Part 31 (2/2)
I wanted all that pain to go away. If I made you believe that he'd never existed, then maybe I could believe it, too. Forget about him. Forget how he died.
It would be easy. We never talk about him, you see. Except for his birthday and the anniversary of his death. But other than those two days it's like Jordan never existed.
I wish he never had. I wish I had invented him. I'd rather Pete was my brother than Jordan. Inventing Pete would be easier than inventing Jordan. He makes more sense.
Not that I invented Pete.
You know what I mean.
Making myself believe that Jordan was imaginary didn't work. I don't think I ever stood a chance. Even dead, he's there all the time. In the way my parents look at me. In the way they don't look at me. In the way they don't trust me.
Or love me.
It was an accident.
Why don't they believe that?
Why don't you?
AFTER.
I must have fallen asleep. Up all night, and grief wearing me into exhaustion. I wake to the white boy patting my cheek. ”Don't cry,” he's telling me. ”Why are you crying?”
”Because they f.u.c.king left me.” I wipe my cheeks. I have cried in my sleep. I'm crying still. ”Because Zach's dead,” I whisper.
”But it's good here.”
The boy's cross-legged in the mud beside me. It's dark but I can't tell if that's the dense tree coverage or because the sun has set. Either way it's late in the day and there's no electricity. Not that I care. My life is over. No city, no college, no future. I'll never see Sarah or Tayshawn again. I might as well be in prison.
If I go home will Mom and Dad take me in?
I don't think so. If I go back to the city I'll have no money, no shelter, no nothing. I'll be a street kid like Pete.
My parents have taken everything away.
”We can be happy here,” the boy says. He's patting the top of my head as if I was a dog.
”We?” I ask the boy, wis.h.i.+ng my eyes would quit leaking.
”You and me. This is why I found you and you rescued me. This is the happy part. We belong here.”
He's not just stupid, he's insane. I belong here the way a homeless kid like him belongs at the Ritz-Carlton. Not at all.
”I like it here. I like the horses and the other animals. And your cousins. Even though they poke. But when they knock me down they help me back up. They don't hit as hard as you do. There's lots of food. I picked an apple off a tree. Not just one apple. Lots. Ate them, too.”
”You're brain damaged.”
”When I'm a wolf they're going to teach me how to hunt. I want to be a wolf.”
”Don't talk about that. I've seen the results of your hunting.”
I sit up. It's cold. The chill runs through my whole body. I am never cold.
”They're going to teach me to ride a horse. How to make fences and fix them. No one's taught me how to do anything before. Not anything good. I like it here.”
”You said.” I bring my knees up, hug them to my chest. Every part of me is frozen but I don't care.
He leans his head against my shoulder. I almost stroke his hair. I pull my hand away just in time. He killed Zach.
”I'm glad you wolfed me,” he says, still leaning on me.
”I told you, I didn't. It's the way you are. Like having brown hair, or big feet, or being tall. It's in your genes.”
”I never thought I was people,” the boy says. ”I didn't belong in the city.”
”Not you, too,” I say, but he's not listening, he's telling.
”The city's mean. It's people pus.h.i.+ng you around. Telling you where you can't go. Fall asleep on a stoop and people yell at you to get off. They yell at you for taking the food they threw away in the trash. Yell at you for being on the same subway car as them. People are all yelling and pus.h.i.+ng and worse. Lots worse. It's not like that here because it's not real people-it's wolf people.”
”They're not all wolves. Not even half.”
”I like it here.”
”Yay for you.”
”Why don't you like it here? You're a wolf person.” He angles his head to look up at me. Even in the murky light I can see that the black eye has gotten more lurid.
”Yeah, but I don't want to be. I belong in the city. It's my home. I want to finish high school,” I say, though I know he'll never understand. ”I want to go to college. I've studied so hard. I sent off my college applications. I want to study biology. Figure out what I am, how it works. Map my DNA. These genes we have, you and me. What are they? What are we? How are we? I want to be the one to find out. I'm not going to find out anything stuck here, am I? With a bunch of morons who haven't made it past the seventh grade. None of my cousins have been to preschool, let alone college. Half of them can't even read!” I'm crying again.
”I can't read,” says the boy. ”Why does a wolf need to read?”
I don't know what to say to that. I'm still crying. If I stay on the farm I will lose my mind. I will lose who I am. ”I can't imagine what your life was like.”
”Doesn't matter,” the boy says. ”It's good now. I'm not going to think about how it was.”
”Just like that?” I say. ”You're going to forget the rest of your life?”
He nods. ”I never remember the bad stuff. But now it's going to be all good stuff. I can remember everything from now on. Everything from when I first saw you.”
I try not to be angry with him. I subst.i.tute despair. He killed Zach after he first saw me. That's one of his treasured memories. I don't ask him about it. I don't want to punch him again.
”Why do you want to go back there?” he asks. ”At your school if they knew you was a wolf would they still like you? I bet they don't like you. Not how you are. If you stay here you don't have to be a person. Everyone here knows what you are-a wolf. Like them. They like you because you're a wolf. Here's better.”
How could this moron street kid know that? I stare at him. He blinks but doesn't look away. I'm grateful it's getting too dark to see the full glory of the black eye I gave him.
What if he's right? I am a wolf. Back in the city I have to fight what I am every single day. Take pills to keep it at bay. I have to tamp down all my impulses. Not leap at enemies' throats, not jump on the people I desire, not run when I want, not eat when and how I want.
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