The Smoky Corridor

57

Zack and Malik got off the bus in a tidy cluster of modest homes.

“I should warn you, Zack,” said Malik as they headed up the sidewalk. “My mother is currently confined to a wheelchair.”

“Was she in an accident?”

“No. She has diabetic nephropathy. A progressive kidney disease.”

“I’m sorry.”

Malik forced his smile to widen. “She remains in good spirits. She is not a giver-upper. However, the doctors say she needs dialysis.”

They climbed the steps to the front porch. Zack noticed a gap in the porch railings and a ramp made of pressure-treated lumber.

Malik swung open the door.

“Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad! This is my friend from school I told you about, Zack Jennings.”

“Hello,” said Zack timidly.

Malik’s mom had a peaceful glow as she sat smiling in what appeared to be a secondhand wheelchair.

His father looked super-serious and sad, his hair speckled with gray.

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Zack,” said Mrs. Sherman.

“Zack and I are working on a project!” Malik announced.

“For school?” his mom asked enthusiastically.

“Yes, Mom.”

“Well, isn’t that wonderful?”

“Oh, this weekend,” said Malik, “we’re planning a history field trip to the Civil War cemetery!”

His father sighed. “What day?”

“Saturday.”

“This going to become a regular thing, Son? School on the weekend?”

“I’m going, too,” said Zack. “My folks can drive us.”

“Can you stay for dinner tonight, Zack?”

“Maybe next week, Mom,” said Malik. “I promised Zack that I’d have dinner at his house tonight. We were just going to grab a couple of my books first.”

“This weekend activity going to help you get a scholarship, Son?” Malik’s father asked, his eyes weary.

“I hope so, sir.”

“Good! Because you’re too smart to end up like me. You go to college. Become a doctor. Get a job they can’t ever take away from you. You hear me, Malik?”

“Yes, sir.”

Feeling nearly as sad as Mr. Sherman sounded, Zack followed Malik up the staircase and into Malik’s bedroom.

When the door closed, Malik held back the tears he clearly didn’t want Zack to see.

“My dad lost his job six months ago,” he said bravely. “That’s why he’s home now. Why we can’t afford the dialysis. Not yet, anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” said Zack.

“Don’t worry. We’re not giver-uppers. None of us.”