Blackout by Dhonielle Clayton
The Long Walk
Act 3
Tiffany D. Jackson
Columbus Circle, 7:02 p.m.
WE KEEP WALKING:down Broadway, past Lincoln Center, straight to Fifty-Ninth Street, Columbus Circle. Cars and taxis have been bumper-to-bumper since Seventy-Second Street and the circle looks like a parking lot. This city is a hot mess without power. Police tape blocks the Fifty-Ninth Street station entrance. Still no trains?
“The trains are gonna be running by the time we make it downtown,” I blurt out. “Right?”
Kareem shrugs, not looking in my direction. “Maybe.”
“But . . . they’ll probably have it fixed soon.” Some trains have to be working before we make it downtown. They just have to.
“Yeah, right.” He chuckles, slicing through the thick crowd on the corner. “Nothing in this city gets fixed quick.”
“Ugh! I’m so over this place! It gets a little hot and the whole city shuts down.”
“Damn, you really not gonna miss New York at all?”
“Pssh! What’s there to miss?” Not with Atlanta and Hollywood calling my name.
Kareem opens his mouth, then closes it, turning back to his phone as I fan my face. Feels like we’ve been walking for hours.
“Hey, can we take a break?” I shout.
“Girl, we ain’t even to midtown yet! You want to stop now?”
“Kareem, it’s hot as hell out here,” I snap, sweat dripping down my back. “You can keep walking if you want. But I’m tired, I’m thirsty, and I need a damn break!”
Kareem blows out air and shoves his fists in his pockets. He knows better than to argue when I’ve hit my threshold. We make our way to a freshly vacated bench near the park entrance. There are a few street vendors on the corner. One selling hot dogs, the other roasted nuts, another phone accessories.
Kareem investigates the table as we stroll by. “Maybe I should buy one of these travel chargers so I can boot up.”
“Pssh! And waste all your money? You want to ditch me and my phone that bad, huh?”
He throws his hands up. “Yo, Tammi, it ain’t always about you! Some of us got shit to do!”
“Whatever! Do you, bruh! It’s your money. Imma be over there!” I don’t wait for his reply before storming away to the bench. I can wring out my dress, it’s so soaked with sweat. I pull my braids up into a bun and check my phone. Sixty-five percent battery life. Kareem’s last phone call must have drained it. What’ll happen if it dies? He won’t have much use for me then. He might even leave me, all for Twig’s party. For Imani. I’ll be alone. No phone, no money, no way of making it home if the trains don’t start working soon.
I dip my head down, sipping up a few deep breaths.
It’s okay. You’re okay. It’s okay!
“Here.” Kareem stands in front of me, shoving an icy bottle of water in my face.
I glare up at him.
“You said you was thirsty, right?” he says. “It ain’t that fancy electrolyte water but it’s the best I could do, and it was three dollars since we by the park with all these tourist, so you better like it.”
I don’t want to take it. I don’t want him thinking I need him for . . . anything. But I already plan to use my last five dollars to catch the train home once we make it to the end of Manhattan. Because the power has to be on by then. It just has to be. And if I don’t put some water in my body, I’m going to pass out from heatstroke.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“You, uh . . . you not about to have one of those, um, panic attacks again? Right?”
My cheeks catch on fire. I turn away to sip my water.
“Nah,” I mumble. “Just hot, that’s all.”
That was a lie. A tremor has been building in my chest, threatening to erupt since the lights went out, and I’ve been too shook to say anything. Too embarrassed to tell him that I need him and that . . .
No!
No, I don’t need Kareem.
I’ve been doing fine all on my own, with no help from him these last four months.
Kareem doesn’t look like he believes me but doesn’t say anything either. He eases into the space next to me, sipping his own water, taking in the scene, and I ache with dozens of nosy questions to ask. Where is he going to school? Who does he keep trying to call?
Wait a minute!
Trying to play it cool, I dig into my bag and flip to the call log. I know I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s like, invading his privacy, but I just have to know. I’ll feel better once I do.
It’s a 718 number, possibly a landline. Maybe it’s Imani’s house phone. Who else could it be?
“It’s kinda crazy seeing all these people out like this,” Kareem says, watching some old man still in his Comcast uniform, trying his best to direct traffic. “You realize we sitting in the middle of this major . . . moment. Like, we gonna be able tell our kids we lived through this!”
“Why you acting like it’s World War II?” I laugh. “It’s just a blackout.”
“Yeah, but some wild things happen during blackouts,” Kareem says while checking his phone again. Thought he said it was dead? “You remember all that stuff about the 1970s blackout, right?”
We learned about the 1970s blackout in our New York History elective. Lasted only around twenty-four hours, but enough time to do some major damage in the city, setting off a massive crime spree. No wonder he wanted to get back home before dark.
“Yeah. I remember.”
“What if,” Kareem says, with a small grin, “that happens again tonight?”
“What? They were burning buildings down! Robbing stores. The Bronx was on fire!”
Kareem laughs. “But after all the looting, that’s when they discovered hip-hop.”
I raise an eyebrow, lips pursed.
“Yo, I’m serious!” He laughs again. “Clearly, I was the only one paying attention to that documentary you made us watch.”
“Whatever! They say educational television is one of the best ways to keep your mind sharp for college. Plus, there’s only so much of that anime stuff I can stand. I plan on making serious films. The kind that win awards and everyone writes articles about.”
He rolls his eyes. “Anyway . . . if it wasn’t for that blackout, those dudes wouldn’t have stolen those turntables. And then they never would’ve had all them parties. And we wouldn’t have hip-hop today. So . . . maybe something good will come out of all of this like that one did. That kind of magic only happens in the dark.”
We catch eyes and I’m itching to lean into him. Just for a moment. Just to feel safe . . . but stop myself, face burning.
“Um. That blackout lasted over twenty-four hours,” I say, checking the time.
“Don’t sweat it. We’ll be back home way before then,” he says, standing.
That’s exactly what I was worried about.
He glances at his phone for the billionth time, brow furrowed.
“Yo, why you keep looking at your phone?” I ask. “I thought it was dead. That’s why you need mine, right?”
He groans. “It’s on two percent. And why are you breathing down my neck?”
“I’m just looking for honesty, that’s all.”
His eyes stretch wide. “Honesty? What you trying to say, I’m not honest with you?”
I shrug. “I didn’t say it, you did.”
“Yo, I never lied to you. Not once!”
“You did about that party.”
“Are you serious? Is that what this is all about? Still?”
“I’m just saying, if you trying to call her—you know, the one you just happen to get with seconds after we were done—then just say that!”
Kareem throws up his hands. “You know what? Fuck it. I ain’t gonna let you paint me as some dude who lied and cheated on you. But since you being all nosy, then fine!” He takes a deep breath. “I’m calling G-Ma’s retirement home. There, you happy now?”
“G-Ma?”
“Yeah. She’s afraid of the dark. Ever since—”
“The blackout,” I finish his sentence, squeezing my eyes shut. Damn, of course!
“Yeah! And my moms got the twins so there’s no one to go check on her but me. She’s all alone and I don’t want her thinking we forgot about her! That’s why I’m walking fast. Need to check on her before tonight’s party.”
His grandma was in the 70s blackout. That’s why he was so interested in all that stuff.
Damn, he’s supposed to be the one with the bad memory, not me.
G-Ma used to babysit us after school when we were little. She didn’t like us being alone, even for a few hours. She’d make up all kinds of games to play after we were done with homework, so we weren’t glued to the TV. And when Mom came home from her shift, G-Ma wouldn’t let me walk home alone, even though I lived four houses down. She’d always walk with me, making Kareem and me hold hands so we wouldn’t get lost.
She must be so scared . . .
“Okay, just . . . hang on a second,” I say, and step aside, pulling out my phone. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, baby. How you holding up?”
“I’m . . . okay. Listen, um, can you do me a favor? Do you think you can stop by G-Ma’s retirement home? Kareem is really worried about her. She’s afraid of the dark.”
“Oh. Uh, sure, okay. I’ll try to stop by and give you an update.” I hang up and walk back over to Kareem, who’s kneading his knuckles into his palm.
“My mom is gonna stop by the retirement home.”
His mouth drops. “What! Really? She’d do that?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
“’Cause we not . . . together.”
I shrug. “Just ’cause we’re not together doesn’t mean I don’t know how important G-Ma is to you.”
He nods, face unreadable. “Oh. Well . . . thanks?”
“No problem.”
We stare at each other for a few beats until he averts his eyes and clears his throat.
“Um. Uh . . . so we should take Broadway.”
“And bump into all those people in Times Square? Nah, we should walk over to Eleventh and take it all the way down.”
“You want to walk through no-man’s land in the middle of a blackout? Nah, we ain’t getting robbed today.”
I bite my lip as his patience thins. “But—”
“Look, can you just trust me? For once?”
“What that mean? I trusted you.”
He shakes his head, silently walking away.
But I follow.
There’s mass chaos, just as I predicted, as we reach the city’s center—the place where everyone comes to see the ball drop on New Year’s Eve or to gaze up at all the massive glowing billboards. This time, people are standing around with their phones arched to the sky, catching a glimpse of a rare sighting: Times Square gone dark.
“Whoa,” Kareem says, laughing, as we move through the crowd. “Yo, I ain’t never seen it like this! Look, all the screens are black! This is mad dope!”
I breathe through the motions as I follow, pushing past elbows, hopping over strollers, and sidestepping around those red metal folding chairs the city scatters throughout Times Square for tourists. Most of them are using the chairs to stand on, flashing pictures in awe.
Kareem stops in a small clearing near the Broadway ticket booth in front of the glass bleachers that usually glow bright red. Kareem brought me here once for Valentine’s Day because he knew how much I loved being sketched by a street artist. He even bought me roses. Wonder if he remembers that . . .
Cut it out. He never remembers anything.
“Shouldn’t we be going?” I ask, itching to get out of the crowd. Too many people, not enough air.
Kareem gazes up with a smirk. “See, girl, that’s your problem. You don’t know how to live in the moment.”
“Huh? Yes I do!”
“Since first grade, you were always worried about what comes next,” he continues, still looking up. “Wondering what we’d have for lunch before we even finished breakfast. All of middle school was about which high school we’d go to and all of high school was about college. You never enjoy what’s right in front of you.”
He looks down at me and smiles. The type of smile that used to melt me. Now, the feeling is . . . uncomfortable. Because that smile doesn’t belong to me anymore.
“You’re the one who’s been pressing me about getting to that party on time,” I snap.
“Yeah but we’re, like, living in the middle of history. Stuff like this only happens once in a lifetime and you won’t take a second to just. Look. Up.”
He places an index finger under my chin and tilts my head back. The sky is a deep blue and we’re swallowed by skyscraper shadows. Any other day, standing here would be like sitting inside a light bulb. But tonight, every billboard, every light and marquee, is off and you could almost feel the whole world spinning slow. It’s like we’re standing in the middle of the universe, waiting for the big bang.
“Whoa,” I mumble.
“Told you! Wild, right?”
I can feel a smile take over my face as we laugh together.
“Man, I don’t know why you trying to leave early and go to school all far away. Ain’t no place in the world like our city. You know you gonna miss it.”
I press my lips together, smile fading. “No one’s gonna miss me.”
“Who told you that lie?”
I blink, neck snapping in his direction. “What?”
The passing headlights dash across his face as he remains silent, his expression unreadable. But his lips . . . his lips are calling me and I’m resisting. Mind and heart playing a game of tug-of-war. Because though I want to kiss him, it doesn’t change the reality that he’s not mine anymore.
“I . . . I have to use the bathroom,” I blurt out.
“Ughhh! You can’t hold it?”
“Boy, we just got to midtown and we still got mad miles to go! You expect me to hold my piss for that long?”
“Damn,” he groans. “You want to squat in an alley or something?”
And just like that, he’s back to being an asshole.
“There’s a McDonald’s on 42nd Street,” I reply. “Let’s just go there.”
“Fine, but can we hurry up? It’s already past seven thirty. I told Twig I’d be there by nine and we haven’t even made it to the bridge yet.”
My breath catches, like the wind got knocked out of me.
It’s fine. All the trains will be working by the time we get to the bridge. Don’t freak out.
“Well, you the one standing around staring up at some dead screens,” I snap, making a sharp turn and colliding right into a man standing on a red chair.
“Ahhh!” the man hollers as he tumbles, and I trip with him, nearly landing headfirst on the concrete . . . before Kareem catches me by my waist and scoops me back up.
“Whoa! Yo, you okay?”
Feet dangling, I glance up at him, then down at his arms, feeling something like vertigo.
“Um, yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I babble, scrambling to unhook myself from his hold. He’s not mine, I repeat over and over, forcing myself to forget how good it felt to be in his arms again.
“Hey!” the man says from the ground. “You broke my phone!”
He sits with his cell in his palms, the screen shattered. Yikes!
“Sorry, I didn’t see—”
“Are you blind? You can’t see someone right in front of you?”
“Hey, don’t talk to her like that,” Kareem barks. “It was an accident, so chill!”
The man stands up, dusting off his legs. “So, are you gonna pay for my phone screen or is your little girlfriend?”
Kareem steps in front of me, sizing him up. “Man, I ain’t paying for shit. Neither is she.”
“Well, one of you has to. You can’t just break people’s stuff and walk off.”
Kareem scoffs. “You’ve gotta be a tourist, talking like that.”
“And it was an accident,” I snap and turn to Kareem. “Let’s go, this guy is wildin’.”
“All right then, I’m calling the police.”
“Bruh, are you serious?” Kareem barks. “Do you hear yourself? We in the middle of a for real emergency. They a little busy right now!”
A crowd starts to circle around us as they argue, phones ready to record anything that’s about to go down. We’ll be all over social media before the blackout is done. What if our colleges see and kick us out before we even have a chance to start?
“Kareem, let’s just go,” I beg, yanking at his arm.
“No, you are not going anywhere!” the man says, taking a step in our direction.
“Or what!” Kareem barks in his face. “You gonna try and stop us?”
The man hesitates, as if weighing his options. And Kareem has no intention of backing down. I’ve seen this movie before. So I pull a move I used to do in middle school, when Kareem was being bullied by assholes around the block—I hold one of his hands in both of mine and draw him in, closer.
“Kareem,” I plead softly. “Please. Let’s go.”
Kareem blinks away from the man, eyes landing on me. In that moment, we are us again. Words said through the simplest look. And though it’s unfair to my already confused heart, it’s the only way to keep him focused on me.
Kareem gives a hesitant nod, gripping my hand. The man yells behind us as we walk away, weaving through the crowd. We don’t stop until we reach the corner of Forty-Second Street and Broadway, only to find the McDonald’s closed.
“Damn,” I grumble.
Kareem glances down at our hands and releases his, clearing his throat.
“Um . . . there’s another bathroom at that big library on Fifth,” Kareem offers.
“You think it’s still open?”
“They wouldn’t shut down the library. That’s, like, against the law or something.”
“Okay. Let’s try it.”
“Wait, hold up,” he says, pointing to a sandwich board sign posted up on the corner that says Free Ice Cream with arrows. A grin spreads across his face.
“Kareem, no . . .”
But it’s too late. He races down the block and disappears into a packed shop. I wait outside, leaning against a street sign. Even with the sun gone, it hasn’t cooled down a bit and there’s about a million people out roaming the streets. I’m surprised we haven’t all fainted.
Look, can you just trust me? For once?
I can’t get his words out of my head. What made him say that? Why didn’t he think I trusted him before? And after everything that’s happened, didn’t he ultimately prove that I was right not to?
“Here we go!” Kareem emerges with two cups. “Cake batter ice cream with graham crackers and strawberries for the old lady. Happy, uh, early birthday?”
“Wow. Thanks,” I gush. “You remembered.”
“Of course.”
We speed walk east down Forty-Second Street, past the stores, the restaurants, and Bryant Park. By the time we make it to the New York Public Library, my ice cream is nearly a milkshake.
“Hey, let’s finish this before it melts . . . then go in to use the bathroom,” I say.
“Aight,” Kareem agrees.
We sit on the concrete front stairs, in between the giant lion statues, looking down at the passing traffic on Fifth Avenue. Seems like the only lights working in the city are from cars, trucks, and taxis.
“Shouldn’t we eat something first? Like a real lunch or dinner?” I laugh, popping the plastic top off my cup. “G-Ma would kill us knowing we out here having dessert before veggies.”
“What I keep saying? This is history, might as well have our dessert first,” he says, digging his spoon in. “Mmm! Even half melted, it’s fire!”
I slip the spoon out of my mouth, enjoying the icy coolness and the perfect combination of ice cream toppings we came up with together one summer. I wonder if he’s had this with Imani. Really, I wonder about all the things they do together that we used to.
“My dad’s getting married.”
Stunned, I nearly drop my spoon.
“What? Really?”
“Yeah,” Kareem sighs, shaking his head but smiling. “He’s having one of them destination weddings in January. Asked me to be his best man. Surprised your mom didn’t tell you. I know her and my mom talked.”
Mom’s been pretty good about following the No Kareem rule, but this is definitely some hot tea she should’ve spilled!
“How’s your mom taking it?” I ask.
“She’s . . . mad. Or, she was mad. Then upset. She wouldn’t speak to him at graduation. I get it, though.”
“And . . . how do you feel?”
He rubs the back of his neck with a sniff. “I mean, at first, guess I just thought . . . you move out, get a new battery in ya back, and put all that new energy into the wrong person. I just wish he tried, like for real tried, with Mom. Not just for her, but for me and the twins. I told him that . . . ’cause what I got to lose, right? Ain’t like he can throw me out the house he don’t live in.”
“Whoa,” I reply. Kareem’s the last person to say exactly what’s on his mind. “What did he say?”
He takes a deep breath. “Said something like, ‘People grow apart, people change. And you can’t fight change. Fighting someone who’s changing is a fight with yourself. You can only accept them and choose to love them anyway. And if you can’t do that, you have to let them go, for your own well-being.’ I guess I get that. Anyways, we talk now. Like, talk like we bros. He gives me all this advice about . . . stuff. His girl’s pretty dope. They travel, taking cheesy-ass photos, working out together . . . they seem like best friends. I’m happy for dude. Kinda wish we were like this sooner. Like, four years ago when he left.”
Kareem laughs. And it’s good to see him so . . . happy. He and his dad haven’t been close since middle school when the fighting started. I try to ignore the gnawing at my stomach, the resentment. I should have been there for him while all this was going on. Not Imani. Which makes me wonder . . . why wasn’t I there?
“Did you mean what you said earlier?” I ask. “That you think . . . I broke up with you?”
Kareem slowly takes the spoon out his mouth.
“Ain’t that what you did?” he mumbles. “You pretty much left me a Dear John letter in my text.”
“I guess . . . well, never mind.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Nah, say it.”
“I thought you . . . broke up with me.”
“What?” he spits. “How? I didn’t even say nothing.”
“That’s just it, you didn’t say nothing. You just left me on read.’’
“So why didn’t you say something?”
“’Cause!” I stab my ice cream. “You went to that party. Without telling me.”
“Yo, I’d been waiting forever for someone to put me on. I thought you’d understand.”
I shake my head. “You were just looking for a way out. You always wanted to go to all those parties.”
“Yeah! ’Cause I like music! Ain’t my fault you don’t do crowds.”
“And I told you how I felt about that girl.”
“And I told you, you had nothing to worry about. I’m with you! I mean . . . was.”
I take a deep breath. The sting of that “was” hits me right in the throat.
He stands up and starts pacing on a step below.
“Did you even read that trash message?” he went on. “Was me going to that party worth all that fire you breathed? That was my first paid DJ gig! I thought you’d be happy for me. Especially when we always did whatever you wanted. Instead, you called me a fucking liar and cheater when I never ever cheated on you or lied! I only made her my girl after you dumped me!”
“For the last time, I didn’t dump you!”
“You stopped talking to me! What’d you expect me to do?”
“You could’ve walked your ass down the block, knocked on my door like you’ve done a million times since we were kids, and talked to me. That was your job as my boyfriend!”
He stops in front of me and leans forward, digging into my skull with his eyes.
“Tammi, my only job was to love you. You telling me I didn’t do that? You talking about jobs, what was your job supposed to be?”
My heart hiccups into my throat. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to have this conversation. I don’t want to talk about love or anything else. It’s over! There is no him and me, no we, just him . . . and her.
“We . . . we should get going,” I say. “You have that party tonight, right?”
Kareem opens his mouth just as a homeless man sprints up the stairs, passing us. We watch him rush to one of the library doors and yank at it. Locked.
“Shit,” we say in unison.
“Now what do we do?” I groan. “I’m not peeing in a damn alley!”
Kareem purses his lips before his eyes trail down to my feet. “Ughhhh! You and these damn laces!”
I follow his glare. So used to them being undone in some way, I didn’t even notice.
He kneels down, fingers working fast over the laces.
“Why you even buy sneakers if you can’t ever tie them right?” He sucks his teeth with a huff. “Man, what you been doing all these months without me? Probably falling over yourself—surprise you ain’t break your damn arm yet.”
He finishes tying my left shoe and moves to my right. I flex my foot and instantly, my ankle feels snug, secure, and safe. For maybe the first time in months.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice soft.
He freezes, as if the words triggered something inside him. Slowly, he thaws, shoulders relax, hands gently move from my laces to behind my right calf, eyes focused on my shoe. Then, he leans his forehead on my bare shin and breathes in.
I stare at the top of his head, heart pounding. Aching to move, to run from his touch, but desperate to stay in the dark with him like this . . . forever.
He turns his head, letting his cheek rest against my leg.
“What happened to us?” he whispers.
And for the first time, I’m not entirely sure.