EMMALEE’S GOING TO SLEEP OVER,” I announce to Ma and Wil. They’re coiled on the living room sofa, staring at some static snow on the television. I can’t even tell what show’s on underneath.
“It’s a school night,” Mama says. “Did you do your homework?”
“We’re going to finish it now,” I tell her. Emmalee doesn’t have her books over here, but we can make do with mine. It’s all the same.
Turns out Emmalee’s already done her homework. She’s smart like that. Gets good grades, way better than mine. She makes me read to her the assignment out of the history book before she lets me skip to the math.
“Haven’t you read it already?” I say.
“Yeah, but have you?” Emmalee’s going to be a teacher when she grows up. She already knows how to do that look they do that tells you to hush, you’re supposed to be working. It comes as easy to her as a smile. Going to college, then being a teacher. That’s her big dream. She doesn’t come out and say it ever, but it’s one of those things we just know.
Raheem slides in and sees Emmalee. “Again?”
“Shut up,” I tell him. “She’s staying.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” A fierce expression passes over Raheem’s face. “One of these days,” he says, then draws the curtain.
Emmalee lays her head on my shoulder. “He’s nice,” she whispers. “Wanting to do something.”
“Yeah.” But we both know he won’t. Can’t. It’s not like us, where the guys come and go. Emmalee’s dad is her dad, and that’s that.
I click off my lamp. Raheem puts his on, so there’s a soft glow in the room. It’s how I like to fall asleep most nights. Knowing he’s over there. In the not-quite-dark.
Best of all is Emmalee’s quiet presence. The whispers of her breath. We snuggle down under the covers and don’t even touch, but she’s right there with me.
I wake slightly trembling. Remnants of a nightmare. Things chasing me. White- and brown-skinned men with erased faces. Bucky Willis, all bloody. Steve Childs, shot full of holes and sinking into a rectangle plot of earth. There was a fair amount of screaming, in my head. I breathe hard to draw myself out of the dream space.
Emmalee’s limbs spider over me. I pluck them one by one and slide from beneath the sheets. I sit on the edge of the bed for a while, looking at the curtain, listening to Raheem and Emmalee breathing in off-kilter rhythms.
The dream has left me mind sick, heartsick, belly sick. A storm of icky feelings.
When I lie back down, Emmalee automatically rolls to hug me in her sleep. Her arms coil around one of mine, the way I might hold Little Ralphie, who is tucked safe in his drawer at the moment. Her cheek touches my shoulder.
I’m glad she’s here. I’m glad not to be so alone, but I can’t make myself close my eyes. I study the spots on the ceiling, wondering if sleep will hit me by accident between now and when the sun comes up.