Before the Ever After(4)

and see them cry happy tears.

But some days now, my dad sits at the window, silent tears slowly moving down his face.

I don’t even know when his tears started.

I don’t even know when they’re going to end.





Real Fiction


On Saturday mornings

I read novels about stuff like guys running or playing ball or just being with their friends.

“Realistic fiction.” I don’t know why it’s not just called “real fiction” or why I don’t want to read anything else anymore.

I like that it’s real people, real stuff happening to them

in real time. In my books, nobody jumps off a mountain, then bounces back up to the top. Nobody can fly or cast a lifesaving web

across the city. I wish.

But life doesn’t work that way.

Today I’m reading a novel about these kids who live in Harlem

and get in some trouble over a science project.

Something about their faraway life and different kind of problems makes the stuff happening around here seem like— I don’t know. Feels like anything can be kinda okay in the end. Maybe that’s why I like realistic fiction. Real problems that real people could have and the stories not always ending with some happily ever after. But still most people seem to end up

okay.





Race Day


Yo, ZJ! It’s race day!

I’m lying in bed watching the snow come down but jump up quick

when I hear my daddy.

Yo, ZJ! It’s race day!

Throw on my track pants, sneaks and hoodie before I even brush my teeth.

Used to be me in a jogging stroller, my daddy pushing me all over Maplewood.

Then me on my scooter, trying to keep up with him.

But now we mostly run together.

And one day a year, we race!

It’s Sunday and this is the year I’ll beat him. I know it.

This is the year, I yell down the stairs to him. You ain’t ready!

Don’t say ain’t, my daddy yells back.

And I already am ready.

You the one up there still getting dressed.

I run down the stairs and he’s standing in the doorway, bending over to touch his toes, then stretching his arms up and over.

I stand behind him and do the same thing, bending left with him

and right with him and

over and up with him.

The two of us, the way we’ve always done.

And then we run!

Down Valley to Baker Street, Baker to Ridgewood Road, then Cypress with him only a little bit ahead of me and the air leaving my lungs, coming back in cold, the snow turning to beads

on our faces, mixing in with the sweat.

I can hear my daddy’s own breath coming hard as we turn at the golf course, make our way back, and that’s when I kick a sprint at him, take off with the air stinging my cheeks, my smile as wide as anything until I hear him coming up behind me,

his size fourteen shoes crunching in the snow, his laughter the soft sound

I’ve always known.

You thought you had me, he says between breaths, and then he’s gone, kicking dusty snow up and yelling back over his shoulder One day, ZJ.

But today is not that day!

I keep running, though, because the day feels regular and regular feels cold and good.

I keep running fast and hard, just a little bit behind him, already thinking I’m gonna win this race next year.





Tackle


One time, me and Ollie were in my yard playing tackle while his mom, Bernadette, talked with my mom inside.

Ollie tackled me so hard, my head hit the ground and my nose bled.

I ran inside with the blood all down the front of my shirt, Ollie

running beside me saying I’m sorry, ZJ.

I didn’t mean to bust your nose like that. I’m sorry.

After that, both my mom and Bernadette said if they ever saw us playing tackle without helmets again . . .

That’s all they said, but we knew the rest.

My dad probably holds the Football Hall of Fame record for the most concussions. Even with a helmet on.

I don’t think Mama really likes football, but she won’t say that,

just says I better never see you playing without a helmet just says Why don’t you and Ollie find another game to play just says Be careful

just says I love you, ZJ—body, brain and soul.





Maplewood, 2000


This guy on the radio said the world was going to end when we got to the new millennium. That it was gonna explode—a whole nother big bang but this time, instead of the earth being created, it was just gonna bust into smithereens and all of us would be gone from here.

Forever.

December 31, 1999, came on a Friday. So Ollie, Darry and Daniel were all staying at my house.

A little bit of snow was falling, and we were in my room listening to a Prince CD, playing that song “1999”

over and over again.

Darry was dancing.

Maybe one day we’ll see him

dancing on TV.

He danced over to the window, looking up at the sky, waiting for some sign.

I asked him if he saw anything that looked like the end of time.

Nope, he said. Just snow.

And maybe we were a little bit scared that it was true.