Page 42 of As You Walk On

It lands on this:

Psalms of Hope, Granny’s church. The place Mario and Dad met one Christmas morning. I was ten years old, wearing a clip-onbow tie, anxious to get home to open gifts. Granny wanted Dad to meet every member of the choir. Mario was last. He sat in the back pews with his arm tucked around Aleah’s shoulders as she played Pokémon on his phone.

Back then, I think I knew Dad’s overeager smile at Mario’s gentle, deep “Hey” meant something. I’d seen it before. But this one lasted longer.Much longer. So did my pouting in the pews next to Aleah while they talked for nearly an hour.

“Wanna play?” she offered, vibrant smile attacking me.

I lost myself in the game. In her ramblings about which Pokémon were her favorite. Suddenly, I didn’t care about gifts anymore.

Just that she talked like she’d known me forever.

Like a friend.

Another memory bleeds into that one:

A sweaty Saturday afternoon at the church. Aleah and me tucked into the pews again. Mario rehearsing with the choir. Dad pretending to be invested in behind-the-scenes stuff to spend more time around him.

Aleah had her own phone by then. Her dad drives trucks overnight. He wanted a way to always be in contact.

We were sharing earbuds, listening to music. TheSister Act 2soundtrack was our favorite. Dad and Mario had already converted us to nineties-comedies enthusiasts. While the choir belted their way through foot-stomping medleys, we sung along to “His Eye Is on the Sparrow” like we were re-creating a scene from the movie. Her pitch-perfect alto to my off-key tenor.

“I’m gonna be a singer one day,” she declared with her brightest smile. “You’ll be my backup singer. Way, way, way back!”

“Hey!” I pouted. “I’m no one’s backup.”

“True. You’ll find your own thing,” she told me.

“You think so, Birdie?”

She scrubbed a hand over my ’fro and whispered, “Duh, TJ. We’re gonna be happy like your pops and my uncle. Nobody’s gonna stop us.”

There was so much conviction in her voice. It’s hard to imagine a version of Aleah that’s anything but that—confident.

Maybe she’s not that Birdie anymore. And I’m not her TJ.

I’m so far in my own head, I don’t hear the toilet flush. The faucet run, then stop. Only the squeaky bathroom door as it’s yanked open.

Aleah reemerges, posture stiff, face dry and passive. Her expression says it all—the last three minutes never happened.

If only I could say the same about the last five years.

Aleah plays with her necklace again. Her long black hair is braided into twin French braids. Edges perfectly gelled like when she was younger, and Mario styled her hair. She glances around, taking everything in. Her slow assessment starts with River, then Luca, and finally me. Her eyes quickly move on. As if she’s deemed I’m not important anymore.

I don’t know why it stings so badly.

How many times in the past have I done the same thing to avoid acknowledging what I did to her?

“Thanks for... you know,” she says to Luca. He’s barelynodded before she’s making the hasty exit I should’ve made five minutes ago.

“Wait!” River calls out. “Aleah!”

Aleah whirls around, face contorted in one of thoseDo I know you?ways.

“You don’t have to go back there if you don’t want to.” River pastes on an enthusiastic smile.

“Why wouldn’t Iwantto?”

There’s an edge to Aleah’s voice, but it’s not mean.

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