Searching Lucas

PART 2: LUCAS

I didn't know about her sickness or that it was eating her from the inside out. All I knew was that Jess wasn't feeling like herself.

Compromise was Jess's favorite word. Her affirmative action, as any dying would tell you: Jess assured me I would always be OK—so long she was around.

It was July 1997, and Bash at the Beach was everywhere: on the local radio and Nate's portable television. A once-in-a-lifetime pay-per-view event produced by World Championship Wrestling that would take place in Daytona Beach, Florida. But Jess wasn't going to head there this time. Instead, we're going to California, where the surfers rode massive waves and skaters nose-rided by the beach's front stores—California, the state of climate and diversity, home of Hollywood celebrities. I saw Will Smith and Vivica A. Fox took home the award for their role in Independence Day on an MTV broadcast when I lived with my then-stepmother.

Jess told me we were off to find a new home for me—someone willing to care for me.

Being a mother was never in Jess's plans. And yet, destiny has endorsed her into a protective, motherly role.

We had two protectors: Nancy and Terrance, our parents. There was the phlegmatic individual: the voice of reason and the calm during stressful situations with more wisdom than any safeguarded library. That was Terrance Williams, my Dad. Mom had more melancholic attributes: patient, analytical, and more likely to make a big deal out of something—sometimes out of nothing.

Misunderstood was an inaccurate word to describe Mom: difficult was more suited. Jess didn't have to tell me that Mom required excessive patience, lots of kindness, and all the insight in the world. Jess sometimes acted against her emotions, knowing a losing battle against logic when she saw one. She grew more like Terrance—like a chameleon, someone balanced who easily adapts to the environment. It didn't leave Jess much room for personal growth. Her tumor has only diminished that possibility.

The truth was that Jess fought with her inner demons. No matter how much she dehumanized herself to keep me safe, she was no Wonder Woman.

It should have been clear what her motives were when I had asked her if she'd stick around, as she had replied with dodgy answers. Even her impassive self had been keen on my emotions, whether I'd falter over hearing the truth or keep my composure like Terrance. Jess was good at protecting me to an extent. But as this trip to Orange County would teach me, is that no matter how hard you try, nobody can shield a black kid from the prejudices and supremacy: the cost of living in the land of the free.

***

It was the morning after Jess's sudden collapse. I hadn't taken my gaze away from her for half the night. Nate Hussey watched from one corner, looking as sleepless as I. "Come on, Lucas. Your sister is fine." Nate kept pushing in a way I described as lovingly. "She needs some rest." He'd told me that Jess passed away due to exhaustion.

I watched how her stomach rose gently from the cover. Jess looked so unbothered and so peaceful it almost looked as if she died.

I fell asleep beside her in a curled-up position. Watching over my caretaker, wishing the bed would move on Jess's side.

***

The following morning, the weight of the mattress gravitated towards me. I woke up well-rested, curled in the opposite direction. Jess's bare feet made haste to the sound of pots and ceramic plates. A sweet scent lingered as well: butter, syrup. A lone draft pushed through a lone light beyond me over to Jess's side of the bed, the cause of what woke her up. It must have been less than twelve hours since last night. Nate slept on the reclinable passenger seat. I sat upright, seeing Nate in a grey shirt on the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in one hand while resting with the other. Jess wore yesterday's clothes with her black hair tied in a loose ponytail.

I fell back underneath the bedsheets unseen with a tuned ear towards them. Jess did so in the past whenever she had to know where Michael and Sylvia were going and for how long to determine whether to cook for us or not.

I heard a low voice, Nate announcing breakfast to Jess, Jess saying something I couldn't understand, probably a compliment or a flirt.

"Sit down, Jess," I heard the chair legs drag against the carpeted floor, a muffled thud. Nate spoke again. "The little man insisted on watching over you last night," I heard another chair drag. It must have been Nate, sitting across from Jess. "I told him you were exhausted from the trip."

"Thanks," Jess muttered.

There was a brief silence. My first thought was that Jess and Nate were eating and drinking coffee. Then Nate spoke again, in whispers.

"When are you going to tell him?"

"I don't know, Nate. It's not easy, OK?"

"What if you faint again?"

Jess sighed.

They didn't speak throughout that morning. The only sounds came from the scraping of cutlery and the constant ceramic against the table. I stayed in bed for another half hour, suspecting that something was wrong with Jess. And that they would keep it a secret no matter what.