PRIDE & PROMISES

 Nine months after the fire, Devon, Chiamaka and Terrell get together for a pride picnic in the park

DEVON

It’s been a while since I dreamed of drowning.

A while since I dreamed of anything at all, really.

Which I guess is why it caught me by surprise.

One minute I was on the sand, the next being carried out by a gentle current, and then I was enveloped in it all, tugged through the fabric of the ocean, split in half, squeezed so hard I gasped for air—

And then I wake up in the dark, body springing upright like I’ve just been electrocuted back to life.

As my PJs cling to my skin and I try to steady my breathing, I consider how fucked up it is that dreaming of dying is the only time I actually feel alive.

I know my subconscious wants me to think of him, of today, and remember the significance of it all.

And how could I forget?

I have been not-so-subtly counting down the days, the minutes and the seconds.

It’s been so bad that even Chiamaka’s noticed. Last week she caught me staring blankly at the countdown app on my phone. She didn’t say anything, but I could hear her thoughts, loud and clear, judging me for being this pathetic boy who pines after things he shouldn’t.

I hear the soft sounds of my brothers sleeping next to me, and I grab a hold of my phone, squinting down at the time on the screen.

5.43 a.m.

And then the date.

June 9th.

Almost time.

I wonder if sending a text right now would be weird, or premature.

I should probably wait. Right? That’s what normal people do.

But I guess this year has shown me that I’m anything but normal.

I hold my breath as I click onto our chat, hesitating once more before tapping out the message I have waited months to send. 

Hey, I know you’re probably busy today, I just wanted to say I miss you

I sigh, deleting the message and starting again.

Hi, this is Devon. I just wanted to see if you were okay

Delete. Way too formal.

Last night I had a dream that I was dying and you didn’t save me. I’m not sure if you were even in the dream. Not that I dream about you a lot or anything…but I guess I wish I did…dream of you more. Maybe then I’d know what to say to you now

Delete. Way too dark.

I throw my phone down on the bed and put my face in my hands, rubbing my eyes to wake myself up properly before attempting this again.

Why is this so hard? It doesn’t have to be. I just need to write a message and send it. Why do I overthink everything?

I pick up my phone again, and I type. 

Hey, Andre – I missed you

And then I finally hit send.

I don’t wait for regret to settle in. I don’t let myself think about his response. Instead I shove my phone in my bedside drawer, bury my head in the pillows and attempt to fall back to sleep.

I still have a few hours before I have to meet Terrell and Chiamaka, and so I make a promise to myself that I won’t think about him any more.

A promise to enjoy the day and not worry about whether he’ll ever want to see me again.

CHIAMAKA

I’m going to kill him.

The him in question being Terrell.

“Stop singing, you’re going to crash my car!” I yell.

Which only prompts him to sing louder.

We have been on the road for thirty minutes, and every minute has been spent listening to Terrell’s disturbing playlist and even more disturbing voice.

“Is this even music?” I ask him, lowering my Chanel sunglasses to judge him properly.

“Yes! The best music,” he replies with a grin that makes me want to hit him.

I roll my eyes and push my sunglasses back up my face before crossing my legs and staring out the window.

I’m not even sure why I agreed to this trip. Well, actually, that’s a lie. I know why.

Ever since the events of last year, things haven’t been so great at home. Especially with my dad. It wasn’t anything he did in particular, I guess. It was all the things he didn’t do.

The resentment I had all those years spilled over and exploded one day when I asked myself, What is the point of a dad who doesn’t even try to protect you against your own racist family? And when the answer to that question was clearly, Nothing, it changed everything for us.

I can tell he feels guilty. We haven’t gone this long without talking, ever. And I worry sometimes that my resentment will never go away and will only evolve into hate.

And so I avoid him and the possibility of such a bleak future.

Which, of course, has its consequences. Including this one: that when Devon suggested we go to Pride in another city, I took the chance without even thinking.

I sigh, staring in the rear-view mirror at Devon sitting in the back of the car, looking blankly down at his phone like he’s been doing a lot lately.

It hasn’t taken much to figure out that it has something to do with that drug dealer he was dating.

Adam? Or something.

A part of me wants to tell him to get over it, to let go of love and the idea of relying on people to be there and not hurt you so badly.

But the other part of me understands what it’s like to really like someone, and for it to implode in the worst way.

That was what it was like with Belle.

If I hadn’t blocked her number months ago, I wonder if I’d also be glued to my phone, torturing myself about whether she’d ever text me again. Wondering if she ever even cared.

But I don’t let myself wallow in that.

Instead, I focus on the here and now. Not on the future, like I used to. The future is so unpredictable. The present is the only thing that can be controlled.

And right now, I’m controlling this.

I place my finger on the stop button and Terrell’s playlist abruptly pauses, cutting him off mid-screech.

He looks at me, offended, and I smile at him.

“So much better, wouldn’t you say, Devon?”

Devon looks up, confused, like he forgot he was here.

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

Terrell is silent for a few moments and I feel myself begin to relax, but then I hear him yell, “Acapella it is!” And then he proceeds to sing at the top of his voice without the soundtrack to help mask the noise.

Devon looks shocked and amused by it.

Terrell seems unfazed by the number of daggers I am mentally throwing.

He continues the tuneless yelling for the rest of the journey to the city and I have to stop myself from taking off my shoes and hitting him with them.

He’s lucky that I’m distracted by the thoughts that I can’t stop from appearing in my mind throughout the journey.

Thoughts of my dad and how much I miss him and resent him at the same time.

Thoughts of how I was meant to be starting college in three months, but am not now. Instead, I’m waiting for
the next cycle of school to begin this September, when I will be home-schooled in the hope I might have a shot at grasping back some semblance of the life I once desperately wanted.

Thoughts about Belle Robinson…and what she’s doing now. Will she be at Pride back in our hometown? Is she hoping I’ll be there? Did she ever care about me?

I’m thankful once we arrive at our destination that I no longer have to swim in my own thoughts or be tortured by Terrell’s vocal inabilities.

As we get out of the car and Devon grabs the picnic his mom packed for us, I look up at the scene before me.

Pride in the Park.

There are what seems like thousands of people gathered on the grass.

A band plays music in the distance, and everything is rainbow-coloured and bright.

It’s like the gates of the park are the doors to Narnia – if Narnia was a Pride event, that is.

I am awestruck by how welcoming it all looks.

This time last year, I hadn’t even considered the idea that I liked girls. But now that I know, it feels like it was something that should have always been apparent to me.

Especially now that I look around at the event, see the couples walking hand in hand. Arms trapped around waists. Friends in large groups, laughing. Two girls kissing, one wearing a Valentino rainbow dress. And it looks so much like home.

I decide to erase all the negative thoughts I had in the car from my mind and focus on the present again. Like I promised myself months ago – to only live life in the present tense.

“Chiamaka, can you help me with the stuff in the trunk?” Devon asks, clearly struggling with it all.

“Sure,” I say, tearing my eyes away from it all, and I walk over to him.

Present tense. I remind myself, again and again until it sticks.

Present tense.

DEVON

We have been at Pride in the Park for a few hours now, and Terrell and Chiamaka, who had been squabbling in the car all afternoon, are now up on their bare feet, dancing and singing to the band playing on the main stage.

It is a weird sight to see.

Drunk Chiamaka is a lot bubblier than sober Chiamaka.

“Devon, get up and dance with us!” she yells as she twirls Terrell around.

I shake my head. No way am I dancing.

She rolls her eyes at me and holds her hand out. “Present tense!” she yells, and I’m not sure what she means.

“What?”

“Stop moping and staring at your phone. Yes, it sucks to love someone and for them to not see that, but we can’t live life trapped in the past! You have to live now, Devon. Present tense!”

I raise an eyebrow at that.

I hate to admit it, but drunk Chiamaka is right.

I made a promise to myself, one I broke within minutes of starting our road trip.

I wasn’t going to focus on him.

I was going to enjoy myself.

I sigh, putting my phone on the ground and taking a swig of the drink I have been nursing, before I finally take her hand.

This makes her grin widely and as the song switches to something more upbeat, she takes my other hand and swings both together, forcing me to move.

I watch Terrell doing the Macarena.

Present tense, I repeat to myself inside.

And then I bounce my knees and let go.

Chiamaka cheers me on and I don’t think, I just move, feeling myself relax.

I know I will regret this in the morning.

But right now, that doesn’t matter.

I dance and forget about the world and all my problems, letting myself disappear into the moment.

I’m not sure when it happened – I was too far gone in the joy of the present to hear it or see it come through. But sometime, during this whole embarrassing sequence, my phone buzzed on the ground.

Gently vibrating as the soft sound of the windchime tone rang out.

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