Chapter Text
B O Y D
September 19, 2016
New Orleans
The handcuffs tightened around my wrists, the cold hood of the police car pressing against my face jolting me out of my trance, and it was only then that I came to my senses and began to understand what was happening to me.
At that moment, I would rather be running naked through the streets of my neighborhood than being taken to the bench behind a police car, accused by officers who saw fit to arrest me and claim I might have committed a crime if they hadn't shown up and crossed a damn corner. Because I, walking alone at night, being 6'3" tall, wearing heavy clothes and a suspicious gait, and, of course, because I looked so much like a guy they were looking for, they thought it best to arrest me and take me to the police station.
Thanks to my parents, who always taught me not to react in these situations and to call them whenever I could, I kept my cool. But I wanted to say something, anything, but I knew that if I did, no matter how polite I sounded, they would end up twisting my story, or worse.
Because, in any and every scenario, they were the two white police officers and me, the poor, ghetto black man.
***
"Don't make any noise, Boyd, your sister's sleeping." My father, Joe, a taller and much quieter man than me, warned in the serious, fatherly tone he always had, as I entered the house in silence. "And I think your mother is too," he said, sighing, and locked the door as soon as he entered the house, removing his overcoat, damp from the midnight dew, and resting it against the wall in the small entry hall.
The house my parents rented there, in New Orleans, was eerie at night, in the darkness, when there were no lights on to tell a story. And to add to the fear of the impending bombshell that was my father with his lectures stuck in my throat—since he hadn't said anything at the police station or in the car on the way home—a flat figure emerged from the shadows of the sofa, rising from it. I almost screamed in fright; I remember it so well.
But, emerging in the light of the streetlamp that pierced the living room's tattered curtain, I saw that it was actually my mother, Mariah, wrapped in thick wool and rubbing her beige socks on the polished floor. She was very sleepy; she never had been one to stay up late at night when she was home.
"Son, how are you?" she asked, walking over to me, yawning, and my father muttered something to himself as he watched her stagger around the small living room. He was so mad at me for making him wake up at 2 a.m. to pick me up at a police station. I didn't blame him. I would have been the same way if it had been me in his shoes. "Did they beat you, did they do something to my Boyd?"
"No, Mom, I'm fine." I only told her that, nothing more, since when we got there, the police saw I didn't have a ticket and that I wasn't the guy they were looking for.
I could never bear to see my mother tired, exhausted, begging for just a good night's sleep like she was in the early hours of Sunday morning. She worked full-time as a nurse at St. Jude Hospital, and I'm sure the shifts were grueling. I always knew that.
Then, as I tried to cross the living room, on my way to my room, my father's bomb of lectures came. And it came loud. And he certainly had that right. Sleep for him, and the same for my mother, was absolutely sacred.
"What were you thinking when you thought of walking home?! Why didn't you call a damn Uber, Boyd?! And don't tell me you didn't have any money, because I know your paycheck came out today! Tell me, son, because your mother and I are eager to know.”
My mother, beside him, tried to persuade him, hoping to save me from the gallows.
"Joe, it's late, let's go to sleep, my love…"
But my father didn't take his eyes off me, he didn't even blink in the darkness of the house, and not even my pleading mom’s voice could make him give up on an answer. And in the end, I found the courage and voice to answer him, with the certainty of more volleys of sermons:
"I bought Cassidy a birthday present, some really expensive shoes she's wanted for a while. Since I'm working all day tomorrow at the lumberyard, I decided to deliver the pair today. And before I knew it, it was late, and I'd spent all my money on her, and no, she didn't have any cent to lend me, so... I ended up walking home and then I got accosted by the damn cops. That's it."
"Just go to your room, Vernon Boyd." He said my name with the restrained annoyance of a father, his eyes fixed on me, my mother's hands stroking his shoulders, tense from his job at the town power plant. And so, watching my parents walk to their room, I went to mine. "We'll talk about your relationship with this girl tomorrow, you hear me?"
He made the rhetorical statement, and I immediately replied:
"Sure, Dad."
"Good night, son," my mother said, crawling with my father to bed.
"Good night, mom" I replied gently, from across the house.
I waited for my father to say something, anything, even "Go to sleep, kid," but nothing came from him. And, believe me, it hurt me to sleep without saying anything to him, but my pride didn't crumble, nor did his.
I removed the Afro doll my sister had left on my bed and rested it on the nightstand in my room. Trying not to think about what had happened to me an hour ago, nor what I'd heard inside a police station, much less the feeling of being compared to a criminal, I finally tried to sleep.
And I failed, shamefully.
***
January 22, 2017
New Orleans
Cassidy
We're going to Beacon Hills today, Cass.
Just wanted to let you know.
[At 2:3 p.m., viewed]
Have a good trip, then.
[At 2:20 PM, viewed]
Can we see each other before I go?
[At 2:20 PM, viewed]
No, and you know why.
There's no way this is going to work, Boyd. Not for you or me.
[At 2:21 PM, viewed]
I get it.
I just want you to know that you're very important to me.
And you'll continue to be, even though I live on the other side of the country.
hahaha
[At 2:23 PM, viewed]
You too, Boyd. So...bye.
[At 2:50 PM, viewed]
I love you, Cass.
[At 2:51 PM, viewed]
Yes, she never texted me back. You can be SURE I felt like a complete idiot after I sent that stupid declaration of love. Oh, a complete and utter idiot. And yes, that was the last conversation I had with her—as obvious as it is—the first girl I fell madly in love with. But, thank God, she wasn't the last.
Beacon Hills, the town where my parents found better jobs, and where my sister, Leah, had really taken a liking to the name, held a beautiful girl named Erica Reyes, the girl who would make me forget all the others. And who would go through dozens of bizarre situations with me—including chaining ourselves together on the night of a full moon.
About Boyd: a 17-year-old boy, calm, studious, and friendly, who has always strived to make his parents proud in every way he could. Introspective, but not antisocial. Loyal to those he cares about and those he loves. A good older brother to Leah, the youngest of the family, at 8 years old. And a very romantic boy, when necessary.