The Sunday after Kofi’s funeral, Rashid just didn’t get up, didn’t wash up, didn’t make his face shine, to shine unto the face of the Lord. There wasn’t any big raging-at-God sort of feeling. He just could not get out of bed. His mother stuck her head into the room that he had shared with his brother until four days ago—there was nowhere else for him to sleep, the apartment was too small—and said, “Boy ain’t you ready yet?” And Rashid said, “I’m not going.” She stood, silent. Then sighed. Then said, “All right,” and walked out, shutting the door. Rashid sat bolt upright after she left, gazing at the blank wood, terrified. No yelling? No threats? No “Boy you goin’ and that’s that”? He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He had a wild impulse to throw on some clothes—anything—and run out the door after them. But he didn’t. He just lay back down in his bed, his eyes dry staring at the ceiling. They went a few more Sundays after that, and then, without discussion, they stopped going, too. For the first few weeks, the phone rang with brothers and sisters from the church inquiring after them, and then it stopped and the three of them were left alone.

Rashid’s parents started eating nonstop, sitting in front of the television, watching whatever crawled across the screen in front of them. They both made it to work, but that was about it. Gradually, Rashid took over most of the household chores except cooking. That his mother kept doing. Too much food was required to smother their grief. She brought out plate after plate laden with spaghetti, fried chicken, broiled chicken, rice and beans, day after day. They shoveled the food in wordlessly against the television’s chatter, expanding before Rashid’s eyes like balloons filled with water. Every couple of months, Rashid’s mother went shopping and came home with new, larger clothes for both of them, dresses with hectic, frightening patterns for her, blousy shirts and pants with hidden elastic waistbands for him in easy-care, slightly shiny fabric. Rashid ate little and stayed in his room, not wanting to be near them.