One True Friend (7 page)

11
P.M.
Friday
August 14th

My Dear Amir,

A night breeze just blew into the Bronx. You're
probably wondering why I'm writing you so soon, and why I'm writing a letter instead of a newspaper. The answer to those questions is this is no time for silliness. Maybe you didn't even get the newspaper and letter I sent you yesterday. I'm writing you now because I can't sleep. And I can't sleep because I keep thinking about a very shocking thing that happened today. I don't know what to do, and I don't have anyone else to talk to except you.

Charlene was already at the library when I got there this morning. She looked like she'd been crying.

"What's wrong with you?" I asked her.

"My sisters," she whispered, her bottom lip trembling.

"What did they do to you now?" I asked her.

"They don't want me to be friends with you."

"Why?"

"They say you're a bad influence on me."

That made me angry. "How could I be a bad influence on you? I don't fight, play hookey, or
do drugs,
" I blurted out. My mom always tells me to put a lock on my tongue before the wrong words escape. I was immediately sorry, but it was too late.

Charlene looked surprised, hurt, scared, and then angry, too. "Nobody said anything about drugs, Doris. Why'd you bring up drugs? My sisters said
you're turning me into a nerd. They say that I'm trying to act corny like you."

I was still ashamed over what I'd said about drugs. "Tell your sisters you're being yourself. You're not trying to act like anybody. Stand up to them," I said.

Charlene's lips continued to tremble and tears rolled slowly down her face. "I do stand up to them. Then we end up fighting and my mother starts blaming me because she says we're all family and I shouldn't act uppity with my own sisters. I just want to be myself. I don't see why I have to do everything they do." She wiped her face with the corner of her T-shirt, but the tears kept flowing. "I hate double dutch and I hate my life. I can't even read in peace at home."

I was shocked because how can you hate the only life you have? "But they were happy for you when you won the award," I said.

"They just wanted to jump up and down and make a spectacle of themselves and embarrass me."

Suddenly I wondered whether the drug rumors I'd been hearing all summer were true. Maybe that's the real problem and Charlene can't talk about it. I had to go back on my word and tell her.

"I'm not starting rumors," I said, "but we're friends. That's why I'm telling you what people are saying." It was so hard for me to say it, but I finally forced the words out. "People are saying that your sisters do drugs."

She wiped her eyes and her face with the back of her hand. "Friends always tell each other the truth and trust each other with secrets, right?"

I nodded, because by this time I could hardly talk myself. You know I can't stand to see a friend crying or hurting. It makes a big lump clog up my own throat.

"The truth is my sisters don't do drugs, and I don't either," Charlene said. "Marijuana is a plant." At first I didn't know what she was talking about. She dug in her jeans pocket and showed me what looked like a cigarette butt. But I knew it wasn't a cigarette. I guess I gasped so loud, she thought I was choking. The librarian glared at us.

"Come on outside, Doris, while the kids are in storytime." She pulled my arm, and I followed her. I asked her whether she was holding the marijuana for her sisters, and she said, "No. It's mine."

"You said we'd always be honest with each other, Charlene. I think you're lying. Now I know why you say you hate your sisters. They're making you do drugs."

"Doris, you're being naive." She'd stopped crying and seemed like her old, grownup-sounding self.

"You need to throw that junk away," I warned her.

"I told you, marijuana is not drugs; it's a plant," she said. "People use it for medicinal purposes"

"Are you sick?" I asked.

"I've only tried it a few times," she said. "When I
smoke it, my sisters don't get on my nerves. Why don't you try it? Then you'll see. There's nothing to it."

"Nobody's getting on my nerves that bad. Why do you let your sisters rule you? Tell your mother what they're doing."

All of a sudden it seemed like she got mad. "My sisters don't smoke marijuana and they don't know I've tried it." Then she held out her hand like some kind of offering. "Why don't you try it? It makes Third Avenue look nice, and it's not a drug."

I shook my head. "If your sisters didn't give it to you, then where did you get it from?"

"T.T."

"T.T.?" I nearly fainted. "How could you hang with him?"

"I'm not hanging with him," she said. "He lives in my building."

"But it's junk," I said. "That's why they call drug addicts junkies."

"You're very extreme, Doris. This is not the same as taking drugs."

For a minute I wondered what it felt like. Then I didn't want to know, because I remembered what my mother's hands felt like going upside my head.

Of all the sisters, Charlene was the last one I ever thought would be messing with pot. And with T.T., a sixth-grade reject.

I tried to get her to throw the butt away, but she
wouldn't. Said she'd flush it down the toilet when she got home. Said she didn't want to throw it away in front of the library. I knew that was a lie.

Then she looked guilty and sad. "Doris, you're the only real friend I have. Please don't tell anyone. Please don't get me in trouble."

"1 won't," I said. "I'd never get you in trouble. You're getting your own self in trouble if you don't stop."

I know I promised Charlene that I wouldn't say anything, and I'm only telling you, Amir, because I'm sure you won't repeat this story. And everyone knows anyway. It's terrible when a bad rumor about a friend turns out to be true.

In a way I feel like Charlene betrayed me. But I still feel bad for her. How could someone so smart act so stupid? I will stay by myself from now on. You must promise me, Amir, that we'll be friends forever, because I can't trust anyone else.

Everything is changing around me.
I had a friend, lost a friend.
Will the loneliness never end?
My one true friend is so far away,
But we'll meet again some fine day

Good night, Amir,

Doris

Amir stared blankly at the letter for a moment, his mouth slightly open. The space he occupied and the familiar sounds of the house were no longer there. He felt stupid. He was overreacting, he knew, but he couldn't help it.

Doris's letter had called up all the old memories he'd been trying to bury. They spilled out of the hidden places in his heart and stood before him. The sadness that he'd kept locked in that small corner of his brain broke loose and captured his spirit.

He began to fold the second letter until it was a small square that fit in the palm of his hand.

Ronald burst into the room. "Amir, Amir, guess who won the ball game!"

Amir hardly noticed him. His voice seemed very far away.

"What's wrong with you, Amir?"

"Nothing."

"You look like you sick. You sick? I'll tell Mama."

Amir grabbed Ronald's arm before he bolted out of the room. "I'm not sick. Don't bother your mother." He realized that he'd never before referred to Grace as Ronald's mother."I'm okay. Don't worry Miss Grace."

The sounds of the television drifted up to him. Ronald had brought the world back. "You're supposed to be going to bed now, right?"

Ronald's sharp eyes searched Amir's face. "Why
you so sad? You want to draw a picture of me? I'll sit quiet if you want to draw me again."

"No. You just go to sleep. I'm going, too."

But Amir could not sleep. The bad memories rode him like the old hag in the ghost stories his mother used to tell him. When he heard Ronald snoring lightly, he eased out of his bed. He turned on the dim end-table lamp and ripped a blank piece of paper out of his notebook.

1
A.M.
Thursday morning
August 20th

Dear Doris,

I received both of your letters this afternoon when I came in from camp. When I read the first one, I was laughing and enjoyed The Bronx News and was happy that you had found a friend to hang out with. But your second letter shocked me. It made me feel very bad and reminded me of a lot of things I try to forget...

Amir stopped writing. Could she understand? How would the shameful memories look written down in black and white for Doris to see? He put the paper in his backpack, lay back down, and turned off the light. If he kept the normal night-time sounds in his head, then perhaps he wouldn't be pulled back to a
place that he never wanted to return to again. He heard Ronald snoring, his own heart pumping, crickets chirping. His mind latched onto every sound, listening for every little creak and crack in the walls and the floorboards.

He got up again and turned the lamp back on. He tore the unfinished letter into tiny pieces and reached for his sketchpad. Ronald turned over but didn't wake up. Amir began to draw a flower. He painstakingly drew and colored the scalloped edges of the dark green leaves and every small red petal. His mother's geraniums brightening their small, sad world. After the last red petal was colored in, he was able to fall asleep.

10
A.M.
Monday
August 24th

My Dear Amir,

How are you? Are you sick or something? I'm okay, I guess. The sky has turned into an ocean. Me and Gerald couldn't go to the library this morning. I wanted to write you a little note while I'm waiting for this rain to stop. If it doesn't end soon, me and Gerald will drive each other crazy. When I'm in the mood again and something good happens around here, I'll send you another Bronx News.

I hope that you received my last two letters. I'm anxious to know what you think about Charlene. I haven't seen her since she told me her secret. She stopped coming to the library, so now I just hang out with me, myself, and Gerald. I feel sorry for Charlene, but I'm angry with her, too.

If Charlene doesn't have sense enough to tell her mother about her sisters, then that's her problem. I can't even picture her hanging out with T.T., smoking pot. He doesn't come around here anymore. Maybe she was lying to me about him, because she doesn't want to tell on her sisters.

Lavinia and the twins were right for the first time in their lives, and maybe I should apologize to them. But I still don't like their attitude.

Gerald is bugging me as I write. He is pulling my arm and whining, "Dawiss, libree." I'll have to read him a story. That's the only thing that will settle him down when he gets like this. Have to go now.

Write soon!

Your soul friend,

Doris

P.S. Are you still sending out letters?

"Amir!" Ronald screeched from the bottom of the stairs just as Amir finished reading Doris's letter. "It's family devotional time," he yelled, almost like a taunt, as if he knew his brother didn't want to sit through family devotions.

Amir walked slowly down the stairs. Alvin sank back into his recliner that over the years had taken the shape of his broad frame. Grace sat on the sofa, and Ronald was sprawled on the floor in front of the blank television screen.

Alvin smiled as if something special was about to happen."Son, I just heard from my cousin that he found out where your uncle worked. The owner of the place said he moved to Virginia with his family. So Max is going to make some calls down there."

Grace sucked her teeth. "Alvin, I thought you said we'd wait until we knew for sure. We don't even know where in Virginia."

"I'm just keeping Amir updated. He's got to be hopeful."

Amir nodded. "Yes, sir, I'm hopeful."

Alvin frowned at him. "You don't sound hopeful. What happened to Mister Alvin? Son, is there something bothering you? If so, now is the time to speak on it."

"Nothing's bothering me.... I ... Nothing. I'm fine."

"Well, aren't you excited that we found out
where your aunt and her husband are?" Alvins voice rose slightly in frustration.

"I'm happy that you're close to finding them," Amir mumbled.

Grace cleared her throat. "Sit here, Amir." She made space for him next to her on the couch. "Alvin, maybe this is not the time."

"But this is our family devotions. We're here to help one another. Amir, talk to us."

"I'm okay, Mister Alvin," he said, trying to sound regular and normal.

Alvin shook his head slightly. "Amir, I might not be a well-educated person, but I'm a feeling person, and I can tell that something is worrying you." He leaned forward and stared directly at Amir. "It seemed like you were beginning to settle in; now all of a sudden we're back to square one. What is troubling you, son?"

Amir lowered his eyes and didn't answer. He could not begin to tell Mr. Smith what had happened to him.

Ronald jumped up from the floor. "Amir is in trouble?"

"No, Ronald," Grace said. "Troubling means something is worrying you."

Ronald started dribbling his imaginary basketball around the living room. Then he held the ball to his chest and made faces as if someone was trying to grab it.

"Ronald!" the Smiths yelled at the same time.

Alvin reached for him. "Boy, is you crazy?"

"I'm just trying to make Amir happy. Make him laugh."

"I'm not unhappy, Ronald." Amir was touched by his brother's efforts to cheer him up, and he tried to smile for Ronald's sake.

"Well, let me tell you what's bothering me," Alvin said. "It bothers me when we don't trust each other. When things worry us, we can't be afraid to say what they are. We're a family here."

Grace said, "Nothing's bothering me except I want to see Ronald play less basketball and read more this coming school year." She stared at Ronald, who'd been making faces at himself in the television screen. "You hear me, Ronald? What's bothering you?"

"I want to look at television."

"Guess that means that nothing's bothering him," Alvin said.

Grace looked exasperated. "Well, then, let's go to the positive things we are happy about and thankful for. Ronald, we'll start with you."