Anyway, that was all him. Vernell LaQuan Banks Sr. He’s the reason they tested me for Accelerated Learners and I wound up in that Challenge Math class with you.
He wanted me to do good. To go far and be better.
But then he was just…gone.
(Sorry for getting sentimental, but like I said before: you better not tell nobody I wrote all this. Or that I used to read books about little rich white kids.)
That night he got arrested turned everything upside down. I knew things were about to get bad because my dad had been like the duct tape holding our raggedy shit together. He paid for a lot and gave my mom money, and he really was the reason I stayed out of trouble. The minute that van drove away with him in it, I felt…doomed.
It’s why I stopped talking to you. Everybody else too, but especially you. I woulda never admitted this (honestly don’t know why I’m admitting it now…), but I kinda looked up to you. Yeah, you were only a year older and you were dorky as hell, but you had your shit together in a way I wanted mine to be.
I knew if I could just be like you, my dad would be proud of me.
Seeing what you wrote in that post-whatever-the-hell-set-you-off letter…I dunno, man. If YOU felt that way, maybe everything my dad tried to push me toward really was pointless.
Don’t really matter now anyway. I’m prolly gettin’ WAY more time than my dad did.
Guess it’s whatever.
I don’t even know if Imma send this. Maybe I should. You better write back, though. Cuz otherwise I ain’t never writing you another letter again.
Got me over here pouring my heart out and shit.
Smh.
(There I go again!)
Later,
Vernell LaQuan Banks Jr. QUAN
P.S.: I know you already knew my government name, but don’t ever call me by it.
P.S.S. (or is it P.P.S.? Yo, you ever heard that song “O.P.P.”? I love that song.): REMINDER—don’t tell NOBODY I wrote this!
It’s not like Quan didn’t try to keep it together at first. He really did.
Yeah, he kinda withdrew into himself a little bit. Didn’t talk or interact with people as much. But that’s because he was trying to stay focused.
It was the only way he knew how to cope: control what he could, ignore what he couldn’t. So for a while, he did his homework. Kept his and Gabe’s room straight—even though sharing space with a little kid meant cleaning every single day. Played Connect 4 with Dasia. Took both of them to the playground as often as possible. And even there, he was working: keeping the rocket ship cleaned out. He knew some of the stuff he found inside it suggested some not-so-playground-appropriate activities, but he did his best to make sure at least that part of the play area stayed kid-friendly.
Weekends he was supposed to be at Daddy’s, he spent with his nose buried in books. No matter what else he strayed to, he always returned to A Series of Unfortunate Events. Something about watching those kids escape by the skin of their teeth over and over again helped Quan keep his head above water even when everything around him seemed to be crashing down.
Because everything did.
Seem to be crashing down.
Crashing and tumbling downhill like good ol’ Jack and Jill.
Shortly after Daddy’s arrest, Dwight moved in. Which Quan figured would happen eventually: the only reason he wasn’t living with them already was because Daddy told Mama he’d stop giving her money if she
let that piece of shit occupy the same space as my son.
With Daddy gone, though, money was getting tight. And Olaf-ass Dwight used that to his advantage. Told Mama he’d help with the bills—
But I can only do that if I don’t have my own rent to pay.
(Quan overheard the whole conversation. When it was over, he climbed down from his hiding place up on the high shelf in the coat closet where Mama kept the extra bed comforters and went straight to his rocket ship, kicking the hypodermic needle he found inside it right out the entrance even though he knew a little kid might find it.)
(He used a discarded Takis bag to pick it up and put it in the trash can later.)
Even at twelve, it didn’t escape Quan’s notice that the men in his mama’s life—Daddy included—used money to get her to do what they wanted her to. It bothered him no end. But he wasn’t sure what he could do about it.
Which became a running theme: not knowing what he could do about anything.
So he stayed focused.
Nights Dwight would come “home” smashed out of his mind—and smashing things as a result—Quan would stay focused.
Mornings Quan would wake up and find Mama’s bedroom door locked, but a note from her asking him to get Dasia and Gabe “clothed and fed and on the bus” because she wasn’t “feeling too hot,” Quan stayed focused.
When the light would hit Mama’s face just right and he’d see the bruises beneath her caked-on makeup, Quan stayed focused.
And it paid off. Mama might’ve been a mess, but Dasia and Gabe were just fine. Despite their daddy being a human garbage disposal, they laughed and smiled and were doing good in school…
All because Quan stayed focused.
Quan was also kicking academic ass and taking names. Because despite Daddy’s absence, Quan was determined (maybe now even more determined) to make the old man proud. Become the upstanding dude Daddy wanted him to be. Quan even considered going out for football once he hit ninth grade.
Daddy had played in high school and even been offered a scholarship to college, but then Mama got pregnant and Vernell Sr. decided to stick around, take care of the son he’d helped create. Unlike my dad did, he told Quan once. What better way to pay Daddy back than to achieve the dream Daddy didn’t get to live—because of Quan?
So Quan stayed focused.
Then there was The Math Test.
It’d been a little over a year since Dad’s arrest. Quan was the only seventh grader in the Algebra I Challenge Math class, and he’ll admit: the shit really was a challenge. He was averaging high Bs but was determined to do better.
A week before The Math Test, Ms. Mays, Quan’s favorite teacher on earth, went on maternity leave. (Quan still hasn’t forgiven that damn baby for taking her away at such a critical point in his life.)