God! He's just like Jazz. I fight, but my eyes tear up.
He places his palm over mine. "It's not good to hold on to grief."
"I am not holding onto grief. It's just... when I saw you, I thought Jazz had returned."
"You're holdin' onto hope. Hold it long and it becomes grief, too."
"I was the last to see him. I should've told mum and dad. This would've never happened if I had just woken them up and stopped Jazz."
"You're scared."
"Scared?"
"To admit, Jazz is gone forever. That he ain't comin' back."
"Don't say that." I squeeze his palm. "He's around somewhere, lost, maybe. He'll return."
"And until then? You'll keep trippin' between ifs and whens?
"I can't just forget I had a brother."
"You shouldn't. When my mum left, I thought it was my fault. It got a li'l too much, ya know. Wrecked the thing here." He touches his temple. "Totally lost it."
"Then?"
"That's the thing. There's no then. Nothing's gonna happen on its own. I stopped blamin' myself. All good now. She's happy where she is, and we are doin' just fine."
"So, one day, you were just fine?"
"Not one, but in a few. I walked away from guilt; grief walked away from me."
"That's heavy. You're majoring in psychology?"
"Yeah, but still a minor. You?"
"Eighth grade."
"Then stop writing over your future with your past. Past is important, and you gotta keep it safe and within reach. But if the damn thing dictates yo'r present, it'll consume yo'r future."
"I am not sure it'll work for me."
"Try harder."
"How?"
"You finish this sandwich and coffee before it gets cold." He winks and pretends to hoop a ball of tissue into the bin in the corner. The ball falls three feet short.
It makes me smile. "Better you stick to psychology."
He picks up the ball, returns, and tries again. "Guess yo'r right. Sometimes things do fall short."
"Throw harder."
"Oh, yeah? Let's see how you do it."
I ball my used plate with a tissue and send it flying. It falls short. I crush the empty coffee cup into a ball, aim and throw a little harder. It falls into the bin. "Who's smart now?"
He rises and claps. "See, yo' won't fall short if you try harder."
I laugh, and his shoulders jerk as he breaks into a guffaw—he really is a lot like Jazz. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yo, sis."
"When's your birthday?"
"Ah! You just missed it."
"Tell me."
"T'was yesterday."
I drop back into the chair. "You're kidding, right?"
He sits across from me with a stern face, grabs my palm, and looks deep into my eyes. "Truth is, I don' know when it falls. My folks found me on the road with my head injured some seven years back. I couldn't remember a damn of who I was and how I ended up on the road. And..."
"And?" My heart is thumping in my chest.
"... and..." he covers his mouth, chuckles, and breaks into a crackle. "Just look at yo'r face."
I punch his shoulder. "Not funny. Not funny at all."
He wraps me in a hug. "Sorry, sorry. But yo' really should've seen yo'r face. Let go, Mimi. Here and now."
I inhale, nod, and wipe my eyes. "Okay. I get it. But you gotta do something for me."
"Go for it."
"Promise?"
***
I tip-toe into the kitchen and hug mom from behind. "Hi, mom."
"You're back early." She kisses my wrist and continues to stir the gravy.
"Do we have some of the cake from yesterday?"
"In the refrigerator. You hungry?"
"No, it's for someone."
"Whom?"
"Him."
Mom stops stirring and turns slowly, her nose wrinkled with a cry growing inside her. "Is it really...?"
"Hi! How are ya?"
Mom stills, the ladel in her hand stiff.
"I found him, Mom. I found Jazz."
She looks at me, and her throat bobs. "Where?"
"Right here, in front―" I sink into the chair. "You can't see him, can you, Mom?"
She walks to me and pulls my face into her bosom. "You've got to forgive yourself, Mimi."
***
