Stand Your Ground: A Novel Read online

  I didn’t look over at Syreeta, but I’m sure her expression was the same as mine as we stared at the image on the screen.

  “He was my grandbaby,” Delores said. Her eyes were on the camera, so it looked as if she were talking straight to me. “And I’m glad we now know who killed my grandson. I’m glad that now there will be justice.”

  I got on my knees and crawled to the edge of the bed as if that would give me a better view.

  “Thank you, Ms. Johnson,” Clarissa Austin said, then turned to face the camera.

  “That was Delores Johnson, the grandmother of Marquis Johnson. And, as she said, the funeral for the seventeen-year-old is tomorrow. We still haven’t had a comment from Marquis’s parents, but the Brown Guardians have asked that we respect their privacy at this time. And we will.”

  “That must be why there’s no one knocking down your door,” Syreeta whispered.

  I nodded; at least the Guardians were good for something.

  Clarissa continued, “But as we just reported, we have confirmed that seventeen-year-old Marquis Johnson”—and then a picture of Marquis filled the screen, the picture we’d sent to Delores yesterday—“was shot and killed by Wyatt Spencer.” Now a new photo. Of a white man. A dirty-kind-of-blond-haired white man. A kinda-dark-blue-eyed white man. That photo stayed on the screen until Clarissa signed off with, “We will bring you more as it comes in. Back to you in the studio.”

  “Rewind that,” I told Syreeta.

  And then seconds later, I listened to it again. Then I had her rewind it again. And again.

  After the fourth time, Syreeta handed the remote to me and I let the segment play again, this time freezing it on the picture of the dirty-blond-haired, dark-blue-eyed white man.

  Sitting shoulder to shoulder with my best friend, I stared at that picture. I stared even as I heard the front door downstairs open and close. I stared even as I heard the footsteps on the stairs and then in the hallway. I didn’t look up even as I felt Tyrone come to our bedroom door.

  He stared, too. At me and Syreeta. And then his eyes shifted to the television screen. After a few moments, he moved and took the remote from my hand before he clicked off the television. Then he pulled me up and into his arms.

  I can’t tell you exactly when Syreeta slipped from the room. But by the time Tyrone laid me down on the bed, she was gone.

  And my husband held me, wrapping his protective arms around me. My back to his front. He never said a word, and neither did I.

  It was early, just eight o’clock or so. Too early to go to sleep. But not too early to be held by my husband. To be held by him in our bed for the first time since Wyatt Spencer had taken our son away.

  Chapter 14

  It wasn’t until I was actually sitting in the front pew, the seat of honor that had been reserved for me and Tyrone and those who loved Marquis the most, that I realized I didn’t want to be here.

  Not that I ever wanted to attend anyone’s funeral. But my own son’s? I just knew, I just knew, I just knew that this wasn’t happening.

  If my mind had been right, I wouldn’t have let Delores plan this service without me. All of these people shouldn’t have been here. This should have been private. Just me and Tyrone. Maybe Delores and Syreeta. And because we were sitting in this church and I was feeling benevolent, I would’ve even let Raj attend. Maybe.

  There should have been only three or four or five of us burying my dear son, without the spectacle that this had become.

  Since the news report last night, this story had played over and over on just about every station.

  At least that’s the way it felt this morning as we got ready. Tyrone had the television on, and the whole time, a picture of Marquis was plastered on the screen. While Tyrone sat on the edge of the bed watching, I dressed, trying my best not to look and then I got out of there as quickly as I could.

  But I couldn’t escape, because downstairs in the kitchen, Syreeta had the TV on, too.

  Apparently now, Marquis Johnson’s death was newsworthy since it had all the elements for good media drama: a white man, a black teen, a gun, a dead black teen.

  “For the scripture reading,” Pastor Davis said in his singsong preacher’s voice, “turn in your Bibles to the Gospel of St. John, the fourteenth chapter, and the first verse. And read along with me.”

  I closed my ears because I didn’t want anything to interfere with my eyes that stayed on the silver casket. I didn’t want to hear any part of this service. I wanted to dwell only on Marquis, though my mind kept drifting back to when we first arrived at Harmony Hearts Baptist Church.

  Our town car had barely hooked around the corner when I saw all of those newspeople. So many that a spot across the street from the church had been cordoned off for them.

  That had been shocking. But as Tyrone and I walked into the church with camera lights flashing behind us, I was stunned to see all the people before us.

  Reverend Davis led the processional and we followed him down the center aisle as he recited the Twenty-Third Psalm as if it were a ballad. But my focus was on all the people. Every one of the two thousand seats was filled, and I scanned the crowd of mournful, unfamiliar faces. Until I saw . . .

  Heather!

  Oh, my God. I’d forgotten all about her, and now, as she stood in the center of the sea of black faces, her cheeks already damp with tears, I wanted to take her hand and bring her to the front with me.

  But I didn’t.

  Because just as I thought to reach out to her, another face came into my view. Just a row in front of Heather.

  Pastor Caleb Brown!

  He caused me to stumble and Tyrone held my arm a little tighter.

  “You okay?” my husband whispered.

  I nodded, because not only couldn’t I speak, but I needed all effort to pray that Tyrone wouldn’t see Caleb. Funeral or not, an encounter between the two wouldn’t end well.

  Didn’t Caleb know that? Why was he even here? Why would he take that chance?

  We’d made it to the front pew, and now here I sat, with my eyes riveted on Marquis’s casket. In an hour, this would be all I would have. Just these memories. I wished that my glare would bore a hole through the steel casing. If I’d had my way, we would’ve kept the casket open for this entire hour. This final hour. My last sixty minutes with my son.

  The choir stood to sing. The song—“My Help Cometh from the Lord”—was one of my favorites. But today I didn’t hear the tune or the words that in the past soothed me. Right now all I heard was Marquis.

  “Mommy, are you going to be okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Then why are you crying?”

  “Because . . .”

  “I promise I’ll come home right after kindergarten is over, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  And then, while he held the hand of one of the teaching assistants, I watched him march into that classroom for the first time like the big boy that he’d told me he was. When the assistant and Marquis stopped by one of the small tables, he glanced up, smiled, blew me a kiss, and then waved, letting me know that I was dismissed.

  I left only because my son wanted me to, but I sobbed all the way home, like he was going off to war.

  A single tear rolled down my cheek at that memory and I wiped it away with one hand as Tyrone squeezed my other hand.

  “Now we will hear tributes for Marquis,” Pastor Davis said. “And remember, please keep your remarks to under two minutes.”

  My view of the casket was obstructed by bodies passing by. So much so that I wanted to tell everyone to keep my view of the casket clear.

  Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw the white man step to the podium and I had to look up. Four other young men stood behind him, one black, one white, one Hispanic, and one Asian. The United Nations that was Winchester Prep Academy.

  Mr. Preston, Marquis’s music teacher, began. “Marquis Johnson was a remarkable young man . . .”

  I studied the bo
ys who stood with the teacher. All of their faces were etched with sadness as their glances fell to me and Tyrone.

  I smiled, I nodded, but I didn’t listen. I didn’t have much time, so I took my mind away again. Just me and my son. I thought about the time that he’d left for his first overnight Boy Scout trip and I’d cried like he was never coming home. I thought about his stellar performance at his first piano recital, and I thought once again about last Sunday, Mother’s Day. Marquis’s last full day alive.

  “Do you want to say anything?” Tyrone whispered in my ear.

  “What?” I asked, dragging my mind back to this place where I didn’t want to be.

  He repeated his question and I almost asked him to say it again. He couldn’t be asking me if I wanted to stand up there to speak. How was a mother supposed to do that? I had to save all of my energy to breathe.

  I shook my head and Tyrone nodded, and then I watched with big eyes as he stood, buttoned his jacket, and made his way to the altar.

  Beside me, Delores sniffed, but I was too shocked to cry. Tyrone hadn’t told me that he was going to speak. He must’ve just decided.

  There was no way I’d be able to watch him and not pass out from sorrow. So I took myself back to that safe place again, this time with Marquis and Tyrone.

  “Where have you been?” I asked as my three-year-old waddled through the door and into my arms.

  “With the airplanes!” Marquis cheered.

  As I unzipped his coat, I looked up at Tyrone. “Where did you two go?”

  He grinned. “He just told you. We were with the airplanes.”

  I tilted my head and Tyrone laughed.

  “Tell your mama what you did,” he said to Marquis.

  “I jumped high, and touched the airplanes. Right, Daddy?”

  “Yes, son.” And to me, Tyrone explained, “I took him out near the end of the runway at the airport. And you should’ve seen me and Marquis jumping up. We almost touched a couple of those planes.”

  I shook my head. That didn’t sound like much fun to me. “So that’s where you’ve been? For three hours? In the cold? Out there jumping up, having my son thinking that he could touch a plane?”

  Tyrone shrugged. “Yeah. We had a great time. I was teaching him that he’s gonna be a giant among men. Because only giants can almost touch airplanes.” He raised his hand and Marquis gave him a high five.

  Tyrone laughed, Marquis giggled, and my heart swelled with so much love because of the lessons my husband was teaching our son.

  My eyes were bright with tears when Tyrone sat down, but not because of the words he’d just spoken. I cried for the lessons he’d taught Marquis in the past that would never be part of his future.

  While Pastor Davis gave Marquis’s eulogy, I let my mind race through the rest of Marquis’s life: from when he learned to tie his sneakers after hours and hours of practice to when he learned to write his name after hours and hours of study.

  Now, I sobbed and Tyrone put his arms around me, though I’m sure he thought my cries were because of the two attendants from the funeral home who’d stood and removed the cloth from the casket. Then, in a slow, solemn move, they lifted the casket’s lid.

  After Friday, I’d chosen not to see Marquis until this moment, and from the side, my baby looked like he was sleeping. And that cover of peace that I felt when I first saw him, blanketed me again.

  The ushers beckoned the people to come and say good-bye, and row by row they marched up. Just about everyone stopped to give me, Tyrone, and Delores their condolences, but all I did was nod at the nameless faces.

  Until Heather came before me. And I stood. When I pulled her into my arms, she cried the same way she had the morning after.

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Johnson.”

  “I know, baby,” I said. I didn’t want to let her go, but I had to, so that people I didn’t know could speak to me.

  The procession of strangers continued, and it was hard for me to concentrate. Because at any moment, I expected to see Caleb. But as rows and rows of people filed by, I soon released the stress weighing down my shoulders. Caleb wasn’t going to make an appearance.

  Then the row behind us stood and I began to shake.

  There were a few people from my job, Delores’s best friend, several of the men from Tyrone’s shop.

  The moment was getting closer and closer.

  And then the moment came.

  Raj stood first with Syreeta. He held her around her waist as they moved to the casket. A tissue was pressed to her nose and I watched her tears drip onto my son as she stood over him. Not even a minute passed before she and Raj turned away.

  Next was Delores, and Tyrone stood with his mother. He hooked his arm through hers as she stood over the casket, though she looked like she could’ve done it alone. Yes, she wept, but she stood tall, she stood strong.

  Her lips moved, though I heard no sound. I didn’t know if she was speaking to Marquis or maybe saying a prayer.

  Tyrone led his mother back to the pew, and once she sat, he reached for my hand. For a moment, just a moment, I wanted to tell him no. Not because I didn’t want to see my son, but because I wanted to prolong the moment until the inevitable good-bye.

  But I took his hand and let him just about carry me the twenty or so feet to where Marquis lay.

  My smile was instantaneous as I looked down at my sleeping son, my handsome son. Tyrone had chosen well, dressing Marquis in the gray pin-striped suit that he’d worn eight days ago. He called it his first grown-up suit since it wasn’t purchased from JCPenney or Sears. Tyrone had taken him to the Men’s Wearhouse and spent one hundred and fifty dollars.

  “I look good, Mama, don’t I?” he asked that Mother’s Day morning.

  “Yes, you do,” I said, straightening his tie.

  I leaned over and straightened his tie now, then smoothed away invisible wrinkles.

  Water burned my eyes, but these were my last moments and I couldn’t waste them with tears. So I leaned over once again, letting my face get close to my son’s.

  “I loved you before you were born,” I told him. “So you being gone now doesn’t change anything. I will love you until my last breath on earth, and then I will join you in heaven and love you some more.

  “I hurt so much because of all that I knew you would be. But I am grateful for the years that we had together. You were an amazing young man, and I will get down on my knees every day and thank God for you.

  “God bless you, baby. God. Bless. You.”

  I pressed my lips against his forehead, and kept them there until my back began to ache and I was forced to stand erect.

  I stood with Tyrone as he spoke to Marquis, though his words were silent. But I imagined his heartfelt good-bye from the tears that rolled from his eyes.

  I don’t know how long we stood there. Maybe it was too long, because Mr. Marshall finally came up behind us.

  “Would you like to close the casket?” the mortician asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “Yes,” Tyrone said, then looked at me. “We’ll do this together.”

  He held my right hand tighter with his left, and then with our free hands we touched the top lid of the casket. Together we lowered it slowly, but we’d only moved it a few inches when I said, “Wait.”

  We stopped.

  “I don’t want to close this,” I whispered. “Because we’ll never see him again.”

  “We have to close it, baby,” my husband said, his voice shaking. “We have to.”

  “Can I have one more moment?”

  He nodded. But then my moment turned into two, and three, and by the time too many moments passed, though my hand was still on the casket’s lid, it was Tyrone who closed it, taking my son away from me forever.

  Tyrone led me back to the pew, but my knees wouldn’t bend. So I stayed standing and my husband stood next to me. Soft cries and sniffles filled the air of the sanctuary as the attendants sealed the casket, twisting the keys, locking e
ach of the corners.

  Pastor Davis raised his hands, and finally everyone in the church stood with me and Tyrone.

  The pallbearers lined up, then carried my son out and Tyrone held me once again as we followed the casket and Pastor Davis down the center aisle. The sorrowful air was so thick I felt like I was going to choke on it.

  It was so hard to breathe. Or maybe it was that I didn’t want to breathe. Because breathing was for life. So I didn’t need to take any more breaths.

  What for? It was official; now my life was over.

  Would you like some water?” Tyrone asked me as he handed me a small bottle that was in the side of the town car.

  I shook my head.

  More minutes passed as the car rolled up the interstate.

  “That really was a beautiful service,” Delores said.

  “Yes, it was,” Tyrone answered.

  Even Syreeta and Raj mumbled something.

  But I hadn’t been able to say a single word since we’d closed the casket. And then, once they laid Marquis into the ground at the cemetery, I was sure that every word inside of me had been buried with my son.

  When the car came to a stop, it kinda surprised me. Not that I thought we’d be driving forever. It was just that I had been looking out the window, but I guess I saw nothing.

  The driver turned off the motor and trotted around to the side where Tyrone sat. When he opened the door, Tyrone got out first, and then Raj slipped out next.

  Delores slid to the end of her seat. “Well, this is where I get out,” she said. She paused as if she were waiting for me to speak. When I said nothing, she added, “Come on in, Jan. I want to make sure you get something to eat.”

  I shook my head.

  “You have to eat.”

  And then I was forced to say my first words. “I just want to lie down.”

  “You can lie down here,” Delores said in a tone that sounded like she was insisting.

  I knew having me in her home would help her feel better. Give her something to do—she could take care of me. But I just couldn’t say yes. Because there would be people here.

  In my home, I’d have peace. No, let me rephrase that, because I would never have peace again in this life. But I’d have peace’s partner. I’d have quiet. That’s what I wanted.