Beneath a Meth Moon by Jacqueline Woodson Page B

my lips, how the scratching scars on my face reminded me for a long time how the moon had made me itch and cry out. How, late some nights, I wanted to run from rehab back to the House, any House, and erase, erase, erase.
    How I dreamed M’lady saying,
The moon will stand beside you with the Lord . . .
But what comes clear to me each day is the morning my father came into Second Chances and handed me my knapsack, smiling. It was the first smile I’d seen on his face in a long time.
    Your friend Moses brought this by,
he said.
Bet you didn’t know we’re the only Daneaus in Galilee.
    Moses came to our house?
    He said he wanted to make sure you got your stories back. He . . . saved . . . he saved . . . he saved you.
My daddy’s voice caught, but he shook his head, took a breath
.
I know I keep saying it. Feel like I have to so I know it’s true. He’s going to come by here. See how you doing. I hope that’s okay.
    Yeah, Daddy. I want him here. I want Moses to come see me. Tell him please come . . .
We got quiet for a minute. My daddy’s hands on my face, looking hard in my eyes.
    He never did the moon,
I said.
His mama did, but not him. I don’t want you thinking—
    I know, sweet pea. I didn’t at first. When he rang our bell and had that bag, I was ready to kill him, ready to go to jail with all the mad inside of me. But he stood there, said real clear, “Mr. Daneau, my name is Moses. You don’t know me, but you can find my name in the Donnersville hospital records.” And that was all he needed to say before I threw my arms around that boy. Hugged him hard.
    I nodded, not able to speak. My daddy kissed my forehead, like he used to do when I was little.
    My hands were shaking as I unzipped the bag. It was filthy and smelled like the room I’d stayed in—musty and damp and meth-smoke sweet. I felt my stomach creeping up as I opened it, watching the months of notebooks and envelopes and paper bags and pieces of paper fall out.
    I pulled a wrinkled envelope from the pile. The edges of it were brown, like maybe I’d held my lighter to it.
This is me,
I’d written.
In this room. High. Beneath a meth moon. My name is Laurel Daneau, and once upon a time . . . once upon a time . . . before the rain came and washed us all away . . . Laurel,
my daddy said,
you held on to it, baby girl. You wrote it down. Don’t cry like that, sweetie. It’s the past. It’s behind you now.
    My daddy sat down and I climbed into his lap like I was five instead of fifteen. Put my head against his chest and cried and cried. And my daddy held me. Held me like he was never gonna let me fall.

elegy
    IT’S NOVEMBER NOW. Summer feeling like it’s long behind me. Jesse Jr. holds tight to my hand as we walk the half mile to his day care center. Even when he skips ahead of me, he refuses to let go.
    This is an elegy for Jesse Jr., who lived so many months without me. An elegy for the boy who lost his grandma and his motherand almost lost his sister, too.
    In the pocket of my jeans is the medal I got from Second Chances—a small gold coin marking ninety days without the moon.
    This is an elegy to the moon no longer running through my veins.
    My pom-poms bounce against my legs, my cheerleading uniform in my bag, the mighty Tigers will be waiting this afternoon, for me and Kaylee and the rest of the squad to cheer them on. Kaylee, coming over every evening, counting the days with me. Moonless days. Days till Texas or Colorado or wherever we go from here.
    Some mornings I see T-Boom wandering the streets of Galilee, his eyes wild.
Hey, beautiful girl,
he says to me.
How about a dollar for the guy who loved you once. You know the House is blown up and gone now. They got me paying for it now. Crazy, huh?
    And sometimes I hand it to him.
    I could help you move through it, T-Boom. You don’t need the