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75% is really good. Much better than before. Bug smiles a small smile, not wanting to feel too excited about things. This must be what it feels like to be good at stuff. He likes the feeling. Bug folds the math test in half, as neatly as possible, and runs his finger along the crease, making it sharp and crisp. Mrs. Carl nods her head at him. “This is much better,” she says. “This is what you’re capable of.” He nods and puts the test into his folder for take-home papers. There’s definitely going to be ice cream tonight.
*****
He’s been at Aunt Ceci’s for almost a year and Bug likes his room now. It’s painted yellow, which he does not like. It should be green, but yellow is okay enough, and Aunt Ceci said maybe they could paint it in a year or two. And she got him the Iron Man bedspread, just like he asked for. It’s better than the one he had back at the rowhouse. That one was navy blue and kind of plain and ugly. And it scratched his legs, which sometimes kept him awake at night. There are toys in the corner and a shelf for his Ray Lewis bobblehead. And a shelf just for books. He likes books now, and not just the kind with mostly pictures.
He can hardly remember what his room was like when he still lived with Mama and Pop and Michael. That was before. Before Dukie lived with them, and before Michael got new friends, Chris and that one girl with the rows. He tries not to think about it too much. He’s not sure where Mama and Pop are, but he figures Michael knows and if Michael knows then it’s okay. He figures that when it’s time Michael will let him see them again. He misses them. Michael knows that for sure. Michael knows basically everything.
*****
Today is the aquarium field trip. This has got to be the best day of the year. The ride from his new school (well, except it’s not really new to him anymore, but he thinks of it that way, sometimes) takes a long time, but that’s okay. Some things are worth it. He stares out the drop down window as the school bus approaches the city and the familiar skyline comes into view. The Camden Yards warehouse, the stadium where he knows the Ravens and Ray Lewis play, the big buildings, the tower with the clock. Maybe he’ll live here again. Although Aunt Ceci’s is very nice, in a way the city had never been, with smells of cookies and clean laundry and warmth, this is home.
*****
When Bug first came to the school, no one else would really talk to him. All the other kids thought it was weird that he used to live in the city. Mrs. Petty, his teacher last year, made him stand up and give a speech explaining who he was and where he came from.
He tried to explain about Mama and Pop and how they were gone (he rushed over that part, he doesn’t exactly understand it himself, and it’s not anybody else’s business, that’s what Michael used to say), and Michael and Dukie and how they all lived together by themselves, except sometimes Chris would come by with supplies.
“Who’s Dukie?” asked a girl called Melanie, who had red hair.
“Uh,” Bug struggled. “Dukie’s my friend,” he mumbled, looking down. No one had ever questioned who was Dukie before.
“But he’s not your brother,” another kid pressed and Bug tried not to ball his hands up into fists.
“Michael’s my brother and Dukie’s our friend. He jus lives with us. I dunno why, he jus does.” Bug looked hopelessly at Mrs. Petty.
Mrs. Petty put her hands on his shoulders and directed him back to his desk. “You know, lots of kids have different kinds of families and that’s okay. That’s fine,” she said in a way that was supposed to make him feel better but didn’t.
Bug pulled out his workbook to get ready for reading and he heard Melanie ask some other kid, “But where are his parents?”
*****
Bug’s been to the aquarium before, but only once. Michael had been busy, doing whatever Michael did to keep him busy. Bug doesn’t ask and he doesn’t get told anything, just that it’s Dukie who gets him ready for school, it’s Dukie who checks on his homework and makes sure he has the fruit punch Capri Sun that he likes.
Dukie’s the one that takes him to the aquarium too, on a Friday evening, which Michael says is cheaper. “Prices take a dive!” he mimics at them, from a commercial they’ve seen on tv. They take the bus down to the harbor and it’s cool outside. There are a lot of people walking around (“tourists” is what Dukie calls them), even though it is fall and the Orioles are not playing baseball.
“Bug,” Dukie says, stretching out his left hand, spreading his fingers apart and waving it so that Bug will hurry up and take it. “Don’t get lost now.” Bug groans and chases after, he’s not some kind of baby, and he doesn’t need to hold anyone’s hand, least of all Dukie’s. They stand in line at the front of the geometric building with the triangle of dark glass and the lady gives them two tickets, and doesn’t say a word when she exchanges Dukie’s wad of slightly tattered cash for the printed off shiny paper rectangles.
Bug practically skips away, trying to break free of Dukie’s death-grip, but Dukie holds him steady. “I know you’re excited, but you gotta wait!” Dukie is laughing at Bug though, and Bug grins, pulling them along.
“I’m the adult in this situation,” he says, catching his breath as they push through the heavy glass doors.
“You ain’t an ad-ult,” Bug replies, frowning a little bit. “You’re the same age as Michael an he’s jus my brother.”
“Shows what you know, I’m older than Michael. An for the hundredth time, you gotta stick with me or we go home. So you wanna see the sharks and the rainforest and all that shit, you gotta stick with me. Deal?”
Bug practically dances at the sight of the hanging great white skeleton, suspended gracefully by thin wires, at the entrance. “‘Kay,” he relents. “Deal.”
They stand by one of the tanks and just observe quietly. The aquarium is dark and cool and even though it’s a Friday, it’s late, so they are relatively left alone. Bug points to a smooth yellow eel, peeking out from behind a large outcropping of rocks. “That’s you,” he says slowly.
Dukie barks out a laugh. “Why’s that?” he inquires, not turning away from the tank.
“He’s kind of hidden, like he don’t wanna come out of them rocks.” Bug points again to where the eel has slid half way out, and then quickly retreats to the sandy colored jags of the rocks.
“Oh yeah?” Dukie makes a non-commital grunt. “Which one is you then?” he challenges.
Bug grins wide and points to the familiar looking orange and white striped clown fish. “Me!” he says proudly.
“Nemo,” Dukie murmurs knowingly and looks down at Bug.
Bug smiles back and he doesn’t know why because it’s not like he said something special there, but Dukie reaches out and palms the back of Bug’s head for a second. Whatever is there makes Bug uncharacteristically hold out his hand for Dukie to take. Dukie shakes his head and a small smile forms, but he doesn’t let go as they shuffle along the carpeted walkway to look at the rest of the coral reef.
“I wish Michael coulda come too.” Bug looks up to see Dukie’s reaction, but it’s neutral.
“Me too, Bug,” he replies softly, and Bug isn’t sure, but he could swear that he felt Dukie grip his hand and squeeze it, just for the tiniest bit of a second.
They see the poison dart frogs and the exotic, beautiful birds and the sharks and they don’t watch the dolphin show because it’s too late, but the sting rays are the absolute best. And they take the bus home and only one lady tries to talk to them, because she’s lonely, Dukie says, and Dukie gets them a pepperoni pizza (they save half of it for Michael). Bug falls asleep, clutching the clown fish stuffed animal he picked out from the gift shop, and he can vaguely hear Michael coming in late and pulling the scratchy bedspread around him, and it’s the best day in a long long time.
*****
The sting ray tank is the coolest. He remembers this, definitely. Bug watches the dark, flat, disc-like creatures float and swirl. They’re hypnotic, and he leans his chin against the railing, looking down on them and getting lost in the graceful movements.
A couple of the kids from his class push and flail around, playing, and it breaks the spell. Bug doesn’t talk to them, he doesn’t talk to most kids in the class. He wonders if this makes him lonely, but then he thinks of the lady on the bus who tried to get people to talk to her. She was lonely, Dukie had said, so Bug figures he’s the opposite of whatever lonely is, because he doesn’t try to get anybody to talk to him.
They eat lunch outside the aquarium, spread out in little clusters around the pier. Groups of five or six kids sit in a circle and chatter happily about the starfish they got to touch and whether the sharks are scary or awesome. Bug sits on the fringes of a group that he doesn’t mind so much. He doesn’t share his Fritos or his sandwich, he just sips his Capri Sun and stares out at the Chesapeake Bay. For a minute he wonders where in the city Michael is, and feels glad that they’re finally in the same place again.
There’s a small commotion nearby and Bug looks up to see some of the kids gathering around an older man with a cart. He looks dirty and homeless, with tattered, hole-filled sweat pants and a long, plain white t-shirt. Bug knows the white t-shirt. When he lived in Baltimore, practically everybody wore one. Now he only sees it at the soccer games his aunt makes him attend, and it’s always with the Nike swish symbol on it.
The kids are jumping up and down and making noise and trying to take things off the cart. The older man is kind of out of it, Bug decides, because he can’t stop them and he looks like he might fall down any second. There is a younger man and he is trying to get the kids to stop. One mean kid, Jeremiah, and Bug does not like him at all, throws a CD at the younger man and it hits him in the side of the face. Some of the kids laugh, and finally Mrs. Carl drags Jeremiah away, putting him in time out.
“He’s just some homeless guy,” Jeremiah protests.
Bug feels sad all of the sudden and he creeps over to help pick up some of the debris his classmates have created. They’ve all gone back to chasing each other around the pier and are feeding the gulls their scraps of lunch. He hands some of the broken jewel cases to the younger man, who is saying, “M’sorry, I couldn’t stop em all, I don think they broke too much.”
“Dukie?” Bug asks because suddenly he knows that it’s Dukie. He hasn’t seen him in over a year, but it’s him, for sure. He is older and sadder and hunched over and his eyes are not bright or kind or fun.
Dukie takes the jewel case he is handed and says, “Bug? That’s you? What’re ya doin here?”
“I went to the aquarium with my class,” he says, pointing.
“Nemo,” answers Dukie, looking over at the iconic building against the sky and laughing softly. “Those assholes in your class?”
Bug nods. “Sorry Dukie. I don’t like em either.”
Dukie nods and finally looks down at Bug. “I gotta go. I’m glad I saw you. Happy to know you’re okay.” He starts to walk away with the old homeless guy and the cart.
The sad feeling is back and now Bug can’t control it. He flings himself at Dukie and tries to give him a hug. “I miss you,” he chokes out in a sob, and Dukie stops and crouches down to hold Bug. He hasn’t cried this much since Aunt Ceci told him Michael couldn’t come over for Christmas last year, but he feels so sad and his heart feels smushed up and hurting in his chest.
“I miss you too. And Michael. Tell Michael I said whas up.” Dukie squeezes Bug’s shoulder and stands up.
Bug tries to brush away his tears and uses the sleeve of his sweatshirt to wipe his runny nose as he rejoins the group. Mrs. Carl narrows her eyes and looks down at him suspiciously. “Who was that?” she asks, sharp and firm.
“Nobody,” he replies quietly, not meeting her stare. “Jus Dukie, that’s all.” He feels suddenly protective, like he shouldn’t share with someone who is an outsider and who will never understand, like Mrs. Petty last year and Melanie and all the kids from his class. As he files onto the bus and sits alone with his forehead pressed against the window, as if he wants to absorb Baltimore into his body, he can’t remember any more if this day is supposed to be the best or the worst.
*****
Dinner is mashed potatoes and chicken fingers and Aunt Ceci made it especially for him, because the aquarium trip was a special day. He pushes his corn around on his plate and tries to smile when she looks at him, concerned.
“What did you see at the aquarium today?” she asks. They always talk about what happened at school, and usually Bug is very excited to explain what he’s been learning and how Mrs. Carl says he’s doing a good job keeping up with the rest of the class.
He leans his head tiredly against his fist and sighs. “Nuthin,” he mutters and when Aunt Ceci frowns, he corrects himself and says, “I dunno, the sting ray tank is cool, I guess.”
Later, after finishing dinner and homework and taking his bath and reading a book and feeling exhausted with how much work getting ready for bedtime is, he crawls out of the bed and goes to his closet. He pulls out his old Spider-Man backpack from the bottom of a trashbag. This is where he put things from before, from the house with Mama and Pop, and then the house with Michael and Dukie. There is a picture of Michael and Mama and him when he was a baby. There are flashcards, written on worn out notebook paper. He closes his hand around the clown fish stuffed animal and goes back to his bed.
“I’ve never seen that Nemo before,” Aunt Ceci muses, as she tucks him in ten minutes later. “Did you get that today?” Although that can’t be right, because they weren’t allowed to even go to the gift shop part today, and she knows that.
He shakes his head and squeezes it tighter. “S’from Dukie.” He has only said Dukie’s name once or twice to Aunt Ceci. She’s not a fan of Michael, and she’s even less of a fan of Dukie. Bug doesn’t understand this. Michael wasn’t always around because he had important jobs to do, and Dukie was the one who made sure his homework was in the right folder, who gave him his ticket for free breakfast, who made sure he had the Utz chips he liked for snack. Those are really nice things, not things to not like someone over.
“Okay, sweet dreams little Bug,” she says, bending down to kiss his forehead.
He reaches up and wraps a small hand around the back of her neck. “Can I please call Michael?” he whispers, before he loses his nerve. “Tomorrow?” Usually he only calls Michael once a month, and it’s not time yet. But he needs to tell and Michael is the only one who can help, the only one who will understand, because Michael knows basically everything.
“It’s not your day to call yet, little Bug.” Aunt Ceci looks at him, probably trying to figure out how serious he is. Bug always abides by the rules. But this is different, he just can’t tell her.
“S’important,” he says, nodding. “Please? I jus need to talk to Michael.”
She relents, and steps back, closing his door most of the way and leaving it open just a crack so the soft light of the hallway seeps in. He was scared when he first got there because everything was too dark and too quiet, and he’s not scared now, but he likes that little sliver of light as a reminder that it’s all right for the time being. “Okay. Tomorrow.”
He waits til she is gone, her footsteps light and quick on the stairs before he smiles, unconsciously pressing Nemo to his heart.
*****
It takes five rings for Michael to answer and Bug almost stamps his feet with impatience as he waits. Aunt Ceci is hovering, she is always hovering during his phone calls with Michael, and she only lets them last five minutes, which is not long enough, especially not today. She always points to the clock and says, “It’s five-thirty. When will you be done?”
“Five thirty-five,” he answers, jiggling the table leg with his foot.
“Aunt Ceec, whas up?” Michael picks up and he sounds out of breath and older and big and grown up.
“S’me, Bug.”
“Bug? Whaddya callin me for? It’s not our day yet. Everything’s ok?” Michael still sounds busy, but also happy. Bug thinks he is smiling on the other end of the phone, in Baltimore somewhere. He doesn’t know how he knows that, but he thinks it is true and it makes him smile too.
Bug cups his hand around the phone receiver, like he has seen people do in the movies when there is a secret to share. He knows Aunt Ceci is hovering, but he doesn’t want to talk about this with her. “I need to tell you something. Something bad.”
“What is it?” Michael sounds more alert now. That’s more like it.
“It’s bout Dukie,” he whispers, feeling his own breath warm from where he has the phone pressed almost against his mouth.
“What about Dukie.” It’s not a question. And Michael’s voice has changed, he doesn’t sound happy now and Bug feels bad, but he has to tell. Michael’s voice sounds angry a little bit, and harder and colder than before. But, Michael can fix this and make it better, he knows that.
Bug fidgets and looks to where Aunt Ceci is pretending to mind her business, crocheting a baby blanket out of pale blue yarn. It’s spread out soft and fluffy against the dining room table. “I saw ‘im yesterday when my school went to the aquarium. The other kids was making fun of ‘im and threw stuff at ‘im. And he was with this old guy who looked like he was on drugs or somethin.”
Michael doesn’t speak for a second. “This was downtown?” And when Bug doesn’t respond because he’s not sure what to say (is the aquarium downtown?), Michael prompts, “At the inner harbor? By the aquarium?”
“Yes, yes,” Bug replies, nodding his head although Michael can’t see. “He was sad. I talked to ‘im and he said he missed me. But he went away with the old man.” The sad feeling comes back to Bug now too and he sniffles, trying not to cry. “You gonna help ‘im, right? You gotta help. I know he ain’t okay.”
“Okay, yeah.” He can hear Michael fumbling around, moving the phone. “I can try. I’ll try.”
Aunt Ceci walks over and taps her foot. “Thirty seconds, mister.” She gives him her look that says I mean business and he nods.
“He said to say whas up to you. And he misses you too.” Bug groans inwardly at his aunt’s frustrated look. “I gotta go.”
“He said that?” Michael is asking in a rushed and excitable way, as Bug manages to get out “Gotta go,” before Aunt Ceci snatches the phone and hangs it up.
*****
He’s always been a worrier. When he was little, he used to suck his thumb, and when Pop yelled and said he was too big for that, he secretly used to rub his fingers back and forth across the hem of his shirt, or the fabric of his pillowcase. Anything to have something to touch, something to feel right there, so he knew at least this one thing was real. No one ever said anything about it, even though he’s sure there were tiny, fingerprint sized holes in his t shirts, where he had worn the cotton bare.
Since coming to Aunt Ceci’s he hasn’t been worried in a long time. Even if he thinks most of the kids are dumb and he doesn’t want to talk to them, he likes his school, and he’s getting better at it. He’s not smart, not exactly, but he’s starting to feel like he could be. The latest math test is 80% and it goes on the fridge. Even if Aunt Ceci has a lot of rules and there is a lot of work to do, even for just going to bed, he likes the bright house with the porch, and how she lets him help make cookies on Saturday, and how there is grass to play on, instead of street and sidewalk.
There’s no Michael here. And no Dukie. They’re in Baltimore. And hopefully together now. Bug puts down his book, one of the Discovery series about fish and the oceans that he checked out of the library, and waits for Aunt Ceci to turn off the lamp and crack the door. He lets out a little sigh and reaches out with his fingers, feeling the soft pillow case slip back and forth between them.
He’s not sure how to make these two things come together, and that’s what is worrying. Michael and Dukie could live here, that would be the best. There’s an extra room for them. But it doesn’t really seem possible at all, Michael has some important job, and Aunt Ceci gets the Capri Sun now, so there wouldn’t be much for Dukie to do. And, honestly, Aunt Ceci seems like she would pitch a fit.
But wherever Michael is, that’s home. It’s always been that way. And Michael’s in Baltimore, not at Aunt Ceci’s.
Bug frowns a little bit. He can’t fix it. But he’s already talked to the person who can. It will all work out. Michael knows basically everything.
*****