Evergreen

Georgio was only about five when our Mama left us.

See, the plants got bad a long time ago. Whatever the farmers were puttin’ in them made them go a little wild. And by “a little wild”, I mean you’ve gotta sleep with a knife now so in the mornin’, when the vines and such have grown over your body, you can cut your way out.

And that sucks a ton, but Georgio makes the best of it. He’s always tellin’ me, “Well, at least we’ve got somethin’ to eat. It could be like a zombie movie, where you can’t even have a burger, cause it’ll bite ya back!”

Whenever he says stuff like that, I just rustle his hair and hope he doesn’t ever stop sayin’ stuff like that.

Nowadays, I’ve always gotta be the one to say stuff like, “Now, Lil’ Gio, if you insist on only eatin’ from outside, at least make sure the berries aren’t on a poison ivy bush this time!”

“Don’t call me little!” Georgio’s always callin’ back, scratchin’ his little, red cheeks like the Devil’s on ‘em.

I guess he’s not so little now, he’s about seven, and a couple nights ago, he cut himself out of a pea plant. Still, about seven is young enough to be my Lil’ Gio.

Well—in all honesty, I don’t even know if Georgio’s seven. I’m not sure I even trust the calendars or the clocks or anyone else to tell me when it is anymore. Ever since Mama left, I’d only trust the sun itself to tell me the time of day.

But that option’s long gone. The bushes and shrubs and trees grew over our heads a long time ago. They had the best and the brightest working on it, and some of us normal people too. They were trying to kill ‘em with all kinds of “icides”, herbicides included, even though we figured out a long time ago that just made ‘em stronger. They tried burning ‘em, cutting ‘em, until eventually, they all gave up. One day, the sun got a lot hotter than it had ever been, and the trees started growin’ taller than they had ever gotten—

and then the sun just stopped hitting the ground. It’s darker than a country house with the lights out all day long now, and we all just had to learn to be fine with that.

When we used to see a drop of sunlight hit the ground, Mama would tell Georgio and I to go stand in it. Said we needed our vitamins. Gio’d always knock me over when we did. Gio had what I liked to call “Break Ankle Syndrome”. He’d had it ever since we were little. Every time he was given some task, whether it’d be holdin’ somethin’ important or feedin’ Earnie the Turtle for his first grade class, he had a tendency to trip over his own foot. Not only did he knock over Earnie’s tank, sending him to his early demise at 43, rest his soul, but he sprained his ankle almost every time we used to play tag.

Now, he’s up to me. Mama said when she left us those years ago that she was going up North, said they probably got something whipped up better than what we had down here. She heard about some kinda elixir they were workin’ on up there on the TV, said it wouldn’t take long for her to be back.

When we woke up in the morning and the sun hit our faces, for the first time in a long time, she’d be there with us. And she wasn’t ever gonna leave us, not ever again.

I haven’t lost hope. I’m hopeful. Gio’s hopeful. And I trust my Mama—I do—but we couldn’t wait any longer. Two years ago, I’d get up in the morning, and I’d tie my shirt over my face, ‘cause Mama said too much air is dangerous just like none, and I’d flick on the big ol’ flashlight she’d bought me for Christmas, and point it out into the woods.

And I’d sit.

And I’d wait.

And at a certain point in the evenin’, Gio’d ask me for dinner. He’d already have the can of tuna, he just wanted me to acknowledge him, and give him the, “Sure, have at it,” before he ate it. Until one day, there was no more tuna.

And it was just me and Gio.

In the little, dark house.

On the little, dark porch.

Nothing but us and whatever was out there. And nothin’ to do but leave.

 …

Georgio was about six when we left the house.

And we haven’t been back in a year. Not that we’d know how to get there. I tried to teach Gio left from right once. And now he thinks up and north are the same thing. Not that it matters much, just irritates me.

“Let me hold the compass, you taught me how to do it!” Gio would call out to me, every couple days or so.

It’s hard to have an argument nowadays.

First of all, it’s hard to hear each other through the shirts wrapped round our mouths. Second of all, we had to keep our voices down. We never did know what the plants did to the animals. Or, I guess, vise versa.

And third, I’ll think he’s ahead of me, because I figure I see him ahead of me.

When we left the house a year ago, I found three more handheld flashlights Dad used to keep in the garage. I strapped two of the flashlights to Gio’s left arm and his right leg, so he could see where he was goin’. Then, I got the reflectors off every bike in the house and taped them to either side of him. I strapped the third handheld flashlight to my left leg and I carry the big one I got for Christmas around.

Which is why I swear he’s turnin’ off his flashlights or somethin’, because I’ll be lookin’ for him to be ahead of me, and then he’ll do something like—

Thwamp! He’ll stomp on a mushroom bigger than our two heads put together behind me and scare the hoppin’ heebie-jeebies outta me.

I sighed and kept walkin’. He poked fun at me for getting’ scared.

"You know why you can’t hold the compass?” I told him, “‘Cause little boys with nappy afros who get their black from not bathin’ don’t get to hold the compass.” I still wasn’t entirely sure where he was.

“I get my black from my Mama, just like you, Leo,” Gio tugged on my unraveling braid. He added, after a moment of contemplative silence, “…And she’d let me hold it.”

I squeezed the compass tight in my hand. I knew it was a guilt trip. I’d lived with Gio alone for two years. He guilted me every night into lettin’ him eat my old chocolate puddin’. He really didn’t need to, I wasn’t gonna eat three-year-old, freezer burnt puddin’, he just enjoys beggin’, so I’d let him think he’d pulled one over on me.

But this—this was important.

We couldn’t lose this. For a year we’d been following that compass, and if I didn’t have it to trust, Gio couldn’t trust me. I held it so tight I could feel it leaving marks on my hand.

I closed my eyes, “You know what,” I began, and I heard Gio turn to me, “just…be careful. You’re not gonna fall over, you’re not gonna break your ankles, you’re just gonna hold it and tell us which way is north. OK? You can do it. You’re gonna do great.”

I handed it to him, and as he turned with it, I reached my hand out to pat him on the shoulder. But I didn’t feel him. I tried again, this time flailing a bit more to try and snag him.

"Gio?” I called out for him.

No response.

I raised my voice a hair higher than usual, “Gio?” My voice cracked, “Gio, this ain’t funny.”

I waited, tried to calm my breathing, tried to stop all the horrible things running through my mind. I threw the light of the big ol’ flashlight around, just tryin’ to find any part of him.

But there was nothin’ but green. I took in a raspy breath and a tear fell down my cheek.

I closed my eyes.

I hugged my flashlight to my chest.

And I screamed out Gio’s name with all I had.

***

I woke up at the bottom of a long hill. All around me was darkness, and I couldn’t hear Leo.

“…Leo?” I whispered.

No one called back.

I jumped up and brushed off my pants, tried to get the guck off me, “Leo!” I called, “Galileo—I didn’t lose the compass, I’ve got it right here!” I whisper/hissed at him. I swatted at the flashlight strapped to my arm. It flickered, but didn’t light. I stomped, and the one on my leg did. I hopped around, trying to look for the compass.

…

I ran frantically, the only thing I could hear was the sound of my own voice. I was loosin’ it, every snap of a twig, I stopped, and I waited. “Gio?!”

No response.

Then I shot off. I heard a bird call, and I swore it was him, callin’ out for me. My big flashlight was flickerin’ on and off, weighing me down, so I threw it off me, and I kept on runnin’.

I ran until a tree stump tripped me and I fell onto my back. I cried out for however long my throat could handle.

And then I just laid there, cryin’, wishin’ I knew what to do.

Until I heard a twig snap next to me.

“…Gio?” I waited, and I heard whatever was movin’ in the darkness move closer and closer to me, ‘til I could feel it breathin’ on my face.

I threw my arms up around it.

It’s Gio, I told myself.

I needed it to be Gio.

***

I tripped into a vine next to me.

And I stumbled into this openin’. And what a strange thing I saw there. There was this space, and the only plant-like thing on the ground was grass. And all over the grass, a light shone down from the sky and warmed my face. The Sun.

And then I started to cry. I felt like Leo, he’s always ballin’ for one reason or the next, but this was for a reason. Across the clearing, there was a tree. And draped across that tree, there was a dress. And I knew that dress.

It couldn’t be anyone else’s.

My Daddy sowed it for my Mama outta my blue baby blanket.

It was covered in blood. And next to it, I saw—

I walked across the clearing, and I draped my arm across the dress. And I sobbed.