“I mean, no offense, but it sounds like she got it from one of those random band-name-generator sites.”
I look away as Marva bites her lip. It’s such a small gesture, probably something nobody but me would even notice. But it makes me think about her mouth and how I like her mouth…and then how she has a boyfriend, and I’m not supposed to be noticing and liking her lips like that.
“That’s what I told her,” I say, staring out my window instead. “She didn’t exactly deny it.”
“So, you play drums. That’s pretty cool. Do you play in the school band, too?”
“Fuck that.”
“Well, okay, then!”
“Sorry. I’m just not that into organized stuff like marching band or sports. I’d rather do my own thing. I’m self-taught, mostly. I’ve taken some private lessons, but I’m pretty sure I learn more by just banging it out on the kit at home.”
“Who are your favorite drummers?” she asks, making a quick lane change to pass a slow-moving car.
My eyebrows go up. “You know drummers?”
“Not really. But you do.”
“Dave Grohl, Neil Peart, Ringo, Elvin Jones,” I rattle off. “But Questlove is probably my favorite.”
“Why?”
“Well, he’s dope as hell. Talented. Versatile. But he’s also a big Black dude with a big ’fro, so I’m kinda biased.” Even though I don’t have a ’fro. Yet. Been thinking about growing it out, though.
She makes an abrupt stop at a red light. The kind of stop where Ma used to throw her arm across the passenger seat to make sure nobody was hurt, even if Ida and I were sitting behind her in our car seats. Marva doesn’t seem worried about my safety, but she looks over. “Do you have any favorite woman drummers?”
“Sure. Sheila E. Cindy Blackman.” I pause. “Janet Weiss.”
Marva looks impressed for a whole two seconds before she frowns. “Well, you don’t deserve any awards for knowing their names.”
I laugh. “I know more than their names. Want me to go through their greatest hits? Best drum solos?”
“Maybe later. How long have you been playing?”
“A couple of years. My therapist suggested—”
I snap my mouth closed. Loose lips, man.
Marva doesn’t bat an eye, though. “Suggested what?”
I swallow. I usually don’t let that slip. Especially not with someone I just met.
“She, uh…suggested I take up something. A hobby. After my brother died.”
“Oh.” Marva’s eyes get big. “Right.”
The car feels way too quiet. I stare at the radio knob, wondering how pissed she’d be if I turned on something right now.
“I thought it was bullshit at first. Busywork so I wouldn’t realize how fucking shitty it was that my brother was gone. But music was the only thing that made sense, and drummers had always been my favorite. So I figured why the hell not.” I twirl a drumstick in my left hand. “We have a gig tonight. Drugstore Sorrow. Our first paying one.”
Marva raises her eyebrows. “A gig on election night? Bold.”
“It’s an all-ages show. I don’t think most of the people coming to see us are gonna be thinking about voting.”
It’s pretty clear from the look on her face that she believes everyone should be thinking about it. And her voice…Every time she talks about voting…It’s so full of…well, passion. Like she can’t imagine anyone else not feeling the way she does about this. Like she’ll work for the rest of her life to make sure they do.
“He’d like you,” I say before I even realize the words are coming out of my mouth.
The light turns green, but she doesn’t go right away. “Who?”
“My brother. Julian.”
Marva still doesn’t push on the gas, though. Not even when a car behind her honks.
“How do you know?”
I pause. “You’re cut from the same cloth, my ma would say. Julian was…determined. No matter how tough shit got. He never quit.”
She swallows and looks me square in the eyes. “Thanks.” Her voice is softer than I’ve heard it all day.
And, I think, a little proud.
SOMETIMES I COULDN’T STAND MY BROTHER.
It’s not easy growing up in the shadow of someone who everybody thinks is damn near perfect. Julian didn’t think that about himself. At least, I don’t think so. He was always talking about how people and society are works in progress, and I’m pretty sure he counted himself in that, too.
But I’ve never seen anyone so selfless in my whole life. Sometimes it felt like he wasn’t even real, let alone my brother.
He was seven years older than me. He used to call himself the Great Experiment, because our parents waited so many years after he’d been born to have more kids. He thought it was because even though they acted all proud about their relationship and like they didn’t care what other people thought, they were still freaked about bringing a mixed kid into this world. I think it’s because he was so perfect they were worried other kids wouldn’t live up to him.
Julian was cool to me, though. He never dismissed me just because I was so much younger.
I’ll never forget this one time we went to McDonald’s. He was watching me while Ma and Dad worked, and he told me we were going on a field trip. We met up with a couple of hard-looking dudes who seemed old at the time, but I later realized were probably about my age now. I was nine, and once Julian set me up with a Happy Meal and a game on his phone, I zoned out.
Later, in the car on the way home, I looked up from my game and turned to him. “Who were they?”
Julian stared straight ahead as he drove. “Amari and Tariq. I introduced you, remember?”
“Yeah, but who were they?”
He didn’t say anything for a long time. I was starting to think he hadn’t heard me when he finally answered. “Gang members.”
My mouth dropped open. “They’re in a gang?”
“Yup.”
“Why were you talking to them?” I didn’t know much about gangs, but I knew what they were and what they did, and that we weren’t supposed to be talking to anyone who was part of them.
“Because I’m trying to build peace.”
“They looked scary.” I thought back to their skin covered in tattoos and the deep frowns embedded in their faces.
“People are complicated, little homie,” Julian said, glancing over. “Nobody is all angel or devil. Dialogue between groups is good. Remember that.”
I didn’t get what he meant back then. I just thought he was brave. So brave that I bragged to Ma later about our field trip.
She lost her shit.
I was all tucked in my bed, lights out, when the yelling started.
“How dare you!” My mother’s voice was louder than I’d ever heard it.
“Ma, calm down, okay? I—”
“Calm down? Julian, I am still your mother. And I’m his mother, too. How dare you sit him at a table with gang members. What were you thinking?”
“Ma.” Julian’s voice was as steady as our mother’s was furious. “They’re looking for some resolutions, too. They care about the community.”