Missed Opportunities
I looked at the calendar and ripped off the last sheet of March. One more month until graduation and 14 more days until my 18th birthday. I was going to be legal and I was going to start college in a new part of the world. The opportunity to leave New Orleans was right before me, only time blocked my path. I felt like a cheetah amongst Greyhounds in New Orleans. I needed space to run. It seemed as if the world was doing everything in its power to keep me from reaching the other side. My graduation and birthday would set me free; I would run and never look back.
The crashing appliances in the other room reminded me of my current reality. My mom and Auntie Kim bickered everyday like they were married. Momma was the older sibling and she made sure Auntie Kim knew it. Some days my mom initiated arguments with a loud slam of the microwave door and shouting followed about how Auntie Kim was an ingrate. Other days Auntie Kim initiated arguments with insensitive comments. Her words cut deep, and I knew she meant every one of them. When I had the time, I would eavesdrop to figure out who argued from rationale and who argued from emotion. I enjoy the intellectual endeavor, it's exciting. I have this weird obsession with sociology. I need to know what makes people, people. My mom and Auntie Kim are my favorite subjects. They express millions of different emotions in one session. I’ve never seen this kind of behavior before.
When it wasn’t my mom and aunt, my little brothers took the shift of terrorizing the house. Jason, the middle child, was 15. My youngest brother, Brandon, was 13. They don’t look up to me as an older brother, but saw me as a condescending bully. Even though they never say it, they long for my departure more than I do. They want their own separate rooms, so they could masturbate in private. If they could indulge in their lust in privacy, I'm pretty sure they would do it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I don’t recall being so lustful going through puberty. Naked women weren’t as interesting as learning. When I wasn’t at school, I was reading.
Jason and Brandon mostly fight over whose turn it is to do chores or who ate the last brownie. Their days usually consisted of eating, sleeping, and playing video games. The only time they emerge from their rooms is to eat and do chores. If the Wi-Fi lagged, they would rush to the router in unison to see what the problem was. I attributed my brother’s patterns of life to puberty, calling it their beastly stage in my journal. Usually, the older brother has all the influence, but for some odd reason Brandon was the captain of the ship. I never tried to usurp his authority. Momma always was on the side of ‘her baby’ anyway. I wanted to ride peacefully and patiently, because the right moment to jump overboard and swim to freedom was near.
Between my mom and aunt’s constant bickering and my brother’s piggish lifestyles, peace was nonexistent. With so much testosterone and estrogen in the house, it was bloodier than the Civil War. I never thought that I would feel like a stranger in my family. The blood in our veins is the only thing that we have in common. Love was obligatory and shallow. I would try to start conversations with my little brothers. You know, wake them up as Spike Lee would say. I try to teach them that women are more than sexual objects and porn isn’t reality. They would respond with disinterest that consisted of more “uh-huh” and “mhm” than words. When I wasn’t trying to talk to them, I was trying to placate the beef with my mom and auntie, but then they would both yell at me like highschool football coaches.
“You need to mind ya damn business lil boy and stay out of grown folk business, ya momma ain’t teach you manners?”, Auntie Kim would ask.
“You just goin’ talk like I’m not standing here huh?” My mom snapped back, “at least all my boys doing something with their lives.”
I caused more problems than I fixed. I doubt whether my family understands the ins and outs of communication. Everyone seemed like robots; they all lived monotonous lives, void of any excitement. They even argued over the same things every day. My family is more predictable than the days of the week. I was ready to graduate and attend college next Fall. I got accepted into Howard University and I planned on studying psychology. I didn’t tell my family yet, because I was waiting for the right moment. Certain things I hold back on purpose and others I don’t know how to say.
***
The smell of stale cigarettes in the house burned my nose. The smell was strong like bleach. The smell wrapped itself around me like a hug. I hated cigarettes with a passion. They stink, cause cancer, and cost money--lots of it. I stormed to Auntie Kim’s room. She was sitting on a stool reading receipts. The cigarette, freshly lit, danced between her fingers.
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“Lil boy, you betta stay in a child’s place,” she retorted.
“You know my momma about to get home from work. Why you always looking for a fight? You do stuff on purpose”, I said with a mean mug in my eyes.
She calmly placed a clock on top of her receipts and stood up. She rolled her eyes and took a long puff of her cigarette. When she exhaled, the smoke blew out of her nostrils like a bull. She walked over to the window and put the cigarette out on the ledge and stared at me. I was pissed. I was ready to throw a punch, but only if she threw one first. My eyes were locked on her. Cigarette smoke and tension filled the air.
“You see you”, she began, “You think because you bout to turn 18, you can do and say whatever you want. You need to learn respect. In one month, you’re going to see the real world. And you might just end up like your deadbeat pa and when momma can’t bail your trifling, selfish, prideful behind out, don’t call my damn phone!”
I thought about what I wanted to say. She stared at me. I watched her from my peripheral, watching me. I could tell she wanted a response. She was eager to argue.
“You’re going to miss me when I’m gone. All of y’all,” I said. “You just a moocher, and you the selfish one, you ain’t work in 7 years. You are the ungrateful one, you deserved when Jackson—
“What the hell!”, my mom yelled, as she came through the door and interrupted the argument. “Kim, you smoking in my damn house again!”, her voice echoed through the empty house.
She slammed the door and a couple of pictures fell off the wall. I looked at my Auntie, dropped my head and went to my room. I needed fresh air, the cigarettes left a lingering stench in the house and in my clothes. Plus, some fresh air would calm me down. I was disappointed in myself for how I reacted. I haven’t been that angry since I saw my dad high. I shamed myself as I walked to my room to change my clothes. How could I be so weak? I kept thinking about why I responded that way. Was it the cigarette smoke? It had to be, if the air was clear I would’ve never been so harsh. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I replayed her words to me, I could hear them in my head as if she were saying them again. I put on my black jumpsuit. When I wear all black it has a spiritual effect on me. And, it was comfortable. I liked how the velvet felt against my skin. I put on my neon New Balances. I looked in the mirror.
“I look good,” I whispered.
I felt better, my outfit boosted my spirits. I went for a walk. I forgot to look at the time, but I knew what time it was because momma usually gets off of work around 11pm. The moon was full and the sky was naked of any clouds. Peace. The streets were still. The air was calm. The cats weren’t looking for food and I didn’t see any usual faces on the stoops. This was unusual in New Orleans. No one sleeps, especially not the drug dealers and prostitutes. A few stars danced in the sky and they comforted me with their presence. I wasn’t alone. I picked a star and decided to walk with it. The glowing dot guided me in the opposite direction of the flow of traffic. I never walked this way during this time of night. I was eager to see something new, but the trepidation of a prohibited area ate away at my conscience. Dew was beginning to fall, and I figured that it was later than I thought. I could hear my momma saying, “Nothing is open after 10, but the grave.” This rang in my head with each step I took. I pushed forward, needing to clear my mind. The star shifted and I had to turn the block. To my surprise, a dice game was going on, and I was 30 yards away. I decided to cross the street. Dice after 11pm is a bad combination and, lately, dice games have been getting robbed. I didn’t think twice about my decision, because the sooner I cross the street the safer I would be. I started to cross and my first step landed in a puddle. I was livid. My New Balances sunk to the bottom of the puddle and my sock got soaked as well. The bright color was covered by the mud. When I looked up I noticed a gray Tahoe idling towards me, but the headlights were not on. It was coming up a one-way street. It was coming straight for me.
I couldn’t tell if the truck was creeping towards me or the dice game that was 30 yards behind me. I started to run towards the other side of the street. But, I forgot about the puddle and I stepped in it again this time with a loud splash and I tripped. Now, both my socks and shoes were soaked in muddy water. But, this time my left foot sunk deep into the mud. When I wrestled my foot free, the shoe remained. BOW! BOW! BOW! Two bullets zipped past me, I felt the heat as they went by. The third and fourth bullets followed. I jetted for the other side of the street with only one shoe on. I took cover behind an Oak tree. It was big enough to conceal my entire body. I heard three more shots. For a moment, I could only hear a high-pitched ring. I felt a wet spot on my thigh, I panicked, I thought I was shot. But, it was only the water from my slip. I slowly peeled around the tree, assuming everyone at the dice game got hit. Everything was silent like when I first started my walk. Only single dollars and opened beer cans were proof of the dice game. I needed to get home, before the Tahoe decided to spin the block again or the guys from the dice game came back with their guns. My all black outfit was incriminating. And even if they did know me, they wouldn’t recognize me. I looked up, and the star that I was following twinkled overhead.
“You bastard!” I said pointing at the star.
I cautiously ran to my shoe watching for any lurking shadows. I was more upset at my dirty shoes than someone shooting at me. I guess the bullets were more common than scuffed shoes. When I put it on I noticed another car behind me. A familiar beat caught my attention. The Daiquiri shop’s red lights were flickering as if the battery was getting ready to go out. The air was humid, and my jumpsuit stuck to my body. I looked up and wondered what the moon looked like on Howard’s campus. I recognized the song; it was Tupac's voice. My instincts told me to go home, but my curiosity won, and I slowly approached the car. I figured that the bullets missed me and hit this car. The headlights were shattered. The front two tires were flat, and the rims bent underneath the weight of the car. The windshield looked as if the driver hit a deer. The closer I got to the car, burning pains filled my body. It felt as if a wasp stung me and the stinger plowed deep into my flesh and spun like a tornado. I noticed a man in the driver seat. He was leaning on the driver wheel as if he dropped his phone and was trying to pick it up. I was so fixated on the car and the driver, that I tripped over a body. When I looked down, I saw myself. The burning pains intensified, I collapsed.
I didn’t feel the concrete when I hit the ground. My body lay halfway on the curb and halfway in the street, in a puddle mixed with my blood and water. The sleeve of my velvet jumpsuit soaked up the water like a sponge. While the other half of my jumpsuit was warm with blood. I got shot. I couldn’t believe this. The air filled with fog, like Auntie Kim’s cigarette smoke. The light of the moon was upon me like a stage’s spotlight, and I was the main actor. I lay motionless. I wanted to move, but all I could do was think. I tried to scream for help, but only low grunts came forth. Dread seized me. I close my eyes and regret ever leaving my house. I feel for my pulse. I cannot find it in my wrist; I seek it in my temples, my chin, my hand again. They are all cold and slippery with sweat and blood. I cannot understand why I am afraid. Is it because I want to live, or because a new and unknown pain awaits me? I thought about Howard, it was so close, yet so far away. I thought about my family. I thought about my birthday next month. Damn, I’m just going to be another statistic. Only one tear found its way down my face. I inhaled.
“The robbery of time is not measured in lifespans but in moments.”
