CHAPTER THREE
I SAW LESS OF ERIC. He got himself booted off the basketball team. He was hostile to everyone. Less to me, as if he sort of willed himself to remember that we used to be best friends. Sometimes I still sort of looked after him, like the day, in eleventh grade, that he threw up in the cafeteria. What a mess. I made sure he didn't swallow any until the nurse came.
His mother knew someone who worked at Howard University Hospital, so for a few days he was in there. She told mama they had to "pump his stomach." Detox, man. I actually prayed it would make him change. Make him be Eric again.
He did come to St. Francis almost regular for a couple of weeks. We sat together on the bus on the way to the tour of the FBI building. Every class did it in eleventh grade. We were supposed to be impressed, I guess.
"You want to shoot some hoops after school, man?" I asked him as we rode along.
He shook his head and looked out the window. I craned my neck to see what he was looking at, but nothing looked too special. "How about going for a burger?" Eric hadn't turned down a hamburger since I'd known him.
He turned to stare at me. I've never forgotten the look in his eyes. He seemed puzzled and angry and sad at the same time. "Gotta meet some people." He looked away.
"Anybody I know?" What did I care?
"Maybe. But nobody you like." This time he didn't look at me.
I figured I'd tried enough. For the rest of the ride, I talked to Wil about whether the Redskins were going to win when they played Dallas on Sunday.
I saw Eric in the cafeteria the next day. I couldn't figure out why he was even still coming to school. He got suspended for a couple days almost every month. They almost never expelled you from St. Francis. Brother Rodriguez always said they hated to give up on anybody. I figured Eric was one they were almost willing to let go.
Eric didn't talk much with me or any of our old friends. Most of the guys he hung around with were younger. Somebody said he sold dope. I didn't believe it. Not Eric.
IT WAS ABOUT TWO months after the cafeteria incident ("barf day," Wil called it) when it happened. I was walking out of school, leaving early to help Uncle Rudy move into a senior citizen apartment. Or, as he called it, the "old farts' home."
I saw Eric talking to the short man in the St. Francis parking lot. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I could see they were angry. Eric kept stamping his foot. That's what he always did when he was mad. He'd done it since we were in kindergarten.
Suddenly, he reached over and grabbed the short man's arm. Still, I wasn't worried. Eric was almost a foot taller. When Eric grabbed him, the man got real angry. He jerked back, but Eric grabbed him again. Before I even had time to decide whether to walk over there or keep going, the short man moved to the side and there was a pop and a flash of light. Almost like somebody lit a cigarette lighter and then turned it off.
Eric's hands dropped slowly to his sides. Then he sort of slid sideways. He didn't even try to keep standing. I couldn't move. The man looked around. He saw me, then turned and ran. I could hear the guys shouting and the girls screaming behind me. I started walking toward Eric.
THE FUNERAL MASS was about the longest thing I ever sat through. Brother Rodriguez sat on the altar with the priest from Eric's and my parish. My parish, now. Mama and Eric's mom wanted me to serve as an altar boy, but I told them I just couldn't. I felt bad, because I wanted to help Eric's mom. But nothing I ate was staying in me. I didn't want to throw up in the middle of Mass. Not on the altar, in front of everybody.
Reporters covered the funeral because Eric sold drugs to kids at Shaw Junior High. I couldn't believe it. They said he started as a courier, and he never did more than enough to get his own dope. Big deal. Dead is dead. How many kids he sold to would end up like him?
Eric's mother went off. She kept grabbing me, hugging me, and telling everyone how wonderful Eric used to be, when he "only played with Frankie."
Mama and Uncle Rudy were pretty good. Mama didn't give any of her usual lectures on what drugs would do to you. Uncle Rudy didn't say much, and he kept pulling Eric's mom off me; gently of course. Later, I remembered that I didn't see him drink for three whole days. After the funeral, I helped Uncle Rudy move his stuff to the seniors' apartment. He had called and told them why he couldn't come when he was supposed to. He didn't have a lot of stuff to move.
I WASN'T ABOUT TO go back to school. Every day I'd have to walk right by the spot. The day after the funeral, Mama stood in the door to my room. "You sick? You're never sick."
"I'm not going."
"You want to, you can stay home today. You're goin' tomorrow." I didn't say anything. I just rolled over and looked at the wall. You could see the marks where I used to stick my gum at night.
At lunchtime I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Eric wouldn't eat peanut butter. Mama always had to make him plain jelly sandwiches. I flipped on the TV. M*A*S*H. They were giving somebody a shot for pain. Drugs. I flipped it off, and went back to bed.
At about three o'clock there was a knock on the door. I ignored it. The person knocked three more times. Finally they went away. Then the phone rang. It wouldn't stop ringing so I walked downstairs. I looked at it for a minute. Maybe if I stared at it, it would stop ringing. No such luck.
"Yeah."
"Myers. That you?"
The voice wasn't one I was used to hearing on the phone. "Who wants to know?"
"I just wanted to make sure you were home. I'll be there in a minute." Click.
Who was that? "Brother Rodriguez!" I shouted it. No way. I tore up to my room, pulled my sneakers from under the bed, and raced down the steps. I flung open the door, and there he was, walking up the steps. He must have called from his car.
"You weren't in school today. I wanted to make sure you were all right."
"So, it's your week to watch me, or what?" I didn't move from the door to let him in.
He kept coming. It was move over or brace myself to get run into. For some reason, I moved over. He walked past me, down the small hallway, and paused at the living room. "Aren't you going to shut the door?"
I'd shut the door when I pleased. I closed it, and turned to face him. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here because your friend Eric died. I'm here to tell you it isn't your fault."
I was enraged. How dare he mention Eric's name? Eric. Why couldn't I make you stop, man?
"You see," he continued, "you may have been his best friend, but you didn't order him to take drugs or get involved with those people."
"What people?" I couldn't believe I was asking Brother Rodriguez a question.
"Like the man who killed him."
My God. Eric was dead. He wasn't coming back. We'd never punch each other out in the library again. His brother wouldn't have anyone to shoot hoops with. I couldn't stand it.
He kept talking. I didn't hear him. Eric was dead. I leaned against the wall and shut my eyes. Eric. How could you do this? Man, you have got to come back. I'll visit you in the hospital. When you get out, it'll be just like old times. You can come to Thailand with me.
"NO!" In a rage, I turned and pounded my fist into the wall.
Brother Rodriguez sprang toward me. He grabbed my wrist. I think I was going to hit him, and then I realized how bad my hand hurt.
He looked at it. "I'm sorry son, it's broken."
Like I was his kid.
The hand was turning purple right in front of me. Rodriguez took my other hand, and put it around the wrist of the hurt one. "Hold that, I'll get some ice." He walked to the kitchen.
I leaned against the wall as I slid to the floor. This really hurt.
Rodriguez came back with the ice, wrapped in a towel, and held it on my hand. "Shouldn't it feel cold?" I asked.
"It will in a minute. Can you hold that on there? I'm going to call a cab to take us to the hospita
l." He called and then wrote a note to mama. Like it was his house.
Honk, honk. No cab ever came that fast. Maybe they could tell he was white. Or Hispanic, anyway. But he didn't have an accent. Anyway, a white man called from a black neighborhood, so they sent the cab fast. He came to where I was sitting on the floor. "Can you stand up? Lean on me with your good elbow."
"Nothing wrong with my elbows." It was all slow motion. Honk, honk. He helped me stand and propelled me toward the door.
It was a long cab ride. By that time, my hand really hurt, and I measured distance by bumps and sudden stops.
"Can you go a little easier?" asked Rodriguez. "My friend's hand is really hurting."
"Sure, mack. Tough break."
His friend. I wasn't his friend. Eric was my friend. Eric. That's when I started to cry. Crying in a cab, with a teacher next to me, and my hand in pieces.
In the emergency room, the nurse came in with a needle. I sat up and yelled. "No dope!" I scared her, and she backed away.
"Really, it's all right." Brother Rodriguez said it to her, and to me. "This will only make the pain less. It won't hurt you." He helped me lie back down.
I felt like a real jerk. She reached for my underwear. I rolled back. "What are you..."
"Your hip. I can't get to your hip with your pants up.
Cold when she wiped me with alcohol. Ow! I didn't say anything.
Brother Rodriguez leaned over to talk to me. "Just relax. You'll start to feel better real fast."
I remember snatches of conversation. Somebody said it was a bad break, and they'd have to put me to sleep to set it. Couldn't they see I was already asleep?
Eric was there for awhile. I kept trying to reach him, but my arms were heavy. He kept backing away, and laughing. Where was my watch? Uncle Rudy still liked to look at it and push the buttons. What time is it Eric? Is it time to get up?
"Mr. Myers. Franklin Myers." The woman was calling from a haze somewhere. How did she know my full name? Maybe she knew my Uncle Frank.
"It's time to wake up. Can you wiggle your fingers?"
Of course I could.... "Ow!" Those fingers hurt.
"Good," the voice again.
Good, nothing.
"When you wake up a little more, you can go to your room. Your mother is waiting for you. Can you take a deep breath for me?"
I tried to open my eyes to see the voice. It was too hard. Maybe if I was asleep, she would go away.
"In a minute, you can go see your mother. She and your friend are waiting in your room."
My heart beat faster. Eric? That was....stupid. She meant Brother Rodriguez. It was starting to come back to me. Eric. Man, why did you do it?
I heard mama long before they wheeled me into the room. "There he is! Oh, Frankie. I never should have gone to work."
I finally got my eyes open to look at mama. "S'okay, mama." My words sounded slurred, even to me. I was doing an Uncle Rudy. Closed the eyes again.
A man's voice spoke next. "He really will be all right, Mrs. Myers."
Good. Brother Rodriguez would make mama feel better. Good job for a religious guy.
"I just know these folks'll take good care of you," mama said. "But I'll be here, too. You just don't worry about anything."
"He'll be sleeping soon. You can go home and get some sleep and come back in the morning."
Rodriguez really knew how to handle her.
"Oh, I couldn't go..."
"Truly, Mrs. Myers. You need the sleep so you can help him better in the morning."
Good man.
"Frank, I'm going to take your mother down and put her in a cab. She'll be back tomorrow."
I struggled to open my eyes. It was getting harder again.
"That's all right. I know you can hear me. You just get some rest. I'm going to walk your mother down, now."
Mama talked real loud. "I know I won't sleep. I just couldn't..."
Mama's voice was getting farther away. That was good, I didn't have to try to open my eyes anymore. They were just too heavy.
"Frank. Frank. Are you awake at all?" Rodriguez was back.
That's right, he said he would put mama in a cab. He didn't say anything about putting himself in a cab.
"I'm going back to St. Francis. I just want you to know that a lot of people like you, and are going to help you through this. You'll miss Eric for a long time, but each day will be just a little easier."
"Eric's gone. I... He...," the words couldn't come.
"Try to get some sleep, now, Frank. You aren't alone." His feet hurried down the hall.
Sleep. Sleep. Eric. Sleep.