Queen Canary

August 30-September 15

Saturday, August 31

On Saturday, I wake up with a start. No dream. Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe a Big One is enough for right now. I am anxious to get home and organize my conference supplies. I have a stack of books to get signed. I still have to pack my journal and gel pens for note taking. There's no way I can leave Connelly's house before breakfast though. Second to French FRYday, Saturday morning pancakes are another Carpenter-Marker tradition. This Saturday it is blackberry buckwheat. They are surprisingly delicious, and I eat mine with reckless abandon. Thankfully, Connelly has to work at 10, so after breakfast, her dad and I walk her to the salon. Afterwards, I run the rest of the way home to get ready. My phone buzzes in my hand. I glance down.

c u at 12:15

try not to fall n luv w me

I roll my eyes, but am reassured. I hadn't texted him since Thursday. I've been ignoring his songs.

k thx

i wont unless u bring ice cream then maybe

I tap the little green arrow. Damnit. That's way too much. I'm trying to balance friendly with inviting but not too inviting. I don't want to lead him on. Why did I send that? I'm so awkward. That was weird. I do love ice cream though, so maybe all is not lost. Silver linings and all that.

At 12:15 on the money, Khalil walks up the station holding a pint of Moorenko's Wild Blueberry. It's not my favorite flavor of all time, but he tries hard. I don't say anything; I spoon cold sweetness into my mouth instead. We wait quietly for the train. Khalil looks at me intently but also says nothing. When we settle in our seats, he finally asks me what's going on. I still have a lot of ice cream to eat, and I take my time between icy bites to bring him up to speed. The comfort of the ice cream somehow makes it easier to bare my soul. I start at the beginning with Mrs. Carpenter since technically he already knows about her anyways, and not just from me. The dream. The devastation. The Guilt Dragon. The fact that I have no idea what I should do about this, but that I have no doubt that I need to do something. I can't sit back and sit still. He nods a lot. He doesn't interrupt. He's a good listener, actually. When I get to the details of today, he isn't thrilled that he is going to have to wait for me while I go to see Tyler Anderson, The East Coast Medium, on my own, but he doesn't complain too much. I'm telling you, for whatever reason, the boy loves me. I should be kinder to him, really.

Even though I had just housed down an excessive amount of ice cream, I can't resist hitting up Union Kitchen Grocery before going inside the Convention Center. We share a small pizza and one of the ice cream sandwiches that I can't get out of my head. I talk excitedly about the conference; Khalil listens closely. I can't help but notice that we get fewer stares when we are in D.C. versus when are in Longview. Apparently, suburbia is still not used to seeing a peach-skinned person and a nutmeg-skinned person eating a freaking meal together. I still love the look on people's face when they learn Connelly and Khalil are cousins. Khalil's mom and Connelly's mom are, were, both white, and Khalil's dad is black. Khalil talks about how hard it is to figure out where he feels most comfortable. It's easier at his school than at mine because at his school there are so few non-white kids that is forces everyone to co-mingle. At my school, it's harder to move between groups. I'm saddened when I walk into the cafeteria and see that there are tables white kids, tables of black kids, and tables of brown kids. Not a lot of tables of more than one shade.

At All Saints where Khalil goes to school, he is the only student who is biracial. There is one other student, Habib, who is black and an exchange student from Nigeria. He's a math genius, and Khalil, even though he's really smart, he's not the most studious guy. It's hard for him to sit still and just read to read. He likes to move. Everyone assumes that Khalil and Habib should automatically be friends, but Khalil said they aren't vibing yet. My guess is Habib isn't into wrestling and that narrows down Khalil's circle considerably. There is also a set of twin girls who are African American. All Khalil ever says about them is that they are "dope as hell." I don't get the impression that they give him the time of day, or I imagine he'd have a lot more to say about them. Realizing my mind is wandering all over the place, I try and bring it back into focus. Dr. A has been working with me on this skill. I ask Khalil how school is going but his answer is only about wrestling. Per usual. He gets so excited about it though. It's kind of cute. He tells me all about his training and the pre-season exhibition that he's going to be in. He talks about his coach and his teammates as if they are preparing to go off to war. Even though he's just a sophomore, he's still a co-captain. That's how much he loves it, he wants to lead it. It's hard not to admire his passion and talent.