Something Noble by William Kowalski Page A

blood gets dirtier and dirtier. It’s like you’re being poisoned. So what’s going on here is that Dre’s kidneys need some help doing their job.”
    Dr. Wendell puts down the clipboard and waits for me to talk. It used to be that doctors never had time for us. We were just one more poor family of color. I used to hate it. It made me feel like our lives were unimportant to them. But now they are spending more and more time with us. They look at us in a new way now. And even though it sounds crazy, I hate this even more. It shows how serious Dre’s case is. I almost miss the days when we weren’t worth paying attention to. At least then nothing was really wrong.
    I look at Dre. He hasn’t moved. I grab his toe and wiggle his foot.
    â€œWell, baby,” I say, “at least now we know what the problem is.”
    â€œMmm,” says Dre. That’s the sound he always makes when he’s sick. I can tell he feels horrible.
    â€œIs it one kidney or both?” I ask.
    â€œI’ll need to run some more tests to be sure,” says Dr. Wendell. “The nurse will take your blood, Dre.”
    â€œMmm,” says Dre again. He’s so sick he doesn’t even complain about one more needle. The nurse comes in again and draws another vial of blood. Dr. Wendell promises to call us as soon as he gets the results. Then I help Dre out to the car, and we head home.
    â€œWhat time is it?” he asks.
    â€œThree o’clock,” I say. “Why?”
    â€œBecause I gotta go do my paper routes.”
    â€œUh-uh,” I say. “No way. You’re gonna have to give those up. The doctor said you gotta rest.”
    â€œBut, Mama,” says Dre. “What about the money?”
    Dre makes about three hundred bucks a month from his two paper routes. It might not sound like much, but it makes a big difference to us. Yet our neighborhood is getting worse and worse. I won’t be sorry to see him stop walking the streets by himself.
    I got mugged last year right in front of my own house. Broad daylight. He pointed a knife at me and everything. I didn’t get hurt, but I was scared to death. And he took the twenty bucks I had on me. That was twenty bucks I could not afford to lose.
    I would move to a safer neighborhood, but moving costs money. Right now I’m just keeping it together financially. I’m mostly unemployed. I only have one job, as opposed to my usual three or four. We have enough to eat and pay the rent. But I’m just one flat tire or one speeding ticket away from being bankrupt. And the house is mine. I’m not giving it up just because punks have taken over the east side of the city. They’ll have to kill me first.
    â€œForget about the money,” I say. “We’ll figure something out.”
    â€œBut what?” Dre says.
    â€œI dunno,” I say. “You’re too young to worry about these things.”
    â€œNo, I’m not,” he says. “You were my age when you had me.”
    â€œLet me worry about money. That’s my job. You just take care of yourself. That’s all that matters.”
    â€œI’m not all that matters. There’s Marco too,” says Dre quietly.
    I love him for saying that. I look out the window so he doesn’t see me crying.

CHAPTER TWO
    O ur house is a tiny bungalow. It’s on a side street just off one of the busiest avenues in the city. The front yard is a postage stamp. The porch roof is about as big as a child’s umbrella, and about as good at keeping you dry when you’re fumbling for your keys in the rain. Inside, there is just a living room, a kitchen, two bedrooms and a bathroom. Each room is about the size of a phone booth. But it’s mine, dammit. I bought it with my own money, back when things were better. And you better believe I keep it clean. My boys both knew how to make their own beds by the time they were five years old. And if you use a