Leaving: A Novel by Richard Dry Page B

and set you up.”
    “No you ain’t.”
    “I’m gonna send you to college.”
    “No you ain’t.”
    “You’re gonna be a computer scientist.”
    “No I ain’t. I’m gonna be a ballah and have me a cherry red Impala.”
    “You gonna be toe-up, that’s what you gonna be if I catch you bangin.”
    “I ain’t got to do what you say. You ain’t my daddy. I ain’t gonna go to Prescott. I’m gonna kick it wit you and my homies. Yay-eh. I’m West Side now.” Li’l Pit stood up and danced again, poking his head back and forth, this time holding up his fingers in the West Side flash.
    I gotta hoo-ride
    ’Cause I’m West Side
    Gonna have pride
    ’Cause my daddy done died
    But now I’m West Side.
    “I ain’t gonna let you be down with no punks,” Love said.
    “You down.”
    “No I ain’t.”
    “Yes you is so.”
    “Well I say I’m not.” Love stood up and went to the window to see if anyone was walking around outside. The street was full of tired men and women returning home from work, but the crew was nowhere to be seen. As the sky darkened, a long pink cloud turned gray.
    Li’l Pit rubbed his chapped hands over his naked shoulders, which stuck out of his jersey like two thin pencils.
    “I’ll get you some blankets and a shirt,” Love said.
    “How come you don’t take me in the house?”
    “Shoot, dog. I can’t just take some strange niggah into her place.”
    “I ain’t no stranger.”
    “You is to her.”
    “No I ain’t. I came here for Mama once and almost got my shoes took. I ask her for Mama’s dress and she give it to me, the yellow one, but it don’t fit Mama neither way, and she just sell it for a rock. Anyhow, she know me. She my Nanna too.”
    “She just got used to being my Nanna last month, dog. You think she want two of us crazy kids wreckin up her place? ’Sides, you got all that lice all in your head. So you got to stay out here a while.”
    Li’l Pit looked down at the ground lit by the candle. In the dirt lay the remains of someone’s crack binge, a half-burnt matchbook, some tinfoil, and an empty box of Arm & Hammer baking soda.
    “That’s all right. I been use to it anyhow.” He reached down and picked up a sheet of newspaper and wadded it up. He held it over the candle’s flame until it caught fire. The boys’ faces glowed orange as the ball of paper burned toward Li’l Pit’s hand. He looked up at Love. The flames reached the tips of his fingers, but he didn’t move. He held it for a second more, then threw the ball under the collapsed walls of a baby crib a few feet from them.
    Love shook his head. “You ain’t got to prove you hard to me.”
    “I ain’t tryin to prove nothin. I just is.”
    “Course you is, you my blood.”
    They watched the flame lick the edge of the crib’s post and then die away. Li’l Pit picked up the candle and walked over to the post. He held it under the wood until the white paint crackled and caught fire.
    “Now!” Li’l Pit said triumphantly.
    “That’s a shame.”
    “What’s a shame?”
    “It gets out a some big ole fire way back, and now you go and light it up.”
    “Yeah, well, some things was meant to burn up.” He held his arms out and warmed them over the small fire. Beige moths raced between the shadows flickering on the walls.
    “Some moths look like bees and wasps,” Love said. “So they won’t be eaten in the day. You know what I’m saying?”
    “I think you one of them funny niggahs,” Li’l Pit said.
    “Just cause I got some learnin don’t mean I can’t beat your ass.”
    “Here it is, then.” He stood up and bent his butt toward Love. “Come on an beat on it.”
    “I’m gonna get them blankets before you set your own nappy lice head on fire to keep warm.”
    “That’s what I thought.” Li’l Pit lowered his behind.
    Love climbed over the fallen railing of the stairway and out through a hole in the wall. He crossed Cranston, unhooked the fence, and climbed the stairs of the red