Unconditional by Eva Marie Everson Page A

Black & Mild cigar and a few ashes.
    I drew in a deep breath. From outside the window came the sound of children playing. Macon and Keisha would be looking for me soon, if not already. I had to hurry.
    I slid open the top drawer of the dresser. Inside were several newspaper clippings. I removed them, flipping through each one.
    WOMAN BURNED TO DEATH IN DRUG-RELATED FIRE , the first headline read. Another read 21-YEAR-OLD KILLED IN GANG SHOOTING .
    One after the other, pictures of young black men stared back at me, each one dead. Killed by gang warfare. Violence. What was it Detective Miller had said to me? This is the Commons. They throw a party if a boy makes his twenty-first birthday because he’s defying the odds.
    What was this obsession Anthony Jones had with gang warfare?
    My breath became ragged. I returned the clippings. As I did, I spied a wooden cigar box toward the back of the drawer. I slid the drawer farther open, retrieved it from the shadows, and set it carefully on top of the dresser.
    I pressed my thumbs under the lid to open it, but just as I did, I heard the front storm door creak as it was being opened. Nerves prickled my body, starting at the top of my head and rushing down my spine. Fear coursed through my veins. I turned quickly, dashed into the hallway, and out the back door.
    The squeaking of the screen as it opened, shut, and slammed behind me would surely give away my presence in Anthony’s home. Frantic, I ran the length of Macon and Keisha’s building, then up the side, past the electric meters, to the drainpipe running down the front edge as quickly as my boots would allow.
    I heard Anthony slam out of his front door. “Macon!”
    I leaned forward to look into the common area. Macon and Keisha stood where they had left me, looking perplexed. They’d both turned at hearing Anthony call Macon’s name with such force and anger.
    â€œI told you not to come in my house!” He pointed at Macon. “We gonna have to have a talk, boy!”
    â€œWhat?” Macon asked, his voice squeaking defensively.
    I took deep breaths, in through my nose, out my mouth, in an attempt to return my heartbeat to normal.
    â€œYou hear me?”
    When Anthony’s front door slammed shut, I darted toward the children, extending my hand to Keisha. “C’mon. Walk with me.”
    Keisha readily took my hand, keeping pace as I hurried back toward Joe’s house.
    â€œWait up,” Macon said, sounding authoritative. “What were you just doing?”
    I shook my head, still barely able to breathe. “Just making friends. Now, let’s go!”
    Macon jumped in front of me, forcing me to stop. “You were in T’s house.” It wasn’t a question.
    â€œNo, I wasn’t.”
    â€œAww, man! And you gave away our food!”
    I looked down at my hands, felt my shoulders slump forward. Lord help me, I’d left the box in the foyer. I turned toward Anthony’s apartment building, expecting him to be standing there, holding the box, ready to come after all of us. But the door was shut. There was no sign of T.
    I looked back at Macon. “I’ll get it back.”
    â€œHow? How you gonna do that?”
    â€œI mean I’ll buy you more food. I’m good for it, Macon, so just let it go, okay?”
    Keisha wrote on her notepad: ARE YOU OK?
    I nodded. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
    We started walking again. I kept my eyes focused on the road ahead, which stretched left to right on the other side of the apartment buildings. If we could just get there, we’d be that much closer to Joe’s. Why hadn’t I driven?
    â€œNaw, man,” Macon continued. “I wanna know. What were you just doing?”
    Who did this child think he was, asking an adult such questions? “Nothing.”
    â€œYou the po-po.” The police.
    â€œNope.”
    â€œFBI.”
    â€œNo, Macon. This is ridiculous. I’m just