The Realest Ever

The Realest Ever - By Keith Thomas Walker

CHAPTER ONE

FRIEND REQUEST

Kyra Michelle Reynolds took her son to the juvenile section before she settled into her seat behind one of the 20 computers the library offered visitors. The computer table had cubicle-style walls standing on either side of the monitors that effective blocked Kyra from seeing her neighbor’s screen on the right and on the left. But the area was not really private. The computers were in the very center of the library, so anyone walking behind Kyra could see exactly what she was looking up on the World Wide Web.

She thought that would be a deterrent from risqué searches, but the man sitting next to her was on Sports Illustrated’s website drooling over pictures from their swimsuit issue. He was totally enthralled. He didn’t notice when Kyra took a seat next to him. Her daughter Katavia tried to squirm out of her lap the moment Kyra sat down, but there was no way she was going to let her baby run wild in this place. Kyra barely felt comfortable enough to let her eight year old son peruse the children’s literature by himself.

Kyra wasn’t very computer savvy, but she found her career builders website fairly easily. She logged-in to her account and was disappointed to see that she didn’t have any job offers in her inbox. She created her profile less than a week ago. She didn’t expect a miracle, but it would’ve been nice to see at least one company was interested in her pitiful accomplishments.

Kyra went to her profile and pulled up her resume, wondering if there was anything she hadn’t embellished the hell out of yet. She didn’t go to college, so there was nothing she could add to the education field. Her high school diploma from Little Rock was all she had to offer. Kyra looked over her work history and blew out a slow sigh. She wanted to delete her job at McDonalds, but that would leave a two year gap between her gig at Showtime Cleaners and her customer service position at a telemarketing firm. It was bad enough she hadn’t worked in nearly a year since her last job at Ricky’s Barbecue. And that gap was growing bigger and bigger, every day she remained unemployed.

Kyra backed out of her resume without making any changes. She figured she already had enough going against her. The last thing she needed was some overzealous recruiter to find out she wasn’t the manager or even the assistant manager at McDonalds. Kyra had never worked in a leadership position, but she was sure she could do it, if someone gave her a chance.

For the next twenty minutes she scanned a huge list of (supposedly) available jobs on the career site. The list got smaller when she weeded out the positions that required experience. It got smaller still when she subtracted the ones that required a college degree. What she was left with was the bottom of the barrel gigs that required manual labor, a mop or a broom and sometimes steel-toed boots.

But these were the jobs Kyra was most accustomed to, so she applied for as many of them as possible. Fibbing was fully acceptable at this point because Kyra was sure that if she made it to an interview, she could talk just about anyone into hiring her. She was attractive, energetic, and she was eager to learn. Plus she was desperate, which was the best qualification of all.

Can you operate a forklift?

Sure!

Have you ever installed awnings?

“Yes, I have,” Kyra typed, although she wasn’t totally sure what an awning was.

Are you willing to work in extreme cold or hot temperatures?

This one gave her a moment’s hesitation, because Kyra didn’t like hot environments at all. But as her daughter Katavia (better known as Kat) snuggled against her bosom and resigned herself to sleep, Kyra said “Yes” to the refrigerated warehouse job.

She couldn’t think of too many things she wouldn’t do to put food in her babies’ bellies – especially after the hell she put them through over the past year and a half. Kyra’s throat tightened and her eyes moistened at the mere thought of it. She quickly pushed the depressing thoughts from her mind.

She stood to check on her son Quinell. After a quick scan of the library, she spotted him at a table by himself. Quinell was staring at the pages of a large picture book. Kyra wanted to chastise him for not picking a book with more words than pictures, but Quinell was too far away, and she didn’t want to shout.

Before she could sit back down, Kyra was surprised to see a young man approach and pull her chair away.

“Excuse me,” she told him.

“Oh, you not through?” the boy asked her.

“No,” Kyra said. “I still have thirty minutes.”

“Oh, my bad.” The youngster looked Kyra up and down and decided to try his luck. “You come here a lot?”

Kyra took her chair and returned to the computer. “A little,” she said, her eyes on the monitor.

“I’m Quinton,” her new friend said.

Kyra turned and looked him in the eyes. He appeared to be nineteen, no older than twenty-one. Kyra was thirty-one, and she had enough on her plate already. She didn’t need attention from some boy who probably still lived with his mama.

“That’s a nice name,” she told him. “I have a son named Quinell. He’s eight. This is my daughter, Kat. She’s two.”

Quinton didn’t need to hear all of that. He thought Kyra had a nice ass, but she squared the deal with all of that talk about kids. What did she want, for him to buy her some diapers? “She cute,” he said and turned and walked away.

Kyra chuckled to herself when he was gone. Suddenly, the chorus of Erykah Badu’s Bag Lady filled her head. Kyra had baggage for days. She doubted if she’d ever find a man strong enough to bear the load. But she recently fled Arkansas to get away from a man, so they weren’t that high of a priority anyway.

Kyra backed out of her career builder site and checked her email. She created the Yahoo account six days ago and was surprised to see three new messages. They were all from another website that was new to her called Facebook. One message was a friend request from someone she recognized as a distant cousin.

The second message indicated her oldest brother left a comment on her Facebook page: “Miss you already, girl. Sad to see you go, but I hope you get better.”

Kyra’s last email notified her that her cousin’s fiancé posted a comment on one of the pictures she uploaded: “Damn you fine.”

Kyra frowned and clicked the message from her cousin’s shifty boyfriend. After logging into Facebook, she saw the picture she posted and the comment Darryl left. Kyra only had three pictures on her profile. She took them all last week at her aunt’s house. She was wearing the same outfit in all three photos; a tee shirt and jeans with her hair pulled back in a pony tail.

Two of her pics were close-ups. The one Darryl liked was a long shot from her knees up. Kyra had her daughter in her arms, and she offered the camera a big, beautiful smile. Her shirt wasn’t tucked-in, and her jeans weren’t tight. Kyra was fine, but she didn’t think the photo showed off her curves. More likely it was her smooth, brown skin, her large eyes and full lips that caught Darryl’s attention. Or maybe it was her 36 C’s. Yeah, those babies were an anomaly. Most girls with a good amount of junk in their trunk had two bee stings up top. But Kyra had the best of both worlds.

She deleted Darryl’s comment. A moment later Kyra wished she’d sent her cousin a message, telling her to come check her man. Instead she went back to her home page and deleted her brother’s post as well. She then went to his profile and sent him a personal message:

“Hey, Duke. I’m doing alright. I miss you too. I had to delete your comment on my page. You said you hope I get better, but I don’t want anyone to know I was doing bad. I know I had to leave, but I don’t know if things will be any better down here. I can’t find a job, and Aunt Ruth is already getting on my nerves. I know it’s only been a week, but I get scared sometimes, and lonely. I feel like I don’t got nobody here that care about me.”

Kyra read her message and thought it sounded too depressing. Generally the truth is always best, but she didn’t want Duke to worry about her. She deleted most of her rambling, leaving only the first part.

“Hey, Duke. I’m doing alright. I miss you too.”

She sent the message and then looked through her brother’s pictures. He had a lot of them. A lot of family and friends, pictures of his children and his wife. A wistful smile spread Kyra’s lips as she clicked away, learning more and more about the social networking site. Kyra sent friend requests to a dozen people in her brother’s friends list, and then she typed the names of a few of her Arkansas acquaintances and was delighted to see their pictures pop up.

Twenty minutes in, she was amazed by how many people she could find on Facebook. There was a hit for just about every person she could think of. Noticing she was down to her last few minutes on the computer, Kyra switched her focus to Overbrook Meadows connections. Her spirits were immediately dampened.

Home was where the pain was, there was no doubt about that. But Kyra returned to Overbrook Meadows last week looking for a fresh start. It was hard to believe that her life in Arkansas was actually worse than her early years in Texas, but somehow it was.

Kyra typed the name of her only good memory from childhood and wasn’t surprised she got a hit. What did surprise her were the sudden goose bumps that sprouted on her arms and a rapid increase in her body temperature. Kyra took a deep breath, her eyes glued to the computer screen.

Facebook had more than ten possible matchesforDonovan Mitchell. Most had profile pics on display, so Kyra was able to rule out half of them because they weren’t black. She ruled out another half because their hometowns didn’t match. The only Donovan Mitchell listed with Overbrook Meadows as his hometown was at the very top of the list. Unfortunately Kyra couldn’t verify this one because his profile pic was the Dallas Cowboys logo rather than a photo of himself.

Kyra’s heartbeats became audible as she clicked on the profile. She felt like she was having an anxiety attack, but she wasn’t sure why. This was simply a computer. He couldn’t see her or even send her a message, if she didn’t want him to. Even if he could, Kyra didn’t know why she felt unsure of herself. Back when she knew him, Donovan never made her feel anything but loved. Donovan was her best friend fifteen years ago. In fact, they used to refer to each other as brother and sister. And Kyra had never known a better friend or person since then.

She tried to look through his pictures, but Donovan’s profile was set to private. The only pic available was the Cowboy’s logo he offered to strangers. Kyra clickedInfo and was told that his sex wasMale. Beneath that it said, “Donovan only shares some information publically.” Kyra began to click on everything associated with the profile, but she was blocked at every turn.

Frustrated and still inexplicably fretful, Kyra hesitated before she clicked the one button that could lead to unlimited access to Donovan’s photos. Kyra knew she’d be too embarrassed to answer the first question Donovan would ask her: What have you been up to? But she still didn’t know if this was the right Donovan. Even if it was, he’d have to ask his hurtful questions over the computer, and he wouldn’t see the pain in Kyra’s eyes if she decided to write him back.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but your time is up.”

Kyra looked up at the librarian and nodded. “Okay, I’m getting off.”

She clicked the “Add Friend” button quickly, before she could change her mind, and then she logged out of Facebook and left the computer.

The boy who had been waiting on her quickly took her seat. He wasn’t flirtatious anymore. He pretended not to see her at all, which was just fine with Kyra. She noticed a lot of men were doing that these days. They saw her face and her body and smiled, and then they saw Quinell and Kat and Kyra’s less than trendy clothes, and they looked away.

She went to the children’s area and took a seat on one of the way-too-little chairs parked under Quinell’s table. He looked up from his book.

“We finna go?”

“No, the bus doesn’t come ’til five-twenty,” Kyra said.

“Can I check this book out?” Quinell asked.

“I think you need to find a book with more words in it,” Kyra suggested.

Kat began to stir in her arms. Kyra shuffled through a large bag she toted and found her sippy-cup. The toddler took the drink graciously, and Quinell got up to find a book his mother would approve of. Kyra checked her watch and rose to her feet, in search of a book to keep her mind occupied for the next thirty minutes.

She couldn’t wait for the day when she was no longer dependent on public transportation. But as far as waits go, the library was one of the best places to be.



≈≈≈≈≈≈≈



Twenty miles away, on Finley High School’s football field, Coach Donovan Lucas Mitchell was wrapping up a light workout with his varsity team, The Mad Stallions. Their season opener wasn’t for two weeks, but Donovan already saw serious deficits in his 26 member squad. Most of these problems would not be solved before their first game, and Donovan doubted if he could fix his team before their season ended in November.

You can mold a talented player into an even better athlete, but you can’t turn a so-so player into the next Emmett Smith – not in just one season anyway. Donovan’s team wasn’t all bad. But he only had two bonafide stars on offense. Neither of his stars was in the quarterback or running back positions. He had an awesome wide receiver who was in for a bad year because there wasn’t enough talent to get him the ball. But such is life.

The date was Thursday, August 14. The blistering days of June and July were behind them, but the temperatures in north Texas would remain in the mid to high nineties until the end of October. Donovan’s team was running a simple back-pedal/shuffle/break drill (without pads), but they had been working out for over an hour, and most of them were drenched with sweat. Donovan brought a whistle to his mouth and blew a short, quick bleat to signal the end of today’s practice.

“That’s it, fellas. Pack it up!”

Fifty-two grateful eyeballs rolled in his direction, and the young men immediately began to scramble, some heading for the Gatorade table, others grabbing equipment. Most of them stayed where they were, bent over with their hands on their knees, sucking in air like a fish out of water.

“I know y’all not tired,” Donovan said as he approached them. “We didn’t do nothing today. You don’t even have your helmets on.”

“Yes we did do something,” a junior named Kevin Willard gasped. His face was slick with perspiration. His beat up sneakers had seen better days. “It’s hot out here, Coach. Why can’t we practice in the gym?”

“Go get something to drink,” Donovan told him. “Your mama will have a fit if you pass out on this field.”

“My mama wanna know when you gon’ call her,” Kevin said as he headed for the refreshments. “She starting to think you don’t like her.”

“He don’t like her,” another knucklehead named Calvin said. He was a burly running back who was about to get converted into a fullback if he couldn’t lose 15 pounds during the season. “He like Miss Murphy, don’t you Coach?”

Miss Murphy was hands-down the best looking teacher at Finley High. She was fair-skinned with a long weave and an awesome wardrobe and one of the best asses known to man. She wasn’t an exceptional instructor, but students paid attention when she talked – especially the boys. When Miss Murphy offered after-school tutoring, her classroom was completely full. Even some of Donovan’s players tried to weasel out of practice sometimes so they could get some extra learning from Miss Murphy.

“You and Miss Murphy getting married, right, Coach?” another student named Victor asked with a grin.

Donovan shook his head at the kids clamoring around him, but he was smiling, too. In addition to coaching the varsity football team, Donovan taught social studies to juniors and seniors. He was an imposing figure, whether he had chalk or a football in hand. Donovan stood six-foot-four with 231 pounds stacked pleasingly on his frame. In his football days, Donovan played defensive end. It was his job to stuff running plays and sack the quarterback. And he was good at it.

Donovan was a little slimmer now, but still in excellent shape. He was unofficially crowned the most handsome male teacher at the school, and with Miss Murphy being the most attractive single female, the students assumed they would hook up. Some of the faculty felt that way, too.

“Miss Murphy is my co-worker,” Donovan told the squad for what felt like the hundredth time. “That’s all she’ll ever be to me.”

During his social studies class and for most of their time on the football field, Donovan would never allow such friendliness with his students. But after school and after practice he maintained a mentoring relationship with all of his boys. They would come to Donovan when they were bullied or if their mother forgot to give them lunch money. They would talk to Donovan about problems they had at home or trouble on the streets. The school’s principal often joked that Donovan should get an extra paycheck for being a part-time counselor.

Of course that was never going to happen.

A slight vibration in his front pocket notified Donovan of a new email. He retrieved his cellphone and stopped cold when he read the message. His jaw became unhinged as he stared at it, not believing he read it right. Donovan’s massive chest heaved with a quick intake of air. He stuffed his phone in his shorts’ pocket and had to fight off an overwhelming urge to sprint to his office in the back of the gym.

“Calvin! Hurry up and get those coolers packed up!” Donovan barked. “You too, Kevin. Help him with that stuff! Victor, get my balls off the field! Help him, Shawn. Morris, Booker, Quincy, Trey – y’all get those tables folded up and bring them in the gym!”

He clapped his hands loudly.

SMACK!

“Come on! Get moving! We gotta clear this field!”

With that, Donovan could stay his eager legs no longer. He began to eat up the field with long strides, without looking back to see if his team was doing what he asked of them.

“Coach!” one of them yelled. “We ain’t through drinking yet!”

“Hurry up!” Donovan shouted back. “And pack it up right! If I come out here and see one football on the ground, every one of you is running sprints!”

“Coach, wait!” Kevin hollered. “I thought you was gon’ help me with my math!”

“Come to my office when you get through!” Donovan told him, and then he was too far away to answer any more of their questions.



≈≈≈≈≈≈≈



Donovan didn’t use his computer in the gym very often. He nearly had a heart attack while waiting for it to power up. He read the message on his cellphone over and over with an excitement he hadn’t felt in years. Kyra Reynolds was alive and well. Donovan’s smile was from ear to ear. It was an unusual sight; a burly football coach hunkered over a computer with tears in his eyes.

How many times had he searched for Kyra on Facebook? It was impossible to count. When the networking site first hit the internet in 2004, Donovan was reluctant to get sucked in to another MySpace-like environment. He didn’t want to post private pictures of himself, and he didn’t want to be bombarded with silly updates from people he barely knew in real life.

But as Facebook’s popularity grew, Donovan began to spend more and more time on the site. He reestablished contacts with people he met in college and with folks he knew way back in middle school. Donovan found that he actually liked to see updates from his long lost friends as well as pictures from their vacations or trips to the ballpark.

And the name Donovan typed into Facebook’s search bar most often was Kyra Reynolds. In the early days he searched for her as often as once a week. Shocked that he couldn’t find her, Donovan tried just her first name, thinking she got married. But he still couldn’t find her among the hundred or so Kyra’s who did have accounts. Sometimes Donovan searched until he had a stress headache. But he never stopped looking.

Almost every time he logged onto Facebook, Donovan wanted to know if Kyra Reynolds had a profile yet. Today his prayers were answered. Donovan was so excited when he finally got Facebook pulled up, he entered his password incorrectly three times in a row.

When he got it right, he emphatically jabbed the button that said Yes he would accept Kyra as his friend. Yes, yes and hell yes! And finally, after a full fifteen years with absolutely no contact, Donovan saw the woman who had become somewhat of an obsession. Kyra was so beautiful, Donovan stared in awe, unaware that a joyful tear rolled down his cheek.

“Oh God, thank you.”

Kyra’s profile was new, and it didn’t offer much information about what she’d been up to since the last time Donovan saw her. But it revealed enough to make him more and more joyous at every click.

Kyra’s hometown was listed as Overbrook Meadows, and her current location was also Overbrook Meadows. Donovan assumed that was a mistake, but he prayed that it was true. He longed to see Kyra with his own eyes and touch her and hug her. Donovan clicked some more and learned that Kyra wasn’t just beautiful, but she was a mother now. In one of her three pictures, she was holding an adorable baby girl in her arms. The child was the spitting image of her mother.

Donovan put a hand to his mouth and sniffled. He wasn’t an emotional guy, but this was not the average Facebook encounter. Kyra was Donovan’s best friend ever since they met in grade school; Donovan in the fourth and Kyra in the third. There was never an attraction between them, and many were baffled by how thoroughly they bonded. When Donovan learned that Kyra lived less than half a mile from his house, he rode his bike to visit her nearly every day. During the summertime they would be together from sun up till sun down. They made tree houses and army forts in the bushes, and they loved to roll their pants up and explore creeks and ponds, in search of tadpoles and baby turtles.

Kyra’s home life was rough back then. Donovan was the one person who always loved her. He never hit or talked bad to her. They became play-brother and sister, and when the abuse at Kyra’s house reached a peak, Donovan did everything in his power to save her. He was only a child himself, but he stood up to adults for Kyra. He comforted Kyra when her mom went to jail, and Donovan even talked his mother into letting Kyra live with them when they were in high school.

Finding Kyra on Facebook was like finding his twin brother or a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. Knowing she had grown into a beautiful, healthy adult was one of the greatest gifts Donovan ever received.

A sound at the door alerted him to a visitor. Donovan wiped his face quickly as Kevin entered the office with books in hand. The sweat on Donovan’s face effectively masked the tear that he was much too manly to shed in the first place.

“What you doing, Coach?” Kevin approached and stared over his shoulder. “Who’s that? She fine.”

Donovan chuckled. “She’s an old friend. I haven’t seen her in fifteen years.”

“Dang,” Kevin said, studying the picture more closely. “Is that why you look so happy?”

Donovan nodded.

“How you find her?” the boy asked.

Donovan gave him a look. “I guess common sense ain’t that common…”

Kevin laughed. “Oh, you found her on Facebook?”

“Yeah,” Donovan said, his eyes still glued to Kyra’s picture.

“You can find anybody on Facebook,” Kevin said.

“I guess so,” Donovan agreed. He went back to Kyra’s profile so he could send her a personal message.

“You gon’ ask her out?” Kevin wanted to know.

“Boy, go sit down,” Donovan said. “This is my sister. She my play-sister. We used to live together and everything.”

“She still fine,” Kevin said as he made his way to a desk. “Y’all didn’t never kiss or nothing when she was living with you?”

“Boy, I just told you she’s my sister.”

“You said play-sister, Coach,” Kevin noted. “So y’all not really related. I know I wouldn’t be able to live with a girl if she looked like that – especially if we weren’t really related.”

Ain’t that the truth, Donovan thought. “Be quiet so I can send this message,” he said. He sent a quick message to Kyra and then went and stood before Kevin’s desk. “Alright, what are you having problems with?”

“I don’t know how to graph these functions,” Kevin said. He dug his math book from his backpack.

“That’s what I helped you with last time,” Donovan recalled. “Why do you need help with the same thing?”

“I forgot how to do it, Coach.”

Donovan frowned at him. “You smoking weed, Kevin?”

“Nope,” the student said right away. “I don’t smoke weed, Coach.”

“I know your brother smokes weed,” Donovan said. “And your cousins do, too. You getting high with them, Kevin? Don’t lie to me.”

“I don’t smoke weed,” Kevin stressed. “I don’t smoke cigarettes or Black & Mild’s or nothing. I don’t do nothing that’s gon’ take my breath away.”

The take my breath away comment was something Donovan warned his students about all the time. But Kevin maintained eye contact when he spoke, and Donovan believed him. He pulled up a chair next to his mediocre defensive end.

“I hope some of this starts to come back to you really quick,” Donovan said. “I don’t want to be here all night.”

“Why, you got a date with Miss Murphy?” Kevin joked.

Donovan frowned again. “If you say one more thing that’s not related to math, I’ma make you do so many pushups, you won’t be able to lift your arms tomorrow. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Kevin said, his smile gone, his nose down in his book.