Page 6 of Someone Like Me
“It’s just weird,” I say under my breath.
A slow smile curls around Annie’s mouth. “I’ll bet it is.” Her voice is gentle, low. Her gray eyes are soft with sympathy. Sympathy I definitely don’t deserve. “I don’t want to rush you, but we should get going. Grandma’s planned a little something for you.”
I freeze at this. “W-what do you mean?” The question comes out gruff, and I watch her smile flatten a little.
Annie shakes her head to dispel the mood, and her expression brightens. “Don’t get all grumpy. It’s just a little get together with family.” When I don’t respond to this, she adds, “She’s making a brisket.”
I roll my eyes, but I follow Annie to the car. I know exactly what Grandma Q is up to. Her brisket has been the glue in our family for as long as I can remember. My Aunt Josie, my Uncle Nelson, and Ma haven’t always gotten along. Throw my cousins into the mix, and things can get heated. And then some. But nobody argues when brisket is on the table. It’s the Quincy Family peace treaty.
At least, it was.
By cooking a brisket today of all days, Grandma Q is telling everyone that my debt is paid. Except it’s not, and it never will be. And I’m sure most of the members of my family feel the same, judging by just how many of my aunts, uncles, and cousins have written, called, or come to visit me at Angola.
That would be zero.
And then there’s Ma. Shehaswritten to me. Twice a year for the last eight. Every March 11th, Anthony’s birthday. And every August 2nd. The day I got my brother killed.
Ma’s letters are always more or less the same. Her life makes no sense without Anthony. He was all the gold she had in this world. It’s my fault he’s gone.
And she’s right.
I’ve kept all of her letters. For years, I taped them to the wall behind my bunk. And then about three years ago, A.J. saw me tacking up another one, and he hoisted himself up there to read them. Without a word, he tore them off the wall, wadded the letters into a ball, and threw it at my head.
“You don’t get points for punishing yourself,” he told me.
I agree with that. Punishing yourself doesn’t count. Because that’s a choice. You can start it and stop it whenever you want. That’s why I think the punishment others dish out means more. I didn’t bother explaining that to A.J., but I still kept the letters.
But Grandma Q is making a brisket. I know where she stands. Impossibly, she hasn’t turned her back on me. It’d be so much easier if she had. I don’t know why she didn’t. I can get why Annie hasn’t. Without Anthony, I’m her only brother. Her only living sibling. But Grandma Q has four other grandsons. Three from Uncle Nelson, and one from Aunt Josie.
None of them are convicted felons, and none of them have gotten anybody killed.
But she wants me, and that by itself I can’t ignore. If she told me to get lost, I would. Instead, she’s putting me up in the apartment above her garage. No matter what, I’m grateful. I need a place to stay. It’s one of the conditions of parole. I don’t feel like I should be out, but since I am, I need to live somewhere.
And I sure as hell don’t have any money for rent.
A job is the next thing I have to figure out. But when I start thinking about that, it feels like a vice is closing around my head. Who would want an ex con on their payroll? Unless they were also ex cons, and I’m not supposed to associate with any of those.
And no matter what I think I deserve, I’m not the same person as the kid who dragged his brother into a fancy house we both thought was empty. I’m not going to break any laws. I’m not going to steal from anybody. I’m not going to hurt anybody.
I’ve hurt enough people. I don’t want anymore of that.
Most of all, I don’t want to hurt Grandma Q and Annie anymore than I already have. And I won’t do anything that would make Anthony ashamed of me. Those have become my three rules. My three guiding questions, as A.J. would call them.Would it hurt Grandma Quincy? Would it hurt Annie? Would it make Anthony ashamed of me?
So that means, as much as I think I should still be on the inside, I’m not going back again. And offing myself would break all three of my rules. So I’ve got no choice but to make the best of it.
“Did they take your tongue in there?”
I nearly jump at my sister’s question. We’re on I-10, and I don’t even remember the last thirty minutes of the drive.
“No,” I mutter, clueless as to what else I should say.
Annie doesn’t take her eyes off the road, but I see she’s laughing at me. “You were pretty lost in your thoughts. I figured it was because you were taking in the change of scenery, but you didn’t look like you were even noticing.”
I swallow and glance out of the windshield and windows. We’re on that wooded patch of I-10 between Baton Rouge and the Atchafalaya Bridge. I shrug. “It looks pretty much the same as it always did.”
Annie snickers under her breath. “Yeah, but you didn’t even blink when we drove through Baton Rouge.”
My sister is chatty. She always has been. And I know my silence is probably driving her crazy. I run my eyes down her profile. Her ponytail is pulled high and her compact, cheerleader arms are braced against the steering wheel like a Nascar driver’s. She looks ready to bounce out of her skin. Like a coiled spring. Then I frown.
