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Sometimes, life gives you lemons.
People always say, hey, just make lemonade, and that’s fine, but that’s not what the saying refers to. Like at all.
It’s actually very different than fruit.
Pope knows this because, in JJ’s words, he’s the knower guy. John B had agreed, and Pope thinks that if Kie was there, she would agree too. And it makes sense. Pope is smart, he’s got dozens of facts to back him up, dozens of tests and college courses and educational scholarships under his belt.
That’s besides the point.
Life gives you lemons.
Lemons are defected cars. You can’t really do anything with them, or profit off of them. They’re just trash. Losers. Nothing.
So life gives you trash, a shitty hand. Pope has always known this, has seen how on one side of the island the electricity worked and they had new clothes and on the other side they couldn’t even get clean water or food.
And life gives him a lot of trash, and it keeps on giving it to him. One day after another, it’s bad. And then it’s good, suddenly. Not great, because he’s not that hopeful, but good.
He wants to call it wrong but it’s not. It’s not even some sort of statistical anomaly because his hand can’t be bad all the time.
It goes like this: Pope is manning the store, JJ is dead asleep in the back because it’s cool back there and he hates his homework. John B is sitting next to him, and they’re working on their math homework together, even though they have completely different classes. JJ makes a little noise in his sleep, and John B goes to investigate.
The mail guy drops off some letters on the counter, grabbing a beer and dropping some change (enough, thankfully) next to the letters. Most of them are bills, which he doesn’t bother to look at because apparently that’s rude, but one of them is for him.
“Pope Heyward” it says on the front, and it looks like a death sentence. Like a savior.
John B covers JJ with a random hoodie, then comes over and spies over Pope’s shoulder.
“Whatcha got, Pope?” He asks, squinting slightly. He really should get glasses, but those are expensive and Big John isn’t there, so John B never does the smart thing.
“Letter. From a college in Charleston,” he replies, recognizing the college quickly. It’s a nice one, he knows, and famous for running summer camps for high schoolers, ones that offer college credit and a way into the college.
He doesn’t want to open it.
He does anyway.
“To Pope Heyward:
We invite you to join us for our July Medical Summer Canp! It runs from July 9th to July 23rd. Thanks to Kildare Island’s support in funding our new research facility, we’ve decided to sponsor five students from the island, and after looking at your records, we believe you would be an excellent fit.
This program, normally costing $1500, will be completely free to you, food and lodging included. The camp will focus primarily on Human Anatomy, with human cadavers and multiple opportunities to watch and even help with dissections.
Please call the following number and let us know if you would like to join us so we can prepare proper accommodations.
We look forward to seeing you!
Sincerely,
John Smith, Outreach Director
(999-999-9999)”
Pope stares at the letter, folds it up, puts it back in the envelope. It must have been addressed to the wrong person. Why would it come to him?
Like yes, he’s probably one of the smartest people on the island. But he’s also a pogue.
Pogues don’t get good things.
And besides, he doesn’t want to leave, even if the ache in his heart tells him otherwise. This is his home, why would he leave it to go chase his dreams?
“Pope? Buddy?” John B asks, flicking his shoulder. He’s got this concerned puppy dog look, like he always does, and it makes it so hard to lie.
So he doesn’t.
“I got accepted to a program. Full ride, two weeks.”
“That’s great!” John B exclaims, pulling him into a tight hug like it doesn’t matter that that means Pope is leaving. He’s leaving and he’s going to get left behind because he has always been the outcast.
“John B, that means I’m leaving,” Pope whispers, face tucked into John B’s shoulder because he can’t do this. He can’t just leave, not when Big John is gone and all that’s going to happen is the pogues will resent him.
He knows that’s going to happen, and he doesn’t think he can handle it. He can’t handle the pain that goes into leaving part of your heart behind and knowing it’s going to be twisted up and resented because it’s gone.
He can’t handle that, okay?
And, yes, he does know that his heart isn’t going to actually be ripped up, and his heart doesn’t even produce emotion, and that the metaphor doesn’t even make sense on a biological standpoint. But he doesn’t fucking care, because the thought of losing them, his family, makes his whole body ache and the ache is spread by his blood. And soon his hands are shaking and he’s crying slightly and he’s going to die, he thinks.
“Pope?” John B starts, squeezing Pope tightly, the kind of embrace that always means goodbye. “Hey, you’re okay, man.”
“I’m gonna leave.”
“Mhm. And that’s okay, dude”
But it’s not. Because everyone is leaving and he needs to be there for them. So John B doesn’t lose himself in his head and JJ doesn’t drink himself to death.
“What are you talkin’ about?” JJ mumbles, sitting up. His hair is wild, sticking up in every direction, John B’s hoodie draped across his chest.
“Pope got a letter,” John B says, and JJ perks up, scrambling over. He trips over a box, and John B rolls his eyes, hiding his concern.
“What’s it say?”
“I got accepted to a program on the mainland, it’s two weeks long. A human anatomy thing, full ride.”
“Full ride, like it’s paid for?” JJ asks, burrowing his way between John B and Pope, since personal space has never existed with JJ. Pope nods. “You should do it! Are you gonna?”
“It means I have to leave,” Pope says, because that is an answer. He has to leave and he doesn’t want to because what if they don’t love him anymore?
“We’re still gonna be here? And like, this is the opportunity of a lifetime! Like this is real good shit right here, like better than my cousin’s weed,” JJ says, jumping slightly on the balls of his feet.
“But you guys-“
“Look, Pope. Without thinking about us, do you want to go?”
He nods, because he does. Desperately.
“Then go. It’s two weeks, not forever. And we’re still gonna be here, okay? Like, where are we gonna go? You’re a part of us, going to some program isn’t gonna change that,” John B says, JJ nodding.
“And we can write you so many letters like you’re a man off to war!”
“You’re going to write letters, Jayje?” Pope asks, smiling slightly.
“No. B will, I’ll just like…kiss them or something, I dunno.”
“Wait, J, why are we the women?” John B asks, tilting his head like a confused puppy while also tugging Pope and JJ closer to him.
“Bree, this is the 21st century. A guy can write to another guy, and if you want, it can be homo. But like, in this case, it’s not. Cuz I love you Pope, but you ain’t really…”
“I’m not really what, JJ?”
“Yes.”
“JJ…” Pope starts, his worries very nearly forgotten.
“Yeah?”
“Is it because I’m black?”
“Yep—“
“JJ! Are you even listening to the question?” John B asks, snorting slightly.
“Nope. It’s just safer to agree with Pope. Why, did I agree to something racist?”
“Yes!” John B and Pope say, neither of them concerned in the slightest.
“Oof.”
They’re all silent for a moment, then two, and then they burst out laughing. Of course, that’s the point when a customer walks in, grabbing random stuff and throwing it on the counter warily, eyeing them.
They all quiet down, only to start giggling again the moment the customer leaves. They can’t stop, and it’s horrible and wonderful all at the same time and it’s too much, and Pope sinks to the floor and buries his head in his hands. JJ and John B kneel as well, each of them looking at him all concerned and confused.
It’s not fear that makes him cry, this time. It’s the fact that his heart is gonna get all ripped up when he leaves, and even though he’s coming back and the pieces are going to get reunited, it’s still going to hurt. He’s leaving them for school and it’s so damn selfish but he wants to and he wants to stay and he’s just terribly confused.
“Pope? Dude, you good?” John B asks, setting a hand on his shoulder in the way a father might, all firm and grounding.
“I’m just confused,” he says, “so confused.”
“Amen to that, bro,” JJ mutters, and John B flicks his nose for being a nuisance.
“This whole thing is a statistical anomaly. Like good things have to happen to us every once in a while, but not this good. We get good like, JJ convinces someone to give him a discount on beer good, or the waves are really good. Not a $1500 course for free good.”
“Pope?” JJ asks, grabbing Pope’s face and turning it so he’s looking at him.
“Yeah?”
“Shut your brain up for a minute. This isn’t some good thing that happened cuz of good luck, this is cuz you’re smart. Real smart. And we ain’t gonna ditch you for this thing, okay?”
“Yeah bubba, we aren’t doing that shit. Do you really think we could survive without you? I mean, JJ and I share like, two brain cells-“
“You actually have billions of neurons, you wouldn’t be able to function without them.”
“That is not the point?” John B asks, eyes going soft like they do every time Pope starts spouting facts, a mirror image of JJ’s eyes. “Look, you’re a part of us. You’re not gonna stop being a part of us unless you want to, got it?”
“I don’t want to,” Pope mutters, tilting his body into John B’s, letting him take the weight.
“Well you don’t have to,” JJ says. “I wasn’t gonna let you anyways, because you’re Pope. Our little murder doc fun guy. We need you, buddy, even more than I need weed.”
“No way you just compared me to weed,” he says with a snort, and JJ nods. John B tugs him into the hug too, and they stay there on the floor until Pope whines about his ass hurting, and everything spirals from there.
Good things, statistically, happen. And maybe they aren’t just attached to bad things, a way to disguise something evil and life ending, because they can just be good.
He can leave and not get left behind, because there is a home inside their hearts for him, and a home in his for them.