Discovered

Chapter 4: Piece by Piece

After I showered and did my homework, I spent the next few hours from staring at my History textbook to glaring at the  huge, blank square canvas leaning against my bedroom wall. For my project, I chose Chapter Eleven where it talks about Langston Hughes and the meaning of his poems.

Paint cans were sitting on the floor, expecting me to paint the stupid canvas, but I couldn't. "Honey," Uncle Seth called, running upstairs. "I made some tacos." As soon as he went into my bedroom, he gave me a smile. He wore his white shirt and pajama pants, but his half beard remained on his face.

I only stared at him. "Ugh," he muttered. "I sound like a Dad."  "Are you ever going to shave the rest of your beard off?" I asked. Uncle Seth rolled his eyes then touched his smooth face. "Ugh," he repeated. "You sound like your mom." I couldn't help but laugh. "I'm sorry," I giggled. "I can't stop staring at it, and besides, why were you at the barber's this morning?"

"I got a date," Uncle Seth answered with a smile. "Guess who she is?" I pressed my two fingers between my chin and thought about it for a moment. "Gigi Hadid?" I guessed. Uncle Seth shook his head. "Anne Hathaway?" I guessed again. "You are far away from being warm," Uncle Seth snorted. "I am dating Georgia Minton."

"Who is she?" I asked. "My soon-to-be girlfriend." he stated with a smug. "What's up, Cleo? You look like you just woke up from watching a Stephen King movie." I brushed away my bangs then released the anxious fear in my eyes. "I am doing this History project," I began. "And it's due until the end of April."

Uncle Seth leaned over my bed then studied the blank canvas. "I am doing this project based on Langston Hughes, but I can't figure out anything. I feel like I am going to fail this project." Uncle Seth hugged me then rocked me gently." Oh niece," he sighed. "You can't give up now, I am sure you have some artistic smart vibe in your brain."

I touched his soft cheek then smiled. "Thanks Uncle Seth," I giggled. "Is Mom and Dad going to eat with us?" Uncle Seth stopped smiling then shook his head. "Your dad's working again and your mom is in her bedroom. You know what your parents are going through, kid." he sighed, ruffling my hair.

I bit my lip then stared hard at my feet. "Oh," I said sadly. Uncle gave me a small smile. "That's just how I feel since your grandparents died in that stupid car accident," Uncle Seth sighed. "It took awhile for your father and me to recover from it."

I heard this story before: Dad and Uncle's parents died in a car accident when they were young. After their death, a social worker named Ms. Caroline made their childhood a living nightmare until they met my mother. "I'm sorry," I said. "About the accident."

Uncle gave me a smirk then ruffled my hair. "You didn't do anything," he said beaming. "Come on Picasso, let's go eat some tacos." He took me by the hand and together we walked downstairs. Immediately, I smelled the perfectly roasted beef and beans roasting in the pot. While got out two dishes, I watched Uncle Seth brought out corn taco shells and filled them with meat and beans.

We took our plates to the table, where we devoured our lunches and talked about my day at school. "You like this Mrs. Triton?" Uncle Seth asked. I nodded very eagerly. "She's tough and hardcore," I said. "She even told Jerry that she will lower his grade to an F is she noticed him cheating."

"Jerry?" Uncle Seth asked, raising his eyebrow. "Isn't he the retarded football player who made fun of your mom?" I nodded very slowly then took another bite. "Don't worry, I broke his arm awhile ago." I shrugged. "So now, we're even." He gave me a long stare. "You broke his arm?" he asked. "Yes," I answered weakly. "Awesome," he responded with a smirk.

Other than my parents, Uncle Seth was my favorite person in the world. He's fun loving, a bit blunt sometimes, but he likes to tell me stories about my parents when I was little. Whenever my parents were going through a rough time, Uncle Seth likes to pitch in and give me some advice.

"So, Cleo." he began slowly. "How do you feel about your grandfather's death?" It was the first time that someone asked me that question. "Was he a horrible person?" I asked. He bobbed his head up and down then waited until he swallowed his food to speak. "Your parents hated that guy," he responded. "Especially, yours truly."

"The news said that the killer has been caught by the police," I said. "That's good," Uncle Seth beamed. "But, what if he isn't the guy?" I asked. "You know how this happens in movies: some dude gets killed, people framed this guy for taking it on that dude." Uncle Seth shrugged then patted my head. "I don't know what to tell you, Cleo."

After we finished eating our tacos, we washed the dishes then spend the hour of watching television until the breaking news came on. The same woman in the purple frilly dress.

She kept talking excitedly on the television screen, telling the entire world that my grandfather's killer has been caught red-handed. Uncle Seth wanted to change the channel, but as soon as he pressed the button, a picture of a young teenaged boy came on the screen.

"Wait," I insisted. "Can you help me understand why?" Uncle Seth asked. I gave him a look then yanked the remote out of his hand. "Please?" I begged. "This might be important."

Uncle Seth stared at me for a moment then sighed. "Fine," he moaned. I turned my face to the screen and stared at the image. The teenage boy was a few inches taller than me, has olive dark skin, and wore a orange prison jumpsuit.

His eyes were sweet and innocent, his face suffered acne scars, and his hair was in braids. He is around my age, maybe more. "Wallace Gerald," I mumbled to myself. "Hey, Uncle Seth." He looked at me with brown eyes. "Yes, niece?" he asked.

I turned off the television and stared at him directly. "How far is Harlem?"