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More of that silence.
Look, I didn’t want to eavesdrop.If anybody else had overheard my most intimate conversations with Bobby, I would have spontaneously combusted, and then I would have collapsed into dust, and then my ghost would have swept up my remains and dumped them into a dustbin.(It’s from an episode ofThe Simpsons.) But I couldn’t run.I couldn’t hide.I couldn’t even turn on music or try to read because I was on my way to becoming permanently pretzel shaped.
“It’s fine,” Millie said with that same see-sawing certainty thateverything is okay.“She’s just stressed about Christmas.”
“She’s not just stressed.She does it all the time.”He paused.“I’m going to say something.”
“No, Keme, come on.It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s a big deal to me.”And then, his voice husky with emotion: “I love you.Everything about you is a big deal to me.”
“I know.I love you too.I just want everyone to have a nice Christmas and get along.”
“We can’t get along.Not when she—she bullies you like that.Not when your sisters are mean to you right in front of me.And they all pretend I can’t hear them, like I’m not even there.Jeez, Millie, your mom wants me to be thedonkey.”
“This is a big change for them,” Millie said.“They don’t know you yet.They’re going to love you once they get to know you.”
Keme’s silence was its own answer.
“We have to keep trying,” Millie said.And then in a burst of enthusiasm I was more familiar with, “We can tell them you applied to ARCADIA!”I didn’t hear anything, but Keme must have shaken his head because Millie said, “Why not?Everyone will be so excited for you—”
“No, Millie.They won’t.And I don’t know why you—” Keme cut off with a sharp sound.“I thought we were done with that.I’m not doing that.I’m not going to that stupid school.”
“Keme, that’s what peopledoafter high school.”
“Not you.”
“But that’s because I’m not smart.”
“Yes, you—”
“You’re sosmart, Keme.You’re a million times smarter than me.Youhavetogo to college.”
“Why?So I can get a job?So I can make a lot of money?So I can end up like those two jackanapes in there?”
(Side note: Keme didnotsay jackanapes.)
“That’s not—” Millie tried.
“So your mom will finally like me because I drive a Range Rover?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.I’m saying you don’t want to end up like me—”
“Quit saying that!”Keme’s shout made me start, and I cracked my knee against the dash.When he spoke again, his voice was only slightly more under control.“The only reason you say stuff like that is because of your mom.”
The silence grew.And grew.I could almost see it, spreading outward from the epicenter.
“I think I’m going to call it a night,” Millie said, the words stiff.
“I’m trying to help you—”
“No, you’re not.You’re mad because you never have to do anything you don’t want to do, and now you do.Well, don’t worry about it.You don’t have to be in the Christmas pageant.You don’t have to spend time with my family.You don’t have to go to college.You can do whatever you want, Keme.”
The boy didn’t answer.
Then his steps started to move away.
Millie called, “Where are you going?”