—Well, I just wanted to let you know that I’m concerned. A couple of weeks ago, he ran out of the room in tears in the middle of a discussion about the suicide of Lady Macbeth. Let me ask you this—and please don’t misunderstand my intentions or think that I’m trying to intrude into the personal life of your family—but wasn’t Andy seeing a counselor about possible problems that may have been caused by his involvement in that accident?
—Yes he was, initially. But the counselor has told me that he feels that Andy is adjusting quite well to the situation, and we will be discontinuing those sessions on a regular basis. I appreciate your efforts, but I feel that you might be overly concerned about a situation that is under control.
—I see. Well, thank you for your time. I hope Andy is able to get himself together and pass English this quarter. I’d hate to see him fail.
—I’ll talk to him. You’ll see an improvement. That’s a promise.
Lions, Tigers, and
Dinosaurs
Andy and Monty at Home
FEBRUARY 20
—Hey, Monty, what’s up? Watcha doin’ there, little brother?
—Hi, Andy. I’m colorin’ this picture for my teacher. It’s real live homework, just like you do.
—Yeah, I wish mine was still that easy. Is that a poster for Brotherhood Week?
—Yep. It says, “All for one and one for all.”
—Hey, that’s pretty good reading for a little dude.
—This is nothin’. Last week, my teacher gave me a book with chapters in it. Watcha think of that?
—Chapters? I didn’t know they put chapters in first-grade books. You too heavy for me. How come all the people in your picture got yellow hair?
—’Cause that’s the prettiest color hair. These are special people in my picture and I want them to look real nice, so they gonna have yellow hair.
—You crazy, kid. What about this little girl here? She looks black to me—she’s got fuzzy little braids and a real nice smile. Don’t you have any brown crayons?
—Nope. She gonna have fuzzy little yellow braids.
—Why don’t you make her look like Keisha? She’s got pretty brown skin and curly black hair. You like Keisha, don’t you?
—She’s okay. You the one that’s crazy about Keisha, not me. I like girls with yellow hair.
—You’re a hopeless little dude, Monty.
—Actually, I like colorin’ Africa pictures better than this kind of pictures—with no people in it. You know—lions and tigers and dinosaurs and stuff.
—Lions and tigers and dinosaurs?? That’s some combination.
—Yep, and giraffes and dragons too. Hey, Andy, can I ask you somethin’?
—Sure, kid. Lay it on me.
—Do tigers cry?
—I don’t know, Monty. I never thought about it, but I don’t think they do. Why do you ask?
—Well, I drew a picture last week at school, and the teacher wanted to know why I put tears on my tiger. I told her he was very sad. Like you get sometime.
—You’re somethin’ else, little man. If you want to put tears on your tiger or dragons in your jungle, you tell your teacher that your big brother said it was just fine.
—Okay. Hey, Andy, can you take me to see that new dinosaur show at the museum?
—No, buddy, I can’t—I can’t drive—remember?
—Oh, did you forget how to drive?
—No, I’m not allowed to drive anymore.
—Why? Were you bad?
—Yes, Monty, I was bad. I was really, really bad…. Now go wash your hands and get ready for dinner.
Hidden Options
Conversation between Teachers
FEBRUARY 25
—How’s that Andy Jackson doing in your class, Sheila?
—Well, he was no superstar to begin with. I guess now he’s somewhere between failing miserably and squeaking by with mercy. He’s not a bad kid. I understand he’s pretty good in basketball. Maybe that will be his escape. That’s what they all think anyway.
—Does he seem like he’s bouncing back from that accident he was in a few months back? Wasn’t he in counseling for a while?
—Yes, but I understand he’s been dismissed by the psychiatrist as “stable.”
—Stable? Look, I had Robbie Washington in my history class and it still upsets me. That kid watched his best friend die. How could he be stable after only three months?
—You know what? Just between the two of us, I don’t think that accident affected him that much. Black kids are tough. They see a lot in life that we never experience. For example, that kid Gerald Nickelby, whose stepfather beats him up. Everybody knows about it. The police arrest his dad every few months or so. They go to court and Gerald ends up right back down there with the stepfather regaining custody. Like I said, they’re tough. A white kid would have cracked under the pressure that Andy went through. But do you know what Andy does? He’s always cracking jokes and making the other kids laugh. That young fool set off a bottle rocket from my window last month. The kids thought it was hilarious. They were all standing by the window cheering, when I walked in.
—Yes, you may be right. I heard he was going to be the master of ceremonies for that awful talent show they have. There’s no real talent. All they have is that loud, disgusting rap music. Remember last year? That sweet little Donna Correlli was booed off the stage when she tried to sing opera.
—Oh, don’t get me started about rap music…meaningless, mindless noise. Well, there’s the bell. I’m giving my first bell a pop quiz. Don’t forget the human relations committee meeting tonight after school.
—Okay, see you then.
Needs and Worries
Keisha’s Diary Entry
MARCH 9
Well, it’s been five months today, since me and Andy started going together. October 9-March 9. It’s been the roughest five months of my life, with the accident and everything. But Andy is so sweet, and so cute, and so—needing. It’s like he really needs me to keep going. Sometimes it’s nice, but I hate to say it, sometimes it gets on my nerves a little. Like last week, he was over here, and we were playing Ping-Pong in the basement, and he just goes and sits down on the couch and puts his head on his lap. I said, “Hey, Andy, Watcha do—swallow the ball?” But he didn’t smile—he looked up at me, and he had tears in his eyes, and he said, “Sometimes it just gets to me, you know?”
I get tired of all this depressing stuff. I miss Robbie too, but Andy can’t seem to get over it, and I’m the only one who knows it. He’s got his parents, his teachers, even that stupid counselor at the Outpatient Psych Center fooled. They all say stuff like, “Andy sure is adjusting well,” because he’s smiling and cheerful. He even volunteered to be the Master of Ceremonies at the Talent Show at school this month, and you ought to see him at practice, acting the fool up there on stage, rapping and dancing and grinning in the microphone. But I’m the one who has to listen to him when he calls me up just to ask, “What do you think it feels like to be dead?” or “Do you think Rob is cold tonight—it’s so cold tonight” or “If I died, would you miss me?”
I’d like to ease up on our relationship a little, but I don’t know how without hurting him. Well, he needs me, and he has been through a lot. I’m sure not going to be the one to cause him any more pain. But it sure does seem like Rhonda and Tyrone are having more fun.
“Do You? Do You?”
Rhonda’s Letter to
Tyrone (Passed to Him
during Chemistry Class)
MARCH 15
Dear Tyrone,
Last night when you told me you loved me, did you really mean it? Because I love ice cream, and I love the Cincinnati Reds, and I even love my little sister. But the real kind of love scares me. I’m afraid that if I let myself love you, I might get hurt.
I know that I love being with you and I love the way you make me laugh. I love the way you’re nice to my little sister and the way you’re respectful and polite to my father
. I love the way you offer to help my mother with the dishes. And I love the way you look at me across the room in chemistry class.
You make everything seem shiny and special. I’ve been to the zoo a million times, but when I went with you, it seemed exciting and fun. From counting mounds of elephant poop to watching the peacock spread his tail feathers—you made it wonderful. You have a way of making things that are ordinary seem really extraordinary. You make me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. And you make me tingle when I’m near you. But I wasn’t sure if what I was feeling was love or just happiness.
So last night, when you told me that you loved me, I could hardly catch my breath. I couldn’t say anything at first because the whole idea was so overwhelming. I think I love you too, Tyrone, so please don’t get mad at me if I ask you just once more. When you told me you loved me last night, do you really, really mean it?
Rhonda
“I Do”
Tyrone’s Letter to
Rhonda (Passed to Her
during English Class)
MARCH 15
Dear Rhonda,
YES.
Tyrone
Public Pleasure,
Private Pain
Talent Show at School
MARCH 30
—Ladies and Gentlemen!! Welcome to the Fifteenth Annual Hazelwood High School Talent Show. And I, Andrew Marvelous Jackson the First, will be your magnificent Master of Ceremonies! We’ll be rappin’ and scratchin’ and bumpin’ and jumpin’! We gonna electrify your senses and bombard your brain with the sounds that make you want to get down! So, let’s get busy!!!
—Rhonda, come here. You wanna see a striptease show from backstage? Stand here by the curtain so they can’t see you from the audience.
—Girl, Keisha, what are you talkin’ about?
—Look at Andy! Look what he’s doin’!
—He’s takin’ off his clothes! No, he’s just pretendin’. Wait a minute—he took off his shirt! Everybody’s dyin’ laughin’! Oh, no! He wouldn’t dare! He’s unbucklin’ his belt! This is too funny! Keisha, he’s crazy!
—Rhonda, look! Mrs. Jawes is starting down the aisle! I don’t think she finds it very funny.
—Psst, Andy! Old Thunder Jaws is headin’ your way!
—Whew! He’s putting his shirt back on. And the song is almost over. Did she go back to her roost?
—Yeah, but she’s got daggers in her eyes.
—Rhonda, speaking of eyes, could you see Andy’s face while he was dancing out there?
—The lights made it hard to see, but yeah, I did notice that his face looked funny.
—You know, with all that laughter and silliness out there, Andy wasn’t smiling. Shhh, here he comes…
—You’re doing a great job out there, Andy. They love you. That was so funny when you pretended to do that striptease in the background while Rashawn was singing, “Baby, Baby, Please!”
—Yeah, yeah, yeah. Is your group ready to sing, Keisha? If you’d spend more time gettin’ yourself together and less time spyin’ on me, this show could get over with by midnight. We ain’t got all night, you know.
—Hey, you don’t have to talk to me like that! I was just trying to compliment your stupid behind!
—What did I say? I just asked you if you were ready.
—It was the way you said it.
—Sometimes you get on my nerves, Keisha.
—Me? You’ve got to be kidding! Do you know what I put up with from you? If I hear one more sob story from you, I think I’ll puke!
—So that’s the way you feel about it! I thought you cared! I thought you were the only one in the world who really, really, cared!
—I do care, Andy. It’s just that sometimes it’s just too much!
—Why don’t you just go to hell!
—I believe that’s what I’m getting out of. Good-bye, Andy.
—Wait a minute! You can’t leave! What about your song?
—You sing it!
Private Pain
Andy and His
Mom at Home
MARCH 30, 11:00 P.M.
—Andy, you’re home early. How was the talent show?
—What do you care? You didn’t bother to come.
—You know I’ve had a sinus headache, dear. Where’s Keisha? I thought you two had planned to watch a movie on cable tonight.
—She went home. She had a headache. I guess it’s something all women get.
—Well, fix yourself something to eat, and I’m going to turn in. I have a sorority meeting here tomorrow, so don’t muss up the house.
—Yeah, whatever.
—Andy, is there anything wrong? You seem a little distracted tonight.
—No, Mom. I’m fine. I had a little fight with Keisha, that’s all.
—I’m sure you two will work it out. She’s such a nice young lady. I think she’s been real good for you—helping you through the difficult times of the last few months.
—I’m surprised you noticed. You’re right. She was probably the best thing that coulda happened to me. I didn’t deserve her. That’s why I lost her.
—No, don’t talk like that. You deserve the very best that life has to offer. As time goes on, and we learn to put that “unfortunate incident” behind us, you’ll find that your life will be full of wonderful opportunities, as well as lots of wonderful girls like Keisha.
—I wish you’d quit callin’ it “the unfortunate incident”! It wasn’t an “incident”! It was a crash! A terrible, terrible crash! And it was my fault! You need a dose of reality, Mom. You want to pretend it didn’t happen and I can’t deal with this by myself.
—You’re right, Andy. The reality hurts. I guess my way of dealing with it is to hide from it.
—I’ve tried hidin’, runnin’, even dreamin’. Nothin’ works. Hey Mom, do you remember when I was nine, and we went on vacation to South Carolina?
—Sure. It was one of the nicest we ever went on.
—Yeah, if I remember, you even got in the water and let your hairdo get all messed up. I think that’s probably the first, and last time, that I ever saw you without a “proper” hairdo.
—Well, I try to keep myself looking good.
—Oh, how well I know.
—So why did you bring up that vacation? Does it remind you of a time when things were better?
—Not really. Somethin’ happened on that vacation that I never told you ‘bout.
—What? What do you mean? What makes you bring it up now?
—’Cause the way I felt then is the way I feel tonight.
—I don’t follow.
—Do you remember that boy in the next cabin? He was about twelve, and we played on the beach together every day.
—Vaguely. Yes, now that you mention it. I remember you playing with an older boy quite a bit.
—Well, on the night before we were to leave for home, he and I sneaked out to see if we could catch crabs on the beach in the moonlight. You and Dad were asleep.
—Keep going.
—Well, we couldn’t find any crabs, so we decided to go wadin’ in this little pool of water that had collected near some rocks on the beach.
—A tide pool?
—Yeah, I guess that’s what it was. Anyway, it was a lot deeper than we thought it was, so we were goin’ to go back before our parents noticed that we were gone, when I slipped.
—Oh my goodness! Then what happened?
—It was dark, so I couldn’t see, and I was under the water, so I couldn’t breathe. I tried to scream, but water got into my mouth and my throat and my chest. I was cryin’ out for help, but my cries only made things worse. That’s how I feel tonight, Mom. That’s exactly how I feel tonight.
—So how did you get out of there? Why didn’t you tell us?
—That kid pulled me out, dried me off, and hit me on the back until I stopped coughin’ and started breathin’ normally again. Then he made me promise never to tell what happened, or he would find me and b
eat me up. I was just glad to be out of there, so I crept back into bed, and never said a word. I figured the kid wouldn’t have to beat me up—you’d kill me if you had found out. But you’re missin’ my point. I didn’t bring his up to tell you about a dump stunt I pulled when I was nine. I’m trying to explain how I feel tonight.
—Well, this is quite a revelation. You’re right. I probably would have punished you. No doubt about it. And I want to help you now, Andy, but I don’t know how. I just know that time heals all wounds, and that you’re young and strong and resilient. You’ll bounce back from this. Just like that time, when you were nine, you survived, and you emerged from that pool a stronger and wiser person. It will happen again. You’ll see. My headache is getting worse. Let’s talk some more in the morning. Good-night, Andy.
—Good-night, Mom.
She doesn’t understand that this time there’s no one to pull me out…. I bet her headache is nothin’ compared to mine. Maybe I should call that Carrothers dude. Naw, I can handle this. I don’t need Keisha. She was wastin’ my time anyway. If I could just shake off the fuzziness I feel. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I feel like the world is closin’ in on me. I’m drowning again, only this time, Mom, I’m in an ocean….
Naw, I can handle it. I can handle it.
“Girl, Let Me Tell You!”
Rhonda’s Second Letter to Saundra
APRIL 1
April 1
Dear Saundra,
Guess what! Andy and Keisha broke up the other night! Ooh, girl, you should have been there! It was at the Talent Show. Andy was Master of Ceremonies, and he was dealing! It was really live! The music was loud and the teachers were all lined up in the back of the auditorium, frowning, so you know it was good.