Chapter Eight
Micah
THE DARK AND LIGHT SQUARES START BLENDING INTO each other on the board.
My hand hovers over the beautifully crafted wood pieces, trying to figure out what feels right.
“You always did take forever to make your first move.” The slight rasp in her voice settles my spirit.
When I look up from the chessboard, she looks exactly as I remember her, down to the mole under her left eye. Her hairline is mostly white, while the rest of her tight curls are a blend of black and gray.
She’s smiling at me with a glint of mischief twinkling in her gaze.
“Coming to me in my dreams now, Tanya?” I say, allowing myself to take one more look at my pieces before focusing on her.
She hums. “Seemed like you needed me.”
That’s more than a little true. Ever since Paris and Penelope brought up their proposal again, I’ve been warring with myself. When they first asked me, I shut it down and never thought about it again. Now, it’s all I can think about.
Why are they so insistent on just handing me things when I haven’t earned them?
What have I done for them or for Our Place that would warrant such a gift?
I make my first move, looking to Tanya for any reaction. As usual, she doesn’t have one. She simply surveys the board and quickly decides on her return.
“You know what your problem is, Micah?”
I chuckle. “No, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”
She waits until after I’ve moved my pawn to respond. “You’re hardheaded. Did you even read my letter?” she asks as she moves one of her bishops.
“Oh, I read it.” Multiple times. I’ve pored over the words in my head repeatedly, and I know what she’s about to say, but she can’t undo my perception with the flick of her pen.
“Yet you’re still denying yourself things that could bring you joy. Hence, you’re hardheaded.”
“Ah, well, I never denied that,” I confess.
She stares me down, silently capturing one of my rooks. “What would make you worthy in your eyes? What would you have to do?”
I rub my hand over my beard, unsure of what to say. “I honestly don’t know.”
“Well, maybe you should figure that out instead of just accepting that you’ll never reach this imaginary mountaintop.”
She knows I don’t have a rebuttal for that, so she continues with the game as if she didn’t say a word. “Check,” she calls, making me retreat with my king.
“Why did you have to keep it a secret from us?”
She twists her lips to the side, her eyes looking down at the board. “I don’t think I should answer that.”
“Why not?”
She looks up to lock eyes with me. “It won’t give you any peace. You’ll just be wondering if that’s my real answer or just what you wanted me to say because you’re dreaming.”
At least I know myself well enough to know that. “Fair.” I pause, taking a moment to absorb having her in my presence. There are so many things I want to say to her, and yet there’s only one question that seems worth asking. “Are you happy now?”
An aura of serenity glows around her as she puts her hand on top of mine. “I’m very happy.” She reaches over to dab my eye, her fingers now damp with tears I didn’t even realize had welled up.
“Good,” I say.
We keep talking, laughing over me trying to get afterlife secrets out of her, until it’s clear I stand no chance of winning. I try one last-ditch effort to keep myself in the game and keep this dream from ending, but she looks at me with resolve in her eyes.
“Micah-Angelo”—she pulls out the cheesy nickname she gave me after we met—“I think our time is up.”
“Will I see you again?”
She shrugs her shoulders and winks. “It’s your mind. You tell me.” She makes her winning move. “Checkmate.”
Slowly, I pull my eyelids apart and greet the darkness of my room. I can’t believe I can’t even beat Tanya in chess in my dreams.
I touch my face to make sure I’m really awake.
Sitting up, I rub my arm across my bare chest. All I can hear are Tanya’s words over and over again.
What would make you worthy in your eyes?
I wish I had an answer for that. I’ve done my best to not repeat the mistakes of my past, but that doesn’t mean they don’t still haunt my future.
All I can do is strive to be a better man now. As if knowing I needed a reminder of my progress, my phone starts ringing with a call from Tavion’s school.
“Hello?”
A demure voice responds. “Hi, Mr. Wright. We’ve had an incident here at the school and need Tavion to be picked up, but we’re unable to reach his mom.”
I’m the second emergency contact for my godson when his mom, Samantha, is busy.
“I’m on my way,” I rush to say before hanging up.
Sammy was the girlfriend of my childhood best friend, Taron, and the mother of his child.
We were only eighteen and Tavion was just a newborn when Taron was gunned down during a drive-by.
They were aiming for a guy we used to hoop with who lived nearby.
They got him, and if it hadn’t been for Taron, they might’ve gotten me too.
Taron clocked the shooters seconds before everything happened and he knocked me to the ground.
I didn’t even see him get hit. All I know is that when it was over, I got up and Taron didn’t.
I tried to stop the bleeding, but there was so much of it, coming from too many different places.
By the time the ambulance got to us, I knew he was gone.
And while I have a good relationship with Sammy and Tavion now, those first four years of his life were rough.
I was supposed to be his godfather, but I couldn’t look at Tavion’s face knowing I was part of the reason he’d never know his dad.
So, I ran. I went to school an hour away at Bowie State University, which is far when you have to rely on public transportation, and I used any excuse in the book to stay away.
When I think about those four years I let Sammy struggle alone, I’m disgusted with myself.
She had plenty of help with Tavion. Her mom and grandmom supported her; my parents and her other friends looked after her too.
They gave her all the support she needed to be a good mother, but she had no one to help her exist without Taron.
Everyone knew him, but we were the only surviving family he had, so we were the only ones who truly understood how grim a world without him in it was.
She thought we’d navigate that emptiness together, but I let her down.
I’m just grateful she let me back into their lives when I got my head out of my ass.
When I walk into Tavion’s high school, he’s sitting in the front office with his arms laid across the backs of the chairs next to him, not a care or ounce of remorse on his face.
His face morphs into that of innocence when he spots me. “Oh, hey, Micah. I told them not to bug Mom because she don’t have her phone on her at work.”
She works long hours as a nurse while going to school to be a neuropsychologist, so she can’t always drop everything to get to his school.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she knows everything they had to say.”
His eyes stay glued to the floor after that.
His principal calls me back to her office to explain that Tavion’s been suspended due to fighting.
Again. I’m not surprised—Tavion is no stranger to fights and most of them are in defense of someone else.
He’s always going out of his way to help the people around him. He’s like his dad in that way.
Once I’m done talking to the principal and usher Tavion out to my car, he rushes to his own defense. “Hear me out. I had to do it. These kids were messing with this guy in our class. He’s got a stutter and they thought it was funny to surround him and cut him off every time he stuttered.”
“So you fought ’em all?”
“Nah, two of ’em ran away, but the last one, yeah, I did.”
I can’t be mad about that. I would’ve done the same thing. “Look, I get it. I really do. But how are you supposed to finish school when you spend half the time being suspended for being a vigilante?”
He stares out of the window, the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders. “Some things are more important.”
“You sound just like your dad.” If Taron were here, he’d be celebrating. He’d probably take Tee to all of our spots around the city bragging to everyone how his son is basically The Equalizer.
Tee’s jaw clenches, a storm brewing behind his eyes. “I wouldn’t know.”
A red light gives me a chance to really look at him. I recognize that pain on his face, that feeling of being adrift and not knowing who can throw you a lifeboat. Of being angry and not knowing where to aim it or even what’s the point.
“Light’s green,” Tee says when I don’t move.
I let the silence linger, the sound of my engine and the world outside these windows serving as a placeholder until I can figure out the right thing to say. “We don’t talk about him much, huh?”
“At all,” he huffs. “You don’t talk about him at all.
Every time I ask Mom a question about him, she shuts me down.
When I go to the barbershop, the old heads always point out how much I look like him but never want to talk about him.
Do you know what it’s like to walk around and have everyone know more about where you come from than you do? ”
Most of the people in the neighborhood who knew Taron don’t speak about him.
His death rocked a lot of people, but none more than Sammy.
She thought the two of them would build a life together.
She pictured them growing old side by side while raising Tee and probably giving him a sibling or two.
When that dream was snatched away, she couldn’t bring herself to talk about him or even think about him.
She would lash out at anyone who tried to go down memory lane, until eventually everyone followed her lead and stopped talking about him altogether.
Locking him away in a box was the only way she could stay strong enough to keep going for Tee. We all understood that.