Pa never talks when we walk outside together. We could walk as far from our projects as twenty-three blocks away to Downtown Brooklyn and the only time he’d open his mouth is to kick it with strangers or heads he knows.
With us not talking, my mind goes back to Mike’s fake smile in the arcade. Was he really just thinking about something else, like he said, which would explain his face? Whatever the truth is, I figure I’ll watch Mike’s expressions more.
When we walk into the apartment, Ma’s reading a piece of Ava’s homework to her. She stops and looks up at Pa.
He looks at Ma, then disappears into their bedroom.
I stand there for a minute and wait for her to ask me something about where I found him.
Finally, she just asks, “How was your day at school?”
“I . . .” I don’t know what to say.
“You were at the arcade,” Ma says.
“How’d you . . . ?”
Ava and Ma chuckle like they both see mud smeared on my face.
“What?” I wipe my cheek. “What?!”
“Your eyes,” Ma says. “They always have this ‘look’ after you play.”
“BOING!” Ava motions like I have bulging, googly eyes. “All intense, like you kray.”
Ma nudges Ava. “Don’t say that about him.”
Ava ignores her and says, “Eww! Don’t stare at me like that, Bryan. Now you look extra kray.”
Ma taps the book on Ava’s lap they were just reading. “Let’s finish.”
Ma starts reading a science problem out loud.
I don’t appreciate Ava saying I look crazy so I pass real close to her on the couch so I can dis her on the DL before I go into the bathroom to wash my hands for dinner.
But as soon as I get close enough to Ava, she mouths at me on the DL first, You look crazy like Pa.
I want to ask her, “What do you mean?” but I know what she means. That I look hyped, wild, and out of control. Looking like that is the last thing I want. But I know she’s right because I feel that way. And suddenly I hate it—I hate feeling so hyped and almost out of control.
I hate feeling like Pa can get.
Nothing happens the rest of the night.
We have dinner as a family: me, Ma, Pa, and Ava.
Ma and Pa don’t fight. They don’t talk to each other, but that’s cool since they’re not fighting. They just hand each other stuff and get out of each other’s way.
Nothing happening was the best.
So, when Mike yells my name from outside my window, asking to come up, I stick my head out and lie, “Can’t. My moms wants me to do chores.”
I sit back down on my bed, feeling real happy. There’s a peacefulness to my apartment that’s like the afternoons at Ma’s job when no phones ring and all I can hear from my pretend-office are the sounds of Ma’s coworkers’ pencils scratchy-scribbling on paper or fingers tapping on computer keyboards. Everything is chill and there’s not an ounce of drama. I love it. I look out my window and realize something. I helped make this moment chill, by what I chose. I think about that over and over, and I like it.