​Chapter 5: Names on a List

I stumbled up the steps, every damn bone in my body screamin’.

Blood dried on my lip, my ribs felt like they was cracked, and I was barefoot—sock game strong, but pride at an all-time low.

Soon as I pushed through the front door, my pops looked up from the recliner, eyes already judgin’.

He ain’t say, Damn, son, you good?

Ain’t ask, What happened?

Nah, first thing out his mouth was:

"Other guy look as bad as you?"

I ain’t answer.

Just stared at him, chest still heavin’, before draggin’ my ass down the hall.

"That’s what I thought," he muttered.

I ignored him, barely makin’ it to my room before I shut the door behind me.

I ain't have time for his bullshit.

Steam filled the bathroom as I turned the water up damn near boilin’.

Stripped outta my beat-up clothes, twitching as the bruises stretched, then stepped under the stream.

The hot water hit different—burned, but in a good way. Like it was scrubbin’ off all the bullshit, the weakness, the fact that I let three niggas punk me like that.

Freddie Mercury’s voice flowed through the Panasonic RX-DS25 sittin’ on the counter, the bass hummin’ through the steam like a heartbeat.

"Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go...

Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth..."

Yeah. I felt that shit.

"Mama, ooooh...

I don’t wanna die...

I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all."

I closed my eyes, lettin’ the water and the music drown everything out.

After my hot shower, I got out, threw on some sweats, then rolled the fattest blunt my sore-ass fingers could manage.

Lit that shit up and leaned back against my bed, exhalin’ slow, starin’ at the ceiling while the weed did its job.

My Motorola StarTAC was on the nightstand. I snatched it up, flipped it open, and hit Keisha’s number.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

"Nigga, do you know what time it is?" she groaned when she picked up.

"Shut up You aint sleep girl," I muttered, takin’ another hit.

She snorted. "Damn, somebody sound pressed. What happened? Yo’ baby mama finally let you see yo’ kid?"

I ain’t laugh.

Didn’t even crack a joke back.

I just let the silence hang.

She picked up on it quick.

"...Joe?"

I exhaled. "They jumped me."

That shut her up.

"The fuck you mean ‘they jumped you’?" she asked, her voice shiftin’ from playful to serious real fast.

I rubbed my face, the bruises stingy under my fingertips. "Some niggas outside the Food Mart. Tried to get me to hit some rock. I said no. They ain’t like that answer."

Silence on her end.

Then a slow, controlled inhale. "Joe... tell me you ain’t do it."

I ain’t answer.

That was answer enough.

"Fuck."

I heard rustlin’ on her side, like she was gettin’ up.

"I’m comin’ over," she said, no hesitation.

I ain’t argue. Just muttered, "Aight," before hangin’ up.

​

As soon as I hung up, I hit Kirk’s number.

He picked up after one ring, voice groggy. "Nigga, do you know what time it is?"

I sighed. "Yeah. You know who them three niggas is that be postin’ up outside the Food Mart on University?"

Silence.

Then a tired grunt. "Yeah. Why?"

I grabbed a pen, flippin’ over an old receipt.

"Who they?"

Kirk clicked his tongue. "Gold grill? That’s Dante."

I jotted it down.

"Tatted up? That’s Steve."

Another name added.

"And the last one? Mike."

I tapped the pen against the receipt, starin’ at the names like they was some prophecy carved in stone.

"You good, nigga?" Kirk asked.

I ain’t answer. Just said, "Bet," then hung up.

As soon as the phone clicked shut, I heard a light tap at the window.

Keisha.

I slid off the bed, pushed open the glass, and let her in.