School has finally let out, which means we’ve got seventy-something days to enjoy ourselves before college, and we’re just days from graduation. Auntie Nicola used to say that with graduation comes the real world, a handful of babies, and a string of life crises.
And this means I have weeks, no, maybe days to hear back about an admissions decision from Howard.
Ivy calls and tells me that she was accepted into all four colleges she applied to, and it’s just a matter of her committing to one. She doesn’t want to stray too far from Candace, her new girlfriend, who’s already enrolled in a local beauty school.
And even G-mo tells me that he put in his application to UCLA and is pending late admission. It turns out the girl he’s talking to has some sort of connection with the head honcho over there, like an aunt or uncle or cousin or something, and his chances of getting in have, like, doubled.
Faith is going to transfer to an art school in New York with a full-ride scholarship, which she earned by submitting one of her completely original and beautiful magazine collages. I promise her that I’ll come to visit. I’m going to find a way to make this happen. Maybe after the trial, I’ll be able to think a bit straighter.
All this to say: My two best friends, and my girlfriend, have committed to their futures, made promises to their dreams, and I still feel stuck with no plan A, just a plan B titled Hood Life Forever weighing down on my shoulders.
My birthday is coming up soon, and I make it a thing to let everyone know that I will not celebrate it. I can’t. It’s not a happy day like it used to be. It’s more of a day of mourning—a day where we’ll just gather to grieve and cry over a marble cake. Knowing that this will be a year of many firsts without the other half of the equation has me numb with grief.
I’ve got over five hundred followers on Tumblr now and a shit-ton of reblogs, and according to G-mo, who suddenly claims to be an expert on Tumblr, this is big—like, really big. More people are listening. And every day, the like count on Facebook climbs higher and higher. We’re at nine thousand right now.
I’m trying to sort out which photo to upload to all the pages next. I try to keep them synchronized and updated. Yesterday, I discovered some pictures of the protest, so I just reposted them. My goal has been to post something to remember him daily.
I can’t decide if I want to post this photo of Tyler and me when we were four, the two of us sitting on Mama’s and Dad’s laps in some strip mall, the Easter bunny making the peace sign behind us—the two of us looking absolutely terrified by the giant rabbit. Tyler would wrestle me to the ground if he ever knew I was thinking about posting this. Wherever he is, I know he’s looking down on me, cussing me out under his breath. But probably with a smile, too.
It still takes effort to get up out of bed.
Some days, when I do, I just stare at the blackness I see in the mirror hanging on my closet door. I tell myself that I love this skin, that I’ve always loved my blackness, that if the world doesn’t love me, I will love myself for the both of us. After reminding myself that I matter, that I always mattered, that Tyler mattered and still does, I make a promise to myself. I promise that I’ll never be silent about things that matter, that I’ll keep on saying his name for the rest of my days.
Blasting “I Got 5 On It” by Luniz on my phone and eating an Oatmeal Creme Pie, I walk outside to check the mail. Today’s a nice day, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to be miserably rainy at all, which goes against everything my weather app promised.
One whiff of the air and I can tell somebody’s having a cookout somewhere nearby. I don’t know exactly where it’s coming from, but it smells good as hell. I can even hear the faint bass of music in the distance over my own.
I pull three envelopes from the mailbox. One of them is addressed to me. It’s from Howard. A gasp slips out of me, and I damn near do the Dougie in the middle of the street. I’m not going to open it right now. I’m going to go inside first and show Mama.
I’m cat daddying all the way up the driveway.
“Mama!” I shout, bursting through the door.
The thump of my heart gets even louder when I set foot in the living room, where she’s cleaning up—vacuum going, bleach water sitting in a bucket, gospel music blaring and everything.
“Look, look, look!” I shout to her, waving the envelope in her face.
Her eyes get wide. She takes off her yellow cleaning gloves and hugs me. “Open it, open it,” she says, damn near jumping up and down for me.
I don’t even care about being all neat. I rip the shit out of the envelope and pull out a letter. At the top it says: CONGRATULATIONS! ADMITTED! And I don’t even catch myself crying until Mama’s wiping my tears for me.
She reads the letter out loud, then says, “I’m so proud of you.” She steps back and just smiles at me, like she’s finally scraped up a little happiness.
I hug her again and everything feels perfect.
Wednesday comes, and I’m in the passenger seat in the car with Mama, and we’re spending all of today together at her request. She’s driving us to some burger place she found by her job. I stare out the window at the rapidly passing scenery, jamming to an oldie, “Doo Wop (That Thing)” by Lauryn Hill, on the radio. I guess all of this is to ease our nerves about the grand jury trial happening in a matter of days. Just days now. Man, it’s so close. I try not to think about the trial, because I know that in the end, it doesn’t matter what the jury decides. Tyler’s life still mattered, even if they can’t see it for themselves.
When we pull up to a little burger shack with an orange sign in front of the door that says IN-N-OUT BURGER, Mama cuts the engine, and the music cuts off right at the chorus, leaving an awkward silence.
Inside the burger joint, the air smells like onions, and it’s fairly empty, so all the staff members are looking at us. Mama orders a plain cheeseburger, and I get the double-double.
We both eat slowly once we choose a table. I can tell she wants to talk by how she watches me take every bite. That’s a thing about her I’ve picked up over the years.
“How’s your food?” I ask.
“Pretty good,” she says, dipping fries in ketchup.
“Yeah.” I nod, going in for my fries now.
There’s a beat before she clears her throat. She pushes a piece of hair away from her face and pins it back into her short ponytail. “I’ve been thinking about scattering Tyler’s ashes,” she says, looking down at her food. “Nicola said it’s a good thing, too.”
What. The. Hell?
Faintly, very faintly, I let out a breath. I don’t know whether to be mad or not, but I’m mad and sad and hurt all at once. All I say back is “Why?”
It looks like she wants to scream or cry or both. “I just thought maybe it would be good for us.”
“Us?” I question.
“You and me. Tyler, too,” she responds. “I don’t think it’s right for me to be holding on to him forever, baby.” She wipes her mouth with a napkin. “I’ve been thinking about some good places to do it at. Like maybe a river or ocean or something. Somewhere that it feels right.”
I just nod and finish up my food, trying to process everything. I think about it on the way back home, think about it all night. When I go to sleep, I end up dreaming about it, too.