glanced at Sherm.
“Don’t bring that motherfucker back here, Sherm,” he warned. “Not ever. If Kelvin and Markus don’t kill him, I damn sure will. I don’t want to see him in my hood again. Not anywhere near here.”
“I hear you, man. Don’t sweat it, Wallace. You won’t be seeing him again, I swear. You know my word’s good. We cool?”
“Yeah,” he nodded and spat on the cracked pavement. “We cool.”
“Better hope I don’t see you on the streets,” Kelvin threatened John a final time. “If I do, that’s it for your ass!”
They stood down, lowering their pistols. All three men were shaking with rage. I lowered my own gun, and it was only then that I realized I’d forgotten to cock the hammer.
* * *
Ouch! Cut it out, Sherm!”
John took one hand off the wheel and rubbed the knot on his head.
“Why’d you hit me, dammit?”
“Because you’re a dumb ass,” Sherm shouted, leaning forward to smack him again.
“Ouch! Knock it the fuck off, Sherm. You’re gonna make me wreck.”
I’d sat quietly, simmering. Finally, I could keep my mouth shut no more.
“John?”
“Yeah?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you? ‘Later my niggaz’? The fuck is that? You actually said that shit. What the hell were you thinking? Why not just go down there dressed in a fucking white sheet and burn a cross in their yard while you were at it?”
“You know I ain’t like that, Tommy. I ain’t no racist. I said niggaz, not niggers. There’s a difference. They say it in the songs all the time. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
I was so angry I couldn’t even respond.
Sherm smacked him again. “We told you to keep your fucking mouth shut. Why couldn’t you just do that?”
John pouted. “I was just trying to be friendly. That’s all. I like black people and they seemed like cool guys to hang out with. Remember when I was going out with Rhonda? She was black, and I never said anything wrong to her. I didn’t mean to offend nobody. Honest!”
And that’s the thing. He really hadn’t meant to offend anybody. He’d genuinely been trying to be friendly. John didn’t have a racist bone in his body. He was just John. Big, simple, stupid John.
And he was going to drive the getaway car . . .
I leaned back in the seat and rubbed my temples. My head was killing me. Well, actually, it was the cancer that was killing me, but the headache was helping it along quite nicely. I sighed, wondering if my friends would beat both the disease and my head to the punch, and do the cancer’s work themselves. At the rate we were going, it was a distinct possibility.
We were quiet for a while. John sulked and Sherm smoked and I massaged my head. My eyes grew heavy. It had been a long night and I was exhausted. Daylight was just a few hours away, and Michelle would be wondering where I’d been all night. I wasn’t sure what I’d tell her.
After a while, I spoke. “You guys want to hear something weird? Back there in the alley, when things got tense? I felt alive. For a few moments, I forgot all about the disease. I forgot that I was dying.”
“You ask me,” Sherm replied, “and that’s how I’d rather go out. Given a choice between dying in some crummy hospital bed or being gunned down in a blaze of glory— I’d pick the gunfight every time. And I’d pump some slugs in the motherfuckers before I was gone. I’d kill everyone in sight. I’d . . .”
He kept talking, but I fell asleep in the middle of it. Looking back now, I wish I’d stayed awake and listened.
Hindsight is always twenty-twenty.
EIGHT
I was at a funeral. I didn’t know whose. It must have been for somebody important because the turnout was enormous. For some reason, it wasn’t taking place inside a church. Instead, we were at the old, abandoned movie theater downtown, the one where little Kaitlin Roberts had been killed about ten years ago. I was fifteen when that happened. They found her body, along with the bodies
“Don’t bring that motherfucker back here, Sherm,” he warned. “Not ever. If Kelvin and Markus don’t kill him, I damn sure will. I don’t want to see him in my hood again. Not anywhere near here.”
“I hear you, man. Don’t sweat it, Wallace. You won’t be seeing him again, I swear. You know my word’s good. We cool?”
“Yeah,” he nodded and spat on the cracked pavement. “We cool.”
“Better hope I don’t see you on the streets,” Kelvin threatened John a final time. “If I do, that’s it for your ass!”
They stood down, lowering their pistols. All three men were shaking with rage. I lowered my own gun, and it was only then that I realized I’d forgotten to cock the hammer.
* * *
Ouch! Cut it out, Sherm!”
John took one hand off the wheel and rubbed the knot on his head.
“Why’d you hit me, dammit?”
“Because you’re a dumb ass,” Sherm shouted, leaning forward to smack him again.
“Ouch! Knock it the fuck off, Sherm. You’re gonna make me wreck.”
I’d sat quietly, simmering. Finally, I could keep my mouth shut no more.
“John?”
“Yeah?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you? ‘Later my niggaz’? The fuck is that? You actually said that shit. What the hell were you thinking? Why not just go down there dressed in a fucking white sheet and burn a cross in their yard while you were at it?”
“You know I ain’t like that, Tommy. I ain’t no racist. I said niggaz, not niggers. There’s a difference. They say it in the songs all the time. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
I was so angry I couldn’t even respond.
Sherm smacked him again. “We told you to keep your fucking mouth shut. Why couldn’t you just do that?”
John pouted. “I was just trying to be friendly. That’s all. I like black people and they seemed like cool guys to hang out with. Remember when I was going out with Rhonda? She was black, and I never said anything wrong to her. I didn’t mean to offend nobody. Honest!”
And that’s the thing. He really hadn’t meant to offend anybody. He’d genuinely been trying to be friendly. John didn’t have a racist bone in his body. He was just John. Big, simple, stupid John.
And he was going to drive the getaway car . . .
I leaned back in the seat and rubbed my temples. My head was killing me. Well, actually, it was the cancer that was killing me, but the headache was helping it along quite nicely. I sighed, wondering if my friends would beat both the disease and my head to the punch, and do the cancer’s work themselves. At the rate we were going, it was a distinct possibility.
We were quiet for a while. John sulked and Sherm smoked and I massaged my head. My eyes grew heavy. It had been a long night and I was exhausted. Daylight was just a few hours away, and Michelle would be wondering where I’d been all night. I wasn’t sure what I’d tell her.
After a while, I spoke. “You guys want to hear something weird? Back there in the alley, when things got tense? I felt alive. For a few moments, I forgot all about the disease. I forgot that I was dying.”
“You ask me,” Sherm replied, “and that’s how I’d rather go out. Given a choice between dying in some crummy hospital bed or being gunned down in a blaze of glory— I’d pick the gunfight every time. And I’d pump some slugs in the motherfuckers before I was gone. I’d kill everyone in sight. I’d . . .”
He kept talking, but I fell asleep in the middle of it. Looking back now, I wish I’d stayed awake and listened.
Hindsight is always twenty-twenty.
EIGHT
I was at a funeral. I didn’t know whose. It must have been for somebody important because the turnout was enormous. For some reason, it wasn’t taking place inside a church. Instead, we were at the old, abandoned movie theater downtown, the one where little Kaitlin Roberts had been killed about ten years ago. I was fifteen when that happened. They found her body, along with the bodies
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