Another Kind of Hurricane (17 page)

Zavion glanced nervously at the sky. It was not a kite-flying kind of blue or breezy. He looked back down. No use watching the sky, or even thinking about it. He couldn't stand out here all day. He had a job to do and he was going to do it. He squeezed the marble one more time and imagined it was like a sponge and he was soaking in all its magic.

Zavion walked into Luna Market and went straight to the checkout counter. A woman with a baby on her hip was buying toothpaste and a toothbrush.

“I used my toothbrush to scrub the grout between my kitchen tiles,” she was saying. “I couldn't take it for another minute, all that mud left over. The rest of the house is a mess. Broken windows, ripped-up front porch, shingles gone off the roof. But my kitchen floor is clean. Spotless. You could eat off it.”

“Good for you,” said the cashier. She was an older woman
with long hair pulled back in a scarf and yellow and black bangles up her arm, like tiger stripes.

“But then I needed a new toothbrush,” said the woman with the baby.

“You sure did,” said the cashier.

Zavion reached into the candy shelf and picked out a handful of chocolate bars. He wasn't going to buy them. Just show them to the cashier so she'd know what he was paying for.

“Maybe I'll scrub the bathroom tonight,” said the woman as she walked out. “Maybe I'll be in to buy another toothbrush tomorrow.”

“I'll be here,” said the cashier.

The woman with the baby held the door open for a boy and a man. A bird sat on the boy's arm. The man walked up to the cashier. The boy and the bird walked down one of the lit aisles.

“You must be Luna,” said the man.

“I sure am,” said the cashier.

Luna. Luna Market
. This was the owner of the market. Zavion could repay the owner.

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” said the man. “Cora, over at the Salvation Army, sent us here in search of drinks.”

“Bless your soul,” said Luna. “And bless Cora's quirky, kind soul too.” She laughed a low, rumbly laugh.

Zavion liked the way it sounded, like a cat purring.

Luna turned to Zavion. “You all set, honey?”

Zavion nodded.

He placed the chocolate bars on the counter and then put his hand in his pocket and pulled out everything that was inside. “Here, ma'am.” He emptied his hand of the marble and—

—that was all.

Oh boy
.

No money.

No!

It must be in his other one.
Yes
. He had put the money in one and the marble in the other. He put the marble back in his pocket and reached his hand into the other one.

No, no, no, no, no—

He had lost the money.

“Do you want these chocolate bars?” asked Luna gently.

“Yes!”

Zavion turned his head. The boy and the bird were behind him. The boy had two sodas in his hand.

“Yes!” the bird squawked again.

“Yes—” Zavion said.

He stared at the cardboard in the window. His mind was just as thick as the board. He couldn't think of what to do.
His heart raced. His palms sweat. He loosened his grip on his backpack and closed his wet fingers around it again. The bread bounced inside.

The bread.

The bread!

“Ma'am?” said Zavion. He took the backpack off his shoulder. He unzipped it. He pulled out the loaf of bread and put it on the counter. He cleared his throat. “Ma'am,” he said again, “it's honey oat. Homemade. I made it today.”

“It smells delicious,” said Luna.

“Can I trade it for the chocolate bars?” said Zavion.

“Oh, honey—”

“Please?” Zavion was desperate. “It's food for the heart and soul.”

“Oh, honey,” she said again. She looked straight into Zavion's eyes. “Yes. Oh, yes. You can trade it for the chocolate.”

Luna took the bread and handed Zavion the chocolate bars.

“No, ma'am,” said Zavion. “Those aren't mine.” He pushed them over to her.

“But you just bought them,” she said.

“No, ma'am, I didn't,” Zavion said. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes.

“I don't understand,” Luna said. She reached her hands behind her head to tighten her scarf, and her bangles rattled.

The sound rattled something deep in Zavion's brain.

“I owe you this bread,” said Zavion, his voice shaking.

“You do?”

“I—during the hurricane—when your store was closed—Papa and I—we—we were hungry—we took—I took—I took—I left an IOU—”

“Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em,” said Tiger, spreading his wings and then closing them again.

“Oh, child,” said Luna. Her bangles rattled again. It was a soothing sound, like chimes.

The sound rang a bell in Zavion's brain.

Luna pulled something out from behind the counter. “Are these yours?”

The two roof shingles.

Zavion nodded.

“I understand,” said Luna. She took Zavion's hand and pressed the shingles against his palm. Her fingers were soft. “Thank you,” she said.

Zavion forced himself to look right into Luna's eyes, like he said he would.

“I'm sorry,” he choked out. His jaw came unhinged, and a sob escaped from somewhere deep in his body.

Luna leaned across the counter and put her hand on Zavion's cheek. She held his stare with a soft one of her own.

“It's okay, child. It's okay.” She tightened her hand slightly. Her bangles rang right in Zavion's ear.

Mama.

Luna sounded like Mama.

“You're okay,” she said. “You're okay.”

And in that moment, a window opened inside Zavion's brain. He felt the metal latch turn, felt the rush of air as the crisscross of wood and glass lifted.

Henry watched the boy stumble out of the market.

“Beautiful bird,” said Luna. Her voice was thick, like she was holding back tears.

“It is, isn't it?” said Jake with the same voice.

Henry knew they were both about to cry because he felt the same way.

“Live and learn, live and learn—” squawked Tiger.

Luna laughed. “But I don't think you're buying this bird now, are you?” she said. “Unless it's new, I don't think I have a bird aisle. But I could, I certainly could. It's a new day, a new world— Why not sell birds—”

Henry laughed too, glad for the distraction.

Jake paid for the sodas.

“Thank you,” he said.

“My pleasure,” said Luna.

“And good luck.”

“Good-bye,” said Henry.

“Good-bye, honey,” said Luna.

“See ya later, alligator,” said Tiger.

“True words,” laughed Luna. “As God is my witness, I saw an upside-down alligator by the side of the street on my way to work. It
is
a new world—”

The wind cut through the sky, a sound like scissors through paper.

Zavion glanced up. The dark was getting darker. The wind tore the black away and revealed a blacker black behind it. Rain began to fall. The wind tore into his skin. He felt it rip into his arm and his neck and face, and then felt the sting of the rain. He wasn't sure if his legs would hold him up.

“Hey—”

He heard someone's voice, but he didn't look back.

“Hey—” the voice said. “Are you okay?”

Another rumble. This time it was louder. Zavion's ears began to ring.

“Mama—” he said.

A long, deep cracking sound. Like something being split open. Zavion could barely hear now. There was a flash of lightning. A boy's face—the boy with the bird—shone for a second
and Zavion could see his mouth move, but he couldn't hear what he was saying. Zavion felt a hand on his shoulder.

Another cracking sound. Again, something being split open. Was it him? Was he being split open wide? Zavion scrambled up a pile of something by the side of the market. Pieces of a wall. He climbed as high as he could. A musty, windy water smell filled his nose. A levee was crumbling. The wind and the water flooded over him. There was a squealing in his ears. The violin sound. It was back. Mama—

He climbed Grandmother Mountain higher. Zavion put his hands over his ears. He lost his balance. He was falling—

—falling from his attic window, falling onto the door, falling off the door into the rushing, rising water—

“Hey—” A voice cut through the squealing.

Hands grabbed him. Another crack of thunder. In the lightning flash, Zavion saw his own hands gripping the back of someone's shirt. The windy water smell filled Zavion's nose again, and the flooding sensation rose inside his body.

“Hey—” The voice again. “Stay with me here, okay?”

Who was talking to him?

“This isn't a hurricane,” the voice said. “You are safe.” The person pressed his hand into Zavion's shoulder. “You are safe,” he repeated.

“What's happening to him?” Zavion heard another voice ask.

“Hello,” said a third voice. “You are safe. You are safe. You are safe.” Another crack of thunder. The long, high squeal of the violin. Too close, too close. A bird screeched. And then the levee crumbled to the ground.

“No, I am not! I am not safe!” Zavion tried to stand up, but a hand kept him still.

“You are,” the voice said.

“NO! NO ONE IS SAFE! WHERE IS PAPA? WHERE IS MAMA? WHERE IS SHE?”

“Come back here—”

“DON'T YOU SMELL IT?”

“You're okay, son—”

“THE WIND! THE WATER!” He couldn't stop yelling. “WHAT IF I FALL?” Words poured out of him.

“No!” The voice was yelling now too. The person gripped Zavion's arms. “No, you won't fall!” The person turned his head. “Hold on to his other shoulder,” he said. The other person knelt down next to Zavion. “Put pressure on him. Let him know you're here.”

“WHAT IF I CAN'T BREATHE?”

“You won't stop breathing,” said the first voice.

“WHAT IF I DIE?”

“You won't die,” said the voice again.

“Jeezum Crow. He's as stiff as a board,” came a different, quiet voice next to Zavion.

And like Luna in the market—

—like Mama—

the voice said, “You're okay. You're okay.”