Kings of B'more, page 30
Linus shouted out across the cars, “Hi! Can you pull over?”
Harrison looked panicked. “I don’t think I know how!”
Sheree leaned forward, past Harrison. “We’ll figure it out,” she called. “Hi, Wally!”
“All right!” Wally called back.
Harrison and his mother jointly maneuvered their car to the curb.
Linus was already unbuckling his seat belt.
“Where are you going?!” Wally cried. “Wait till I get to the curb.”
They pulled over behind the sedan.
Harrison was already running around the back of his car.
“Get out of the street!” Linus’s dad yelled out the door. “On the sidewalk!”
They met on the curb. Cars zipped by them up the street, roaring, honking, blasting music. There was a restaurant a few doors up, and people were gathered around tables, laughing and shouting at each other. In the distance, the ice cream truck was playing its creepy song. The sounds of the rude world did not stop just because Linus needed to make a declaration.
For a moment, they just stood together in the pool of a streetlight.
Harrison’s face, shining with sweat, was etched out in blue and purple and golden blocks. It was stained glass installed in the house of Linus’s soul. He imagined that he perhaps looked the same to Harrison. The two of them a beautiful set. Salt and pepper shakers, as Mazz’s aunt would say while sipping her tea in South Carolina.
Harrison spoke first, before Linus could. “I’m not saying goodbye to you!”
“I’m not saying goodbye to you, either. I was wrong.”
Linus wondered if that was all that needed to be said. But he knew that the thing that held them together was more than that. There was a universe inside of Harrison that would surprise and amaze and delight. He’d seen it all day long. Even though Linus usually found the words to say almost everything that was on his mind, Harrison lifted the words up, gave them life and music. Harrison was a song.
“Tomorrow I won’t be here,” Linus said, “but I’m never going to stop being in your life. I don’t want to stop talking to you every day. I don’t want to not know you. I can’t not know you, Harrison.” The ice cream truck turned down the block, blasting music. Harrison leaned in like he was having trouble hearing. Linus continued. “You’re a part of me. You’re a part of my heart. You are my best friend. And I love you. It’s the brightest thing I have ever felt.” One of the tables at the restaurant burst into the chorus of “Press the Sky Higher,” screaming and singing with abandon. Harrison looked over and rolled his eyes at them. Linus plunged on. “When you’re up, I’m up. When you’re down, I’m down. I hear you when you don’t have anything to say. I hear you when you raise your eyebrow and catch my eye. I hear you when you’re not even there. And you hear me, too. You hear me when no one else hears me. You did this whole day for me, and it was so fun and so . . . I don’t know. I’ve never experienced anything like being your friend. And I won’t, I can’t, live like this without you.” The words were tripping over themselves, but Linus couldn’t stop. A group of boys on motorbikes, a dozen or so, roared up the street beside them. Linus raised his voice to yelling. “I feel silly standing out in the middle of the street, like one block from your house, begging you to be my friend, but I don’t care!”
“Let’s be friends forever!” Harrison shouted. He started to say something else but then stopped and just grinned. He raised his eyebrows. This is so much, they said.
Baby boy! Linus said in return. This is everything.
And it was. And it was beautiful. They let the words take a break for a moment as the music and the singing and the motorbikes and the honking and what seemed like the entire city bustled around them. They talked through exchanged looks, standing there on that street corner in the middle of Baltimore. This space, between their two faces, was where their friendship lived. It was where they lived. Free and vibrant and magical together in this connection they made. In that electric space in the middle of the two of them, anything was possible. Everything was possible. And nothing could tear it apart.
“I know things will change,” Harrison started. Linus grabbed his arms and looked at him intensely.
“We will always be in each other’s lives, Harrison. Things are going to change. We’re going to change. But we’ll meet each other new every day. Believe that.”
They hugged then, both squeezing so tight.
“Have the best time,” Harrison said.
“Not without you,” Linus said. “But I’ll try. Harrison, you’re extraordinary! Thank you.” He climbed back into his car. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow!” His dad started to pull away from the curb. Linus turned and waved.
Epilogue
8:00 p.m.
Harrison waved back. He kept waving as the light turned green, as the car turned the corner, and as the Munros disappeared from view. He climbed back into his car. In the passenger seat this time.
Harrison would tell Linus anything, everything over the course of their friendship, but he decided he would probably never mention that it was too loud to actually hear him on the street corner when they were yelling about their feelings while a group of college kids belted “Press the Sky Higher.” Harrison had caught bits and pieces. He got the gist. It wasn’t ideal—he’d put it that way. But also, he wouldn’t have changed a thing. Sometimes they heard each other; sometimes they didn’t. But they always saw each other. They always understood.
* * *
The first blush of night was finally creeping over the Baltimore skyline as Harrison and his mother pulled up to their house. Sheree had decided that the evening was too beautiful to give up and the day was too long to end, and had taken them on another drive through the streets, past singers and motorbikers and everyone who ever lived.
Obed was sitting on the couch watching a movie when they got in. “Everybody’s out partying except for me, I see.” Harrison paused, waiting for him to turn and for the grounding or phone confiscation or whatever other punishment to come down. Instead, his mom just joined his dad on the couch.
“We’ll talk tomorrow. I’m glad you’re safe,” she said. Harrison waited like the information didn’t compute. Then he turned toward the stairs. “Oh,” Sheree called. Here it comes. “I like your shirt, by the way.”
* * *
Harrison’s phone was dead, as usual. He plugged it in and lay across the bed. He was still buzzing from the day. His skin felt electric; he heard the sounds of every place they’d been ringing in his ears. His phone came to life and dinged with a new message. And then dinged again. And again. And a fourth time. To say this was unusual would be an understatement.
He opened up what looked like a group chat, but he didn’t recognize any of the numbers except Linus’s. He scrolled to the top and started reading.
Linus: Hello
Linus: We had such a good time, I thought y’all should be friends.
Linus: But also I don’t want to miss out. So now we can all talk.
And then, from an unknown number: THIS IS FAB! Hi Harrison!!
And another unknown number: Mazz. I was so sad when you left. Glad we can hang!
And another: Philadendra Truong. We’re still at the party. Your sister says howdy.
Linus: Y’all know I don’t text. But . . .
Linus: You can use this group chat to plan a visit to Charleston. So get on it.
Linus: Also, check your email, Harrison.
This was more online communication than he’d received all year. It was overwhelming. He opened his email.
FROM: LINUS MUNRO
SUBJECT: Hello
I know I just saw you, but I wasn’t finished talking. And I don’t think I’ll ever finish talking to you, so here’s an email. When we left the Evergreens, I was thinking about this thing I read I wanted to tell you about. I thought about telling you just now, but it was so loud and I got nervous and I’d have to show you anyway. So I didn’t. It works better with the picture and the whole backstory.
Harrison stopped reading and opened the attachment. It was a picture of a small white gravestone. Okay. What a thrilling gift. He went back to the email.
Don’t go looking at the picture first. Read the description.
Too late.
So, this is John Laurens’s grave. Alexander Hamilton’s best friend. We saw him in the musical Hamilton.
Okay, so what Linus didn’t need to do was try to act like Harrison didn’t know what musical Alexander Hamilton of the musical Hamilton was in. However, Harrison did not know that Laurens was buried in South Carolina.
Did you know that Laurens was buried in South Carolina?
He did not!
It’s in a place called Mepkin Abbey. I downloaded this picture from the internet. I was looking up some information about their friendship because I was thinking about all the times we watched the musical together.
Nine. Nine times.
So when I found out he was near where I’m moving, I got so excited. You know we have to go together.
A leisurely and ordinary day of cemetery tourism with Linus Munro. Harrison couldn’t wait.
I promise I won’t go until we can go together. I wanted to send you a picture of the grave to tell you about it. And also so I could send you this quote I found. Alexander Hamilton once wrote to John Laurens:
“Cold in my professions, warm in friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by action rather than words, to convince you that I love you. I shall only tell you that ’till you bade us Adieu, I hardly knew the value you had taught my heart to set upon you.”
I couldn’t find all the words to tell you how much you mean to me, but maybe these will work until we get to see each other again.
Thank you for finding me in that random Zoom room and following me through graveyards and taking me all around the city on the greatest day I’ve ever had.
Harrison opened the photo again. It was just a simple, timeworn gravestone, not fanciful or ornate like the ones in the cemetery where they’d spent so many afternoons talking and wondering and worrying and hoping and living. It was odd, but also so lovely, the loveliest gift Harrison had ever received.
Wasn’t that what drew them close to each other? Wasn’t it what they saw in each other’s faces and silent expressions? Wasn’t it the thing they treasured about each other?
And, Harrison thought, isn’t that exactly what we are together? Strange and beautiful and magical and dazzling.
Acknowledgments
First of all, I think we should acknowledge Audra McDonald doing a high kick during the Shuffle Along Tony Awards performance, don’t you?
I read a tweet this year that said instead of blurbs, book jackets should tell you what kind of wild, intense stuff the author was living through while they wrote the book. It’s like showing your work on a math equation, but instead of formulas scratched out on the side of a page, it’s, like . . . strife and emotional labor. I’m not going to list all the things that went down in my life and in the world while I was writing this book (but call my therapist and tell him he has my permission to tell you). What I will say is that I hope this book is a place of joy for you. For me, that joy was hard-won and often elusive. But possible! So I want to acknowledge us for getting through whatever we got through to arrive here together.
My incredible agent, Anna Sproul-Latimer of Neon Literary, and her co-founder, Kent Wolf, are miracle workers, soothsayers, geniuses, and treasure hunters. I’m so grateful to work with you.
This book’s extraordinary editor, Joanna Cárdenas, has been a dream collaborator, thinking partner, and visionary since our first conversation. We have never met in person because, well, see above. I have no idea how tall she is. None! But it has been a delight and a respite to make a human connection and create something beautiful despite the distances.
The whole team at Kokila is so wonderfully collaborative, so smart, so generous. It’s been an honor to work with them. Thanks to Namrata Tripathi, the endlessly creative and indefatigable Lathea Mondesir, Caitlin Taylor, Jasmin Rubero, Theresa Evangelista, who designed the stunning cover and jacket, Natalie Vielkind, Ariela Rudy Zaltzman, Debra DeFord-Minerva (I LOVE COPY EDITORS!), Alison Throckmorton, and Margo Winton Parodi. Thanks also to LaMar Timmons-Long and Dr. Kim Parker for their invaluable reads.
I was so thrilled when the great Alexis Franklin agreed to illustrate the cover! The first time I saw Harrison and Linus in the flesh, I gasped. What a gift!
Thanks to friends and writers (and writer friends and friendly writers) who read early drafts, or talked me down from a ledge, or inspired me. Thanks to John Fram, Tina Canady, Jarrod Markman, Chris Newcomer, Sean Simon, Philip Ellis, Kristen Norine, Abraham Johnson, Rebecca Adelsheim, Steven Gross, and more. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the great Alena Smith, creator of the AppleTV+ show Dickinson, for hiring me to write for it and giving me an excuse to reignite my Emily Dickinson love.
Thanks to the National Museum of African American History and Culture for being the most incredible place on Earth. And to the real-life Ms. Doreen for a transportive first visit.
My wonderful husband, David, taught me to see Baltimore in a new light and encouraged me through the writing process of this book. And my parents, Bob and Judi Thomas, sacrificed a lot to send me to a school a tiny bit like Plowshares (but NOT Plowshares; this is fiction). They showed me what love is and bridged gaps for me and made this city—this life—limitless.
About the Author
R. Eric Thomas is the bestselling author of Here for It, or How to Save Your Soul in America, a Read with Jenna book club pick featured on Today and a Lambda Literary Award finalist. He is the co-author of Reclaiming Her Time, a biography of Rep. Maxine Waters. He is also a television writer (AppleTV+’s Dickinson, FX’s Better Things), a playwright, and the long-running host of The Moth in Philadelphia and D.C. For four years, he was a senior staff writer at Elle.com where he wrote “Eric Reads the News.” Kings of B'more is his YA debut. Learn more at rericthomas.com.
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R. Eric Thomas, Kings of B'more
