Before he can think better of it, Jessup tells Wyatt what happened in the parking lot between him and Corson. He sticks pretty close to the truth. Makes himself sound a little better, Corson a little worse.
Says, “I would have kicked his ass, but there was a cop was sitting right there.”
“Come on,” Wyatt says. “Need more beer.”
Jessup follows Wyatt onto the deck. The snow has slowed down enough that it might as well have stopped. There’s a cluster of boys from the team leaning against the railing and looking out at the lights of Cortaca dripping across the landscape below. Cortaca Lake is a dark spill of ink. Derek Lemper is holding two beers and laughing. He’s topless for some reason, despite the cold, his gut spilling out.
Wyatt reaches for the tap to fill his cup. “Sweet Jesus, Jessup, can you think of anything worse than Derek topless?”
Jessup takes a sip of his water. It’s refreshing out on the deck. “Worse than Derek topless? Derek without pants is no picnic either.”
They both laugh. Jessup puts his cup on the railing and then places both his hands flat while Wyatt messes with the tap, trying to get more beer than foam.
The sky is dark with clouds, but the city and the university are a galaxy of stars, dorms lit up and stadium lights tunneling out of the darkness by the soccer fields, the hotels near the downtown core with gap-toothed grins, open and closed curtains, people getting ready for a late night out, others already in bed for the evening, streetlights and houses lit up, the sparkling blue of a snowplow clearing off Route 13.
“It’s not too late to grab him and beat the crap out of him, you know. Teach him his place.”
Jessup doesn’t turn around. He feels Wyatt move up and then sees his friend lean on the railing, too. Yes, he thinks, I want to beat the crap out of Corson. Wants to put him on the ground and smash out those white teeth, find the car he’s driving, throw a brick through the windshield. He doesn’t say anything, but Wyatt answers anyway.
“I know,” Wyatt says. “But don’t worry. He’ll get his when the time comes.” He nudges Jessup with his elbow. The corner of his mouth twitches. “Rahowa, bitches.”
Jessup can’t stop himself from laughing, though he knows it wouldn’t be funny to anybody else. Rahowa. Racial holy war. The elders at the Blessed Church of the White America have been promising a racial holy war as long as Jessup can remember. Jessup hasn’t been to church in four years, but according to Wyatt, the racial holy war is still just around the corner, same as it always has been. Jessup can’t joke about it with his other friends—the Blessed Church of the White America doesn’t make people laugh—but that’s one of the things he likes about Wyatt. They share a language. Wyatt at McDonald’s—“After rahowa, they won’t keep putting pickles on my burger when I asked for no goddamned pickles”—or running wind sprints during two-a-days in the heat of August—“I’m calling rahowa on wind sprints,” he’d say, which made Jessup laugh even though what he really wanted to do was puke—or under his breath so only Jessup can hear him when Mrs. Howard, their AP European History teacher, has them split up to work with a partner—“Why the hell is European history being taught by somebody from Africa? Rahowa, bitches.”
He doesn’t tell Wyatt that he likes Mrs. Howard, thinks she’s a good teacher. Keeps him intellectually engaged, treats the class like it’s full of individuals instead of a monolithic entity. Makes him think. And even though she’s black and he’s sure she has to know about his brother and stepdad, about the Blessed Church of the White America, she treats him the same as everybody else. He wants to say that to Wyatt sometimes, to tell him to knock off with the jokes, to give Mrs. Howard the respect that is due to somebody who does her job well. He doesn’t tell Wyatt to stop, however, because he doesn’t want to have that conversation. And also, Jessup knows, because he doesn’t want to have to reckon with it himself.
It’s easier to laugh at the joke.
Though Jessup has to wonder how much of Wyatt is joking when he jokes about a racial holy war. Wyatt likes the AP European History class, seems to like Mrs. Howard fine, but Jessup knows that there are plenty of people going to Blessed Church of the White America who take it seriously, who believe a racial holy war is just around the corner. That being said, it’s clear that Wyatt is joking right now, and part of what makes it funny is that they both know Brandon Rogers would never say it as a joke.