“You know, when I was your age, I lost somebody, too. My big cousin, James.” Granddaddy’s voice breaks, but he clears his throat and continues. “James was my hero. I did everything he did and liked everything he liked. When I lost him, it was almost like losing me.”
I nod, cause I don’t know what to say.
“I been watching you this summer, Kenyatta, and I know you hurting. You done seen stuff that a kid your age ain’t s’posed to see. And you lost somebody that left a big hole, right here.” He taps his finger against my shirt, right above my heart. Just like he did on my birthday, when we talked bout Daddy. I told myself I wasn’t gon’ cry today, but now my eyes feel pretty itchy.
“I really miss him,” I finally whisper. “Things just ain’t the same without Daddy, even if he did do some bad stuff.” I sniffle, but Granddaddy surprises me by smiling.
“I know you miss your daddy, Kenyatta. But that’s not who I’m talking bout. You lost someone else this summer, too.” Granddaddy turns his head to Momma’s car and looks right at Nia, in the back seat with her headphones.
“Nia?” I ask.
“Remember what I said. When I lost my big cousin, it was almost like losing me.” Granddaddy squeezes me in a quick hug, then slowly stands to head back inside the house.
“Granddaddy,” I call out, just as his hand touches the screen door. He looks at me, and I can’t tell if his eyes look happy or sad. “You got it wrong.” I stand now, too, but don’t move closer. “I ain’t lose Nia this summer.” I turn around and spot her in Momma’s back seat, still with headphones on, but now watching me through the smudged window. She smiles, so I smile, too. “I found her.” I duck my head before Granddaddy can respond, then wave good-bye.
I walk to the car, quick, and climb inside. As I get settled in my seat, I realize that just like Granddaddy said, I been scared to lose Nia this whole time, cause losing Nia felt like losing me, too. The part of me that laughed til I snorted and threw snowballs. The part of me that had a daddy. But I ain’t lose Nia. Not yet, and if I’m lucky, not ever.
“All buckled?” Momma glances into the back seat at me and Nia, and we both nod. But then I remember something I almost forgot.
“Momma, wait,” I yell, unsnapping my seat belt. “My mayonnaise jar!” I’m already out the car before Momma can ask any questions, but I see the confused look on her face as I run back to Granddaddy’s porch, where I hid the jar beneath the steps.
After a whole summer finding caterpillars, I only got one left. I don’t know if they died or turned to butterflies, cause they are just gone. I wonder if Granddaddy found my jar and hid the dead bodies, so I wouldn’t have to find ’em.
I watch the last caterpillar crawl along the bottom of the mayonnaise jar. Momma once brought home a book from the secondhand store bout a hungry caterpillar who ate everything he could find. I thought it was a funny book, cause back then I only knew the little-kid version of that story, where the caterpillar hatches one day from an egg. Eats and eats til he is longer, fatter. Then, one day, once he’s had enough, he stops eating and hangs himself upside down from a twig, spins a cocoon, and in that silky covering, the caterpillar magically transforms into a butterfly, shedding all the versions of himself cept that very best one.
But the truth bout the little orange caterpillar crawling around the bottom of my jar is that he will have to give himself up completely before he can become something new. When he climbs into his cocoon, there won’t be nothin’ magic bout him digesting himself, then dissolving all his tissues til he’s nothin’。 Only then can he become something else.
The caterpillar pushes against the edge of the jar. I wonder if he hates it in there. All the grass that me and Nia put at the bottom is brown and filled with holes now, and the jar looks cloudy on the inside. He probably hates it, but it’s been his home. He ain’t have no choice bout none of it, just ended up there and had to make the best of it.
I turn the jar over in my hands, think of all that was there before and all that is gone now. And then I know what I gotta do.
I twist the lid off the top of the mayonnaise jar and sit it back on Granddaddy’s porch. Maybe the caterpillar will keep living inside, but maybe he’ll find a way out, instead. I want him to have a chance, so I gotta let go. The second lesson I learned from Daddy; the one he ain’t follow, in the end.
I run back to Momma’s car, dreaming of butterflies. I take one last look cross the street and find Bobby and Charlotte sittin’ on their porch. Charlotte starts to stand when she sees me, but then sits down quick, like she just remembered something. I look away, cause I know them white kids can’t be no different, even if they wanna. Or maybe they can, and just won’t. But then, just as I open the car door, Bobby calls out.
“KB!” I turn back, and he offers a tiny wave that’s already gone before I can return it. I dip my hand in my pocket instead, count the lumps of rock there that he gave me back when none of us knew better. One, two, three. I climb in the car and Momma drives away.
At the end of Anne of Green Gables, Anne had to say good-bye, too. The whole book was bout Anne settling into Green Gables—her first real home and real family. A happy story that you figure would have a happy ending. But in the end, Matthew died of a heart attack, and Anne gave up her own dreams to stay in Green Gables with Marilla. Our ending here in Lansing ain’t like that ending, cause ain’t nobody died, cept Daddy, which somehow feels like a long time ago. And instead of staying, we gotta leave. But even though it’s hard to leave, it’s probably for the best like Granddaddy said. He already tried holding Momma back once; now it’s time for him to let her go. And who knows, maybe this will be our own version of a happy ending.
As N. Rutherford fades away in the rearview mirror, I worry that I ain’t ever gon’ see this house again. I think back to the beginning of the summer and wonder if Momma was right when she said we’d be thankful. There was a lot of bad this summer, but a lot of good, too, and I think I needed it all. Just like Anne, I done lost a little and gained a lot more. I look out the window and try to memorize everything I see. It’s daytime, so ain’t no last firefly for me to learn by heart. Everything that happened here is only a memory now, but I finally understand that that don’t mean it’s gone for good. The memories always come back to us, right when we need ’em. At the beginning of the summer, I ain’t even know how to catch a firefly. I smile to myself, cause now I can catch a firefly, and I can hold on, too.
I look over at Nia, still with headphones on her ears. She sees me looking and pulls ’em off, then hands ’em to me with a smile. I smile back, then cross my eyes and stick out my tongue to make her laugh. Just like our Good Times nights, before Daddy took that TV away. Before them stairs and all them secrets. And before me and Nia almost lost each other. Nia snorts, a habit now, then we both giggle. We laugh and laugh, cause finally, we can.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When I was a little Black girl growing up in Detroit, I had a ton of questions all the time, and thought I could fix everything, just like KB. I spent a lot of time obsessing over what I thought a “perfect” family should look like. I wondered why my life didn’t look like the lives of the people in the stories I read. For a long time, I thought something was wrong with my life. Now I know that there was something wrong with those stories.