Ceon
After us guys had fooled around a bit looking at the wigs and makeup, we began to get down to business. Teddy was the silliest; he had us laughing the whole time, putting on wigs that made him look like an utter idiot. Fletcher laughed the hardest. He laughed so hard he got a bellyache and had to sit down, still laughing just the same. I think he was relieved that Teddy and I weren’t looking down each other’s throats anymore. We weren’t. I respected him because Danyelle had a thing for him. Everyone liked Danyelle. Who couldn’t? She was the definition of charisma, always bubbly and smiling. Thinking about her smile made me smile.
Teddy threw a green Mohawk hairpiece at me, slapping me out of my reverie. He attached a fake clip-on diamond stud earring to his left ear. “Whatcha dreamin’ bout, Ceon?” he said in his Southern, playful drawl. Fletcher smirked and said, “Probably Danyelle.” Teddy’s eye-flames sparkled as he laughed. My smile faded. “Ain’t everybody thinkin’ bout Danny?” he said. He was still laughing. I scowled at Fletcher as he rocked back and forth on the lip of the yellowing, rusty urinal. Ew. I thought, as he got up. Then I had to laugh. Right there, on his butt, on the seat of his pants was a rim of liquid that could only be—
“Pee!” screamed Teddy, cackling uncontrollably. He pointed to Fletch’s butt and laughed as Fletcher squirmed around and around trying to look at his butt. He looked like a deranged puppy, circling round like that. Either the sight of pee on his pants or him turning round like that had an effect on Teddy and me. We went into hysterics, screaming and laughing and slapping each other on the back. Matthew giggled, rummaging through all the superhero shirts he had the privilege to choose from.
By the time we had wiped the water from our eyes enough to see, Fletcher had peeled off his pants and stood there on the cold floor in his bare socks and boxer shorts. That sent us into fits of laughter again. When we were done laughing, Fletcher had already donned a pair of baggy, russet cargo pants that made him look taller and older. Teddy looked him up and down. “Cool, Fletch,” he said. His eye-flames danced. “But ain’t anything, Ceon,” he said turning to me. “Better’n pee-stained pants?”
Tee hee. Hee. Hee hee. Ha. Ha. Heh, heh. Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha! Oh man! (Wiping tears from eyes again)
Fletcher stood there, his arms crossed, glowering at us, though smiling a little. I wiped my eyes and looked in our backpack for something to wear. I found a pair of worn-out medium blue jeans that had obviously been broken in. I slipped them on. They tightened at my ankles and were loose at the top. Cool. I looked in the mirror, and saw that Teddy had slipped on a pair of stiffer, gray jeans with a chain and a skin-tight black plain tee shirt. He pulled over a black cotton sweater with a single gray stripe in the middle and gray elbow pads on each arm. They suited him. Fletcher was applying guy foundation that was Teddy’s skin color to get rid of his freckles that were scattered like dust across his cheeks. Teddy found something in the bag and he grinned. He opened the brand-new plastic, placed it in his mouth and something clicked. I looked at him and he grinned. The tiny gap in his two front teeth was gone. Matt had donned a shirt with the Hulk on it and a pair of khaki cargo shorts and little oxfords. He put on an unprescribed pair of RayBan glasses and a little backpack.
Fletcher had put on a camo-green army shirt with pockets and zips all over the long sleeves. He pulled over an auburn-colored jacket that zipped up with a high collar. Then he started working wonders on his curly mop of hair with gel and a hot comb. Soon his hair was pin-straight and slick with a clean side part. I stopped staring and dug in the bag for a shirt. I picked a dress shirt that was plain white. Inside the bag was also a royal blue tie, which I pulled on. I left my shirt outside my pants and pulled over a gray v-necked sweater. I grinned at myself in the mirror. Then I looked for some shoes. Teddy had already taken out the gray converses that matched his pants, Fletcher was wearing some suede mustard-brown Clarks, and the only pair of shoes left was a pair of battered black combat boots with gray laces. I pulled them on, and they fit perfectly. I pulled at my tie and ran a hand through my hair.
My face hadn’t changed, neither had my hair. I had just changed my style. I looked over at Teddy. He hadn’t changed his hairline but was wearing a pair of big, brown Ray ban glasses. I sighed and looked in the backpack for more ideas, when I found some clay my skin tone in a case. I made a small nick in my chin that looked very realistic when I smiled. I applied a beauty mark with a makeup pen to my nose. I looked in the mirror again, and decided to make a drastic change.
I plugged the electric razor from the bag into the plug on the side of the wall by the mirror. Looking carefully in the mirror, I gave myself a sharp hairline, and carefully shaved the knotty curls on the top of my head so they rested low, yet still curled. First, the right side, I thought, my hand shaking. With no incident, I proceeded to the left side as Teddy and Fletcher watched and packed our clothes and shoes back into the backpack. I snapped the razor off and brushed curls from my sweater unto the floor. There, I thought. I looked nothing like Ceon. I dug around in the bag again for a bit, until I saw something that shocked me. I pulled them out of the package, unbelieving. Braces. I ripped the package open, reading instructions. They were not as sturdy as the real ones, and apparently had to be changed everyday. I took the end of the wire for the top and clicked it unto the magnet I had to stick at the top of my mouth. I did the same for the other side, and smiled. Wow. They looked so realistic; I did the same for the bottom. Perfect.
I turned to Teddy and Fletch. “Shouldn’t we change our names?” I asked. Fletch considered this, rubbing the tiny stubble of hairs he glued onto his chin. I rolled my eyes. “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I’ll be…” he thought. “I’ll be Astro!” he said excitedly. Teddy looked at him blankly through his glasses. “Fletch, my boy,” he said. “Ain’t nobody a big enough fool to believe your mama named you no Astro.” He said. Fletcher’s face reddened—never a good sign was known for having a sharp tongue when he wanted to, and I believed Teddy was soon to become the brunt of his tongue-lashing.
“Shut up, Dora.” He said. That’s all it took. Teddy recoiled and just stared at him. He looked at me, and back to Fletcher, and back to me. I shrugged. And he shut up. “My name’s Astro,” he said, looking directly at Teddy. “And that’s that.” He stared straight ahead in the mirror and dared anyone of us to challenge him. We didn’t. Matthew shrugged. “I’m still Matt.” He said. Without Sarai, he had been unnaturally quiet. No one else was around to understand his frou-frou language, and I realized that without her he was helpless and lost. Seeing him without her seemed strange.
Teddy sighed and propped his head up against his elbow on the sink. “Imma be Shaun.” I cocked my head and looked at him. He blushed a bit. “My grandpoppy’s name was Shaun. I don’t know who give him that flittish name, but it suit him, and it gun suit me, too.” That was it, and I was the only one without a new name. “Marquis.” I said quietly, without thinking. Fletcher’s head whipped over to me, and his eyes searched mine. I wouldn’t make eye contact.
“Marquis!” Deana screamed as the he drove at the green light. Marquis whipped his head, only to see a large Gulf oil truck slam into the driver’s side of the car. There was a blinding light. The car burst into flames, all except for a battered black workbag in the trunk containing a black and white composition notebook.
Deana opened her eyes halfway to see four curly heads peering down at her. “Mom,” the tallest head said. “Ceon?” Deana croaked. “I need some water,” she said, reaching out to hold his hand. The second-tallest curly head bounded away immediately. She heard soft whimpering, and Sarai tried to climb up on the hospital bed with her mom, only straggling the sheets as a flustered nurse tried to adjust Deana. She pulled Sarai away, who chomped on her arm with small white teeth. And that kind of bite hurt the most. Deana tried to reach out for Sarai, but it hurt her too much to move, her burns and scrapes aching each time she moved. “Sarai, no,” she said. But Sarai bit away, each time clamping on the nurse harder than before. In the end, Ceon let loose of his mother’s hand and coaxed Sarai down, who was hanging by her teeth on the nurse’s arm. The poor woman.
Fletcher returned with Deana’s water, and he had to pour the water in her mouth. Her face was grotesque; the once smooth and beautiful pale-brown skin now as black as tar and charred, her once pink lips now merely hanging by her skin. Her nose looked like someone had took a hot coal and held it there; only the tip of her nose was burned as black as he didn’t know what. Her veins pulsed visibly above the charred skin, and Ceon cringed as they throbbed. Her hands were the worst, though, her once delicate hands that she had used to dig bones now crumbling and disfigured. She didn’t even have a thumb on one hand. And forget about nails, though the tip of her pinky finger was not burnt. Ceon didn’t even want to look at her. He couldn’t stomach it. But her voice. Deana was a singer—she always had been. While she worked professionally as a paleontologist, her voice was her life and it would kill her to lose the soft, clear, smooth vocals she had always had. The doctors said she would never sing again. Ceon wanted to find whichever bumbling drunk idiot drove into their car and just shoot him.
Deana shook her head, and Fletcher pulled the bottle away from her lips. “Marquis,” she said. Ceon thought she was delusional, until she grabbed his shirt and cringed at the pain and pulled him down to her. Their faces were just inches apart. “Ceon, where is Marquis?” Ceon pulled away from her grasp and averted his eyes. He stepped back, just as a nurse gave him a signal. Five more minutes remaining. “Ceon,” she said, a single tear rolling out of her one eye that hadn’t been burnt shut. “Answer me,” Fletcher and S&M turned to Ceon. “Ceon, answer me,” she repeated.
“Dad died on impact.” Ceon said, bowing his head. Deana closed her eye and another single tear rolled down her face. She opened her good eye. “What did they do with the body?” she asked. “Cremation.” Ceon replied, still looking down. “No, no, no,” was all that he heard as hot tears of anger and pity rolled down his cheeks. “No, no, no, no, no,” Deana repeated.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” Ceon said. For Deana to lose Marquis was to lose her love. Deana had come from a wealthy family, and Marquis from just the opposite. His father was a street sweeper, and his mother had died in labor. While his father kept the streets clean, he got paid very little for Marquis and his seven siblings. When Deana and Marquis fell in love, Deana’s family forbade her to marry him. She eloped when she was 23 with a bundle of money and tickets to Great Britain, and they lived, while not in riches, still happily in England. When they had the twins, they moved back to Cottondale and tried to visit Deana’s parents. She was told she was not welcome and would never be. Heartbroken, Deana returned home and relied on the good, true love of Marquis and her kids. Now her love was gone.
Deana turned to Fletcher. “Fletcher,” she said, her eyes still closed. “Give Ceon that workbag against the cabinet there.” Fletcher got the streaked, slightly charred leather case and handed it to Ceon. He stood staring at the big case in his hands and hugged it to him. “Ceon,” Deana said. “They are going to take you into an orphanage. Maybe even a foster home. They might split you guys up, because—” Ceon began to cry. “Because my parents will not want you,” He sobbed uncontrollably, rocking with the case in his arms. “And Godmama Suzanna is sick, and I am going to die,” Deana said quietly. Fletcher looked out the window and cried. Sarai and Matthew hugged each other and cried, too. “However you need to escape, do it. Don’t stay wherever they put you. Look out for your brothers and sister and put them before yourself always. Don’t let them split you up. Stay together always, and if it comes to that, run away and don’t look back. Just stay together. It will be hard being in charge, but no matter how hard it is to find the bones, just keep digging.” She turned to Fletcher, Sarai and Matt. “Listen to your brother.” She said.
Ceon, still crying, went to his mother and kissed her softly on the cheek, just as the nurse entered the room and said, “Visiting time is up.” Ceon cried, his tears landing on his mother’s face, and held unto her, not wanting to leave. “Let go of me, Ceon,” Deana said. “And just keep digging,” she said. He let go, still crying, but clutching the workbag.
“Keep digging,” Deana whispered as the nurse ushered her children out. And at that point in her life, Deana Usher felt like she had nothing to fight for. She had fulfilled her purpose in life, and hopefully so would her children. She gave up and died at 3:12 PM the next day.
Ceon did not find out about her death and cremation until two years later. The irony of it all was a bit too much. She had died after she was burned, and she was burned after she had died.
I looked at Fletcher and cleared my throat. I clutched my workbag. “My name is Marquis Usher.”