Page 41 of Butterfly 6, Phase 1

“And what can you tell me about what happened to DJ?” Khadeen asked.

“It wasn’t a suicide. It was an accident. He didn’t mean to cut himself that deep,” Eazy said.

“What makes you say that, Eazy?” Khadeen asked.

“We talked about it,” Eazy admitted. A look of stun painted Ethic as his stomach plummeted.

“What did you talk about with DJ, Eazy?” Khadeen asked.

“I saw his arm one day after practice, and he said he just did it sometimes to see if anybody would notice. I was mad that my dad missed a scrimmage that day, and he told me cutting made him feel better when his parents forgot about him,” Eazy said. “He said it barely hurt and that he never went too deep. I guess he made a mistake this last time.”

Ethic took a half step in Eazy’s direction, and Khadeen put an arm out to keep him from advancing. Ethic’s heart was breaking. He could hear everything Eazy wasn’t saying in this moment. The fact that his baby boy couldn’t even glance his way told Ethic everything he needed to know.

“Have you ever thought about cutting yourself, Eazy?” Khadeen asked.

Eazy shook his head too fast, a tell when he was lying, and Ethic’s eyes burned. Sick. He was sick.

“Have any of you?” Khadeen asked.

The boys shook their heads, but no one uttered a peep. The silence was deafening.

The concerned look on the adults’ faces in the room applied pressure to lie.

“I want everyone in here to close their eyes for a moment,” Khadeen said. “Mom and Dad, close your eyes, please. Boys, coaches, close your eyes. I’ll be the only one looking. I promise. I won’t tell your secrets, but this is your chance to tell the truth without anyone watching. I’m going to ask you some questions, and if you’ve ever felt like this, raise your hand. Your parents aren’t looking. Your friends aren’t either. It’s just you and me.” Khadeen paused and glanced at Ethic, who stared into her soul with a pleading that she recognized. A desperate parent praying for normalcy, praying for another parent’s trauma not to touch his household. Khadeen nodded, and Ethic closed his eyes.

“If you knew DJ was cutting, raise your hand,” Khadeen instructed.

A few hands went into the air.

“If you’ve felt depressed or not like yourself after DJ’s death, raise your hand,” Khadeen said softly. More hands sprang up.

Ethic had to clasp his hands in front of his body to stop himself from breaking her rules. He squeezed his eyes closed so tightly that a tear slid down the side of his face. He swiped it away silently.

“If you’re going through something that you can’t talk to anyone about, and you’re afraid or sad, please, raise your hand,” Khadeen said. Even more boys fessed up to that one. “Now, keep your hands up if you’ve ever cut yourself or thought about hurting yourself on purpose in any way. You’re safe. All eyes are closed. If you need my help, raise your hand.”

Ethic didn’t need to see his son to know Eazy’s hand went up. He felt it. It registered in his heart like a beacon trying to signal home. Ethic was his father. Eazy was made of him, and Ethic felt his body react to the distress his son was feeling. Their family had been through a lot lately, and he knew Eazy was highly emotional. It had been hard on him, hard on them all.

Khadeen was an assassin in the way that she marked every single little Black boy who was struggling. “Put your hands down,” Khadeen said. “Open your eyes.”

Ethic was so unnerved that he was shaking.

“I want you guys to know that what you are feeling is normal after what your team has been through. Grief, mixed with adolescence, can feel heavy. It can make it hard to breathe, hard to sleep, hard to find motivation to do anything. You’re at an age where your body is changing. Your hormones are changing, and so many things about the world around you will feel too big for you to figure out alone. You don’t have to. You can ask for help. You can say you’re afraid. You can tell someone you are hurting. Talking about your emotions is the bravest thing you can do, and asking for help is the smartest thing you can ever do. I want to help you develop those habits as boys, so that you don’t become grown men who don’t know how to regulate your emotions. I’m offering free therapy sessions once per month to anyone here who needs it. If you raised your hand, know that I see you and that I am here for you. I want to do an exercise with you guys. In these bins, I have 30 journals.”

“Man, diaries are for girls,” one of the boys quipped.

“Journals are for everyone. Some of the greatest writers of all time portrayed the emotions of men on paper. James Baldwin. Richard Wright…”

The boys groaned, and Ethic smirked. “You got to go younger than that.”

“Okay, well, how about this one? J. Cole,” she said, nodding and smiling as she connected with the boys’ taste levels. “Kendrick?”

“A little younger,” Ethic stated. “Got to YoungBoy they asses.”

“Yeah, man, NBA cold!” The boys’ excitement made Khadeen laugh.

“See! They’re all great writers. They put pen to paper, and they express themselves. They let their feelings out. I want you to start doing the same. These journals are your secret keepers, so you can let out the things that hurt you. The first thing we have to let flow from our hearts is our feelings about losing our team member. Take twenty minutes and write to him, about him, to his mom maybe, or maybe to nobody but yourself. I promise you will feel better after, and to those of you who raised your hands, I’m proud of you. You’re asking for help with something that hurts you. Learning to say, ‘I’m not okay,’ is a very big step to take. For those who weren’t ready to do that today, I plan to come back. Whenever you’re ready, I’m here to listen.”

Khadeen turned to Nyair and Ethic. “I’ll donate my time. These boys need a safe space to be boys, not men. I know it’s a priority for y’all to teach them how to be men, but don’t bypass this delicate stage where they learn sensitivity, empathy, and vulnerability. A lot of hands went up. It’s not surprising considering what happened to their friend.”