Mat Johnson - Loving Day

Spider waits till everyone’s left the classroom to talk to me. “You’re off your game, man. Your head’s in your heart. You either go work this out with Sun, or you got to shut up. Like, forever, and never say another word. I don’t know, we’ll tell the kids you’ve gone mute or something. You’re too horrible like this,” is pretty much the gist of it and it’s not particularly helpful or insightful given how little Spider knows. That I cried like a pathetic wreck on the suspect shoulders of Director of Services Roslyn Kornbluth, for instance. He doesn’t know that. Possibly, Sunita Habersham does. I don’t care at this point, or I’m willing to believe I don’t. Tal is sitting on the steps when I open the art trailer’s door. Her dance gear is still on, not the clothes she was wearing when I drove her to school.

“Did you read the note?” my daughter asks me. I didn’t. I just saw the handwriting on the front of it.

“Why are you serving as UPS on this thing?”

“But did you read it?” I didn’t, so I finally open it up. There’s no detailed explanation of Sun’s behavior. But also, no formalized rejection either. Just a few lines in the middle of an otherwise blank card, and boxes to check off.

I’m sorry I’ve been distant, but I needed to think. And I would really like it if we could talk. When is good ?

Tonight

Saturday

Sunday

In Hell

“So what are you going to say, Pops?” Tal asks.

“This was private. Why did you read it?”

“Because you’re miserable at home, and she’s miserable at school. So now I’m getting two kinds of miserable. And I like her. I told you.” Her eagerness, at bringing Sunita closer into our lives, is both annoying and a strong motivation to continue trying. I make a point of dramatically removing a pen from my back pocket and showing it to my daughter. Then I mark off the appropriate box and, with increasing flourish, place the note back in its envelope before I hand it to Tal.

“She’s not your new mother, you know?” I say this mostly to myself, but it sounds like a dig at Tal. “She’s just your teacher, and a friend of your father’s,” I add, softening my tone to the point, I fear, of being patronizing.

“This is why you’re alone,” Tal tells me. Then adds, “Besides me.”

—

I get some pasta, use a lot of olive oil, throw in some grated parmesan, chives, all so that when you stick the entrée next to a decent bourbon, it looks like I’ve spent the appropriate amount of time for someone who only kinda gives a shit. I am serving my ambivalence. It’s absent my libido, which has retreated from frustration. I am cured. Or if not cured, in remission, overcome by the other demons that plague me. I have digested this, the idea that Sun is connected to another man, and I find myself at ease with the concept. Racially even — I push my finger into my lizard brain and say, What about a white guy? and to my surprise find little extra resistance. After the idea of sexual ownership is stripped from my expectations, after the begrudging agreement that I truly don’t want to own her, I’m left with a new, theoretic openness. But this man, Elijah. This horrid, coveting, appropriating, ball of self-love shaped like a man. How could she love such a man? How could she even be who I think she is, and have chosen such a despicable partner?

“It’s over.” Sunita Habersham stands outside my open front door, and this is the first thing she says to me. Tal is upstairs, showering in expectation of the arrival of her favorite adult.

“It’s over?” I ask, and I can’t believe she set this up, made a formality of it, involving Tal, just to dispose of me.

“Elijah, not you. We’re officially done. That segment of my life is over. Two years. Two years of going nowhere, on purpose, over.”

“Over,” I tell myself. I don’t seem to believe it yet.

“But I don’t want to talk about it. After I come in this door, I don’t want to talk about it. Not tonight. Not ever. I’m not carrying the past with me. So you want to ask anything, do it now.”

“Did you love him?” I want to know. Not to torture either one of us. But if she did love him, and she just dumped him like that after two years, that scares me even more.

“No. I don’t think so. That was kind of the point,” Sunita Habersham says, and before I can ask her about the man who came before Elijah she pushes past me and walks in the door.

—

“The first boy I kissed was Lawrence Levy. You don’t understand; he was so hot,” Tal insists. We don’t challenge her. “It was on a school trip to the Smithsonian.”

“I don’t want to hear this,” I tell her.

“It was on the way back to Philly, back of the bus, in the dark. I sat by the window. He was pretty popular and the whole time I was kissing him I was totally flattered, you know? That he even chose to sit next to me? That he waited the whole school year for this moment? And then, when he acted like a jerk afterward, I remembered, ‘Oh yeah, it was assigned seating.’ ”

“He told everyone about it, didn’t he? Spread rumors, told everyone it was more, didn’t he? That little bastard Larry Levy.” I’m furious with this kid. The meal’s evaporated, but the bourbon has sustained a position on the table for an hour. I take a sip and I want to hear more about this faceless Lawrence Levy. It’s only been a few years, I’m sure. I could still call his parents.

“That happened to, like, two other girls that trip. But not me. This was worse: he told no one. Not a soul.”

“No!” Sun gasps. Her bare feet are on my lap, and she leans over now all the way so that she can hug Tal’s shoulders, tickling her in the process. We are one squirming, warm snake on kitchen chairs.

“It’s serious! He told no one. Not one person. I couldn’t either, because people would have thought I made it up. He never spoke to me again, and didn’t brag on me at all. Not one dirty rumor. I was totally scandal-worthy! I am total brag material.”

“Kimet brags about you.” Sun releases her with a pat and a wink for me. “He’s always, ‘My girlfriend Tal says,’ and ‘My girlfriend Tal was.’ ”

“No he isn’t.” This is what my daughter looks like blushing. I love that. I love love . I don’t even get scared that Tal’s found it. I don’t even say, Don’t get pregnant . Instead, I offer, “Well, he’s a talented kid. And I certainly enjoy his company more than his dad’s.”

“Oh, his dad’s a bastard,” Sunita Habersham announces. I try to give her a look to tone down the language, but Tal chimes in with “Total bastard” before I can.

“How do you know?” I can’t imagine Sunita Habersham perusing the halls of the Umoja School on her own.

“That jerk formed a group that’s been trying to get the Mélange Center shut down for months. He’s called parents, congressmen, municipal offices. The city might have stopped trying to evict us if he hadn’t been pushing on them.”

“Spider says we’re not getting evicted,” I tell Tal. She has four months of high school left now. We should be getting acceptance letters soon; the possibilities will unfold. Just a little time, and then she’s gone. Long term, Roslyn can take her tribe to the promised land, if need be. I just need a few months of stability, because that’s what Tal needs.