked me to."

"Make my legs look real long. And draw me doing this."

Amir had a hard time drawing because Ronald was making him laugh so much as he spun, twirled, and dribbled, leaping as high as he could.

Amir drew a little boy with elongated arms and legs reaching for a basket as high as the sun. He turned the sun into a bright red-orange ball and drew silhouettes of Ronald in various moves and positions.

Amir sketched quickly and intensely, now that he had his design in mind. He felt as though he was inside his own drawing—bolting, leaping, hurtling, and flying with Ronald. Time flew as well. Amir didn't even hear Mr. Smith drive up and put his car in the garage.

Mr. Smith walked into the yard shouting his familiar greeting, "Hey, everybody, Big Papa's in the house."

Ronald dropped his basketball and ran over to him. "You mean in the yard, Papa."

Amir looked up from his drawing and smiled. "Hi, Mister Alvin," he said, forgetting to say sir or Mr. Smith.

Alvin Smith threw his large head back and laughed loudly. So did Ronald, though he didn't know what he was laughing at. Grace Smith opened the screen door. "Let me in on the joke, too," she said, kissing her husband lightly on the cheek.

"Boy, Amir just said something that I haven't heard since I was a kid in the South. He called me Mister Alvin. We used to call all the grownups Miss or Mister." His wide face grew even wider as he grinned and bowed, tipping an imaginary hat. '"Good morning, Miss Idabellmae,' we'd say, or 'Good afternoon, Mister Charlie,' or 'How do, Miss Grace.'"

His wife tapped him playfully on the arm."Go on with your foolishness." She saw how embarrassed Amir looked and hushed her husband, who was still chuckling and laughing.

She turned to Amir. "Your parents taught you to say that?"

Amir nodded, feeling confused, not sure if he sounded ridiculous. Or if he'd said something wrong.
"It just slipped out. My mother used to tell us that if there are adults you feel close to, it's okay to say their first name, but you had to put a title to it. Out of respect."

Grace put her arm around Amir's shoulder. "That's right. I had to do the same thing in Ohio."

Alvin took out his handkerchief and wiped his sweaty face. Pieces of cement still stuck to his hands. "Well, son, that's better than sir or Mr. Smith." He grinned and bowed again to his wife. "I guess you'll be calling Mama here Miss Grace." He turned in Amir's direction. "I hope you don't think I was laughing at you, son. It just brought back some good old down-home memories. You all right?"

"Yes, sir ... I mean Mister Alvin."

"Still can't say Pops, huh?"

Grace pulled her husband's shirtsleeve and headed for the house. "In the fullness of time," she said.

Amir didn't know what she meant. But it didn't matter. He also wondered why he'd said Mister Alvin, but that didn't matter, either. It felt right and comfortable. He'd wait until after supper, when everyone else was in the living room watching television, before going upstairs to read and enjoy Doris's two letters.

THE BRONX NEWS

Issue #2

(The Good News Issue)

Editor, Star Reporter, and Owner,

DORIS WILLIAMS

Thursday, August 13th

TODAY'S WEATHER.
HOT, HOT, HOT

EDITORIAL: One Girl's Opinion

Rumors and gossip are like viruses. They all make you sick. People who spread rumors are like walking infections. The lying words from their mouths spread like disease from person to person. The only way to stop the disease is to keep your mouth shut. I refuse to repeat a rumor even though it's about a good acquaintance of mine and her sisters. She would feel terrible if she knew what people were saying. I think we should make the people we like feel good and not hurt their feelings by telling them something we heard someone say about them.

I know I'm right about this. How do I know? I put myself in the other person's sneakers, and then I follow one of my parents' constant sayings: "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." Follow this and good news will follow you.

BREAKING NEWS

By D Williams

Last Monday morning while the fabulous and wonderful Doris and Charlene were sitting near the large window in the library reading
Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry
together, they heard loud thumping on the library window. They turned around and saw Charlene's sisters with their noses pressed to the window, looking like Disney on Parade.

When they started shouting for Charlene to come outside, the librarian rushed to the door. Charlene was embarrassed and fought back tears. "See what I mean, Doris?" she said, "They're trying to make me do what they want me to do."

A humiliated Charlene gave up. She returned the book and got her baby sister, who started crying because she didn't want to leave storytime. Together they dashed out of the library. Why all the ruckus? Charlene's sisters wanted her to practice double dutch with them.

Doris feels like crying for Charlene, too, and is glad that she doesn't have any sisters. Doris didn't see Charlene for the rest of the week. Each day she went to the library expecting her to be there. She even walked over to Charlene's block one day to look for her, but she didn't find her.

On Saturday Doris got a big surprise when Charlene came to visit her by herself. She didn't have
to baby-sit. The girls had a nice time sipping lemonade and eating cupcakes. Charlene was happy because her sisters couldn't find her as long as she was in Doris's house. Charlene told Doris that she stayed away from the library all week because she didn't want her sisters to follow her there and embarrass her again.

OTHER NEWS

Lavinia and the twins spoke to Doris yesterday for the first time in weeks. "You don't care who you hang out with, do you?" Lavinia asked.

Doris answered, "Yes, I do. That's why I don't hang out with you." She threw her head up in the air and kept on stepping down the street. The friendship seems to be over forever. This is good news.

One of the neighbors gave Yellow Bird and Big Russell a real basketball hoop. This is the best news

ADVERTISEMENTS

Wanted: One drawing of a lake

OBITUARY

A sad note that must be reported. The Beauty Hive has closed. Miss Bee could no longer afford the high rent. D. Williams will miss her job and the people there.

My Dear Amir,

I hope you like this latest issue of The Bronx News. Guess you must think I'm really tripping. You could say, too, that Charlene and I are becoming real friends and not just acquaintances. To tell you the truth, I don't mind having a good friend close by. If anyone needs a friend, Charlene does.

She promised to meet me in the library tomorrow. I told her that I didn't judge her by her sisters. She was still my friend. She said that she loves to read because reading takes her away from her life. Isn't that a strange thing to say? I like to read too and escape, but not from my life.

"At least you have your sisters," I told her. "I know someone who wishes he was with his brothers and sisters."

I thought about you, Amir, and how much you want to find your family. But suppose you're different from them? They are still your family, and I guess that's what counts. I don't believe that Charlene dislikes her sisters as much as she says she does. She's just different from them.

You and Ronald are different, too, but I bet he's glad that you're a kind big brother to him. You paint his picture, which means I can't get my drawing of the lake—just joking. Anyway, Ronald is lucky, and I hope when you find the others that you all get along good, too.

Before you know it, school will be starting. Fortunately Charlene and I will be in the same class—the top class, of course. Are you nervous about going to high school? All those humongous teenagers, just keep drawing (smile).

Bye for now.

Love,

Doris

P.S. If you're not voted the best counselor, then there's something wrong with the judges.

The sounds of the television downstairs, and Mister Alvin and Ronald both shouting over the baseball game they were watching, faded in the background as Amir carefully folded Doris's newspaper and letter in two and put them in his backpack—just in case Ronald got curious. He opened the second letter, expecting to be transported to the Bronx again.