The Meq by Steve Cash Page A

Meq. I told her everything, but naturally she thought I was crazy.
    “I don’t believe you,” she said, “something like that just can’t be.”
    “Well, it is,” I said.
    We were walking in the heart of the park, not along the laid-out paths, but through and around the trees, kicking dead leaves as we went. She stopped and looked at me, waiting for me to explain. I couldn’t.
    “You mean you’re just going to stay twelve and that’s it?” she asked.
    “I guess so. I don’t know.” I wanted to tell her more and make it clear for her. She was my best friend and we shared everything, but I knew I couldn’t. She was Giza, I was Meq, and I was learning the difference.
    “How do you know any of that stuff is true,” she said, “and how do you know what we saw that girl do in the alley wasn’t just some trick?”
    “Because I know.”
    “But how?”
    I took off my jacket and rolled up one of my shirtsleeves. I reached into my trousers and pulled out my penknife. I opened the blade and held it up in front of her. Sunlight glinted off the steel blade. She started to speak, but I made a motion for her to keep quiet. I slowly dragged the sharp edge of the blade across my forearm. Carolina jumped back.
    “No, Z, what are you doing?” she screamed.
    She put her hands to her mouth and looked at me wild-eyed. I stared back at her with as steady a gaze as I could hold. The knife blade hurt.
    “Wait,” I said.
    “Now I know you’re crazy,” Carolina hissed with real anger.
    We both watched as the blood poured out of the cut and down my arm. A minute passed, then Carolina said, “Please, Z, stop this now. Let me put something around that.”
    “Wait,” I said again.
    In less than three minutes the bleeding had stopped and the wound began to close. Carolina stared in fascination. In another minute there was only a dark red line where there had been an open wound. I knew that even that would be gone by the next day.
    “You see,” I said, “I’m not like you, Carolina. I’m something different . . . something else.”
    Carolina stood still and straight, barely breathing. I watched her face. She had a band of freckles that crossed her cheeks and nose and were barely visible unless she was flushed. Right then, I could count every one of them. She was still angry, but confused and amazed at the same time.
    “I don’t believe it,” she said, “I saw it, but I don’t believe it. It doesn’t make sense.”
    “I know it doesn’t make sense. That’s why I’ve got to find some things out,” I said.
    “But, Z, that’s a miracle. It’s something out of the Bible.”
    “It’s not out of the Bible,” I said. “It’s in my blood.”
    She reached down and grabbed a handful of leaves, then walked over to me. “Give me your arm,” she said. I let her take my arm and she wiped the last traces of blood off my skin with the leaves. “Is that girl, Geaxi, like you?” she asked.
    “Yes,” I said, “and a lot older. I’ve got to find out some of what she knows. My mama said to find Sailor and I’ve got to do it. I don’t know how yet, but I’ve got to do it.”
    I looked into Carolina’s eyes. They were a gray-blue with little flecks of gold reflecting sunlight. She took my hand in hers.
    “I’d go with you,” she said, “if Georgia wasn’t so happy here.”
    “Well, I don’t know if I’m going anywhere yet.”
    We started walking toward home, kicking leaves again.
    “You’ll go,” she said.
     
    She was right. Not six weeks later Mrs. Bennings and a lady friend of hers, who introduced herself only as Natalie, came home late one night accompanied by two men. I should say that although Mrs. Bennings was running a successful and respectable boardinghouse at the time, she was becoming more and more drawn to a life after dark, a life of saloons and whiskey and men. Georgia was troubled by this and always stayed up late, waiting for her, ready to brush her hair and help her to bed. Carolina and I