September 25: Jeoffrey

Jeoffrey

Five more minutes. That’s all I need. Five more minutes and I’ll be able to wake up. I smack the alarm for the third time. My back hurts; this worn out mattress isn’t cutting it anymore.
“Mama says to get up.” I hear my little brother, Damien’s voice. “She said ‘now’.”
“I’m coming,” I mumble from under the covers.
I hear him take off down the hall. I toss the covers off of me and turn on the lamp on the nightstand. I rub my eyes and yawn. I try to crack the muscles in my back loose. I yawn again. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Mama and Cody were at it again until at least three. The red numbers on the alarm clock bleed 6:30. I hate the first day of school.
I get out of bed and hurry into the bathroom. The shower water runs cold. I wait a few minutes for it to get warmer, but it doesn’t. I get in and take the quickest shower of my life.
“Mama said you got thirty minutes.” Damien is waiting outside in the hall when I step out of the bathroom in a towel.
“Alright, Damien.” I push his head lightly. “Let me get ready.”
He is thirteen, a spitting image of me. He starts the eighth grade today. I can’t believe he’s already in the eighth grade. I can’t believe I’m already a senior.
I open the closet in the bedroom that we share. He sits down on his bed and watches me. He runs his hands over his new tennis shoes.
“Aren’t these kicks great?” He looks at me and smiles.
“Yeah.” I nod and pull out one of my new shirts. Mama was only able to get each of us two new shirts and a new pair of jeans. She didn’t have enough for both of us to get shoes, so I’ll be wearing my Nikes from last year. I don’t mind, because new shoes are more important when you’re in the eighth grade.
I pull on a white t-shirt and my new blue one over it. My new jeans feel nice. We only get new clothes twice a year: in September and at Christmas. Mama works hard to give us stuff, but sometimes we don’t get the extra things. We’re doing okay, though.
“Mama’s making eggs.” Damien puts his book bag over his shoulders. “We got toast, too.”
“Nice.” I stuff my new notebook into my book bag along with my pencils from last year. I grab my drum pad and sticks and follow him out of the room.
“You wanna play ball after school today?”
“We’ll see.” I sit down at the small table in the kitchen. My mom is standing at the stove frying eggs.
“Good morning, baby.” She turns to me and smiles.
“Morning, Mama.”
She divides the eggs up and puts them on our plates, along with a piece of toast.
“We’re out of jelly,” she says. “But we’ve got a little bit of butter left.”
I give the rest of the butter to Damien to put on his toast and eat mine dry. The eggs are hot and good. I want more, but there aren't any.
“I’ve got to head over to the hotel.” Mama kisses both of us on the cheeks. She is a housekeeper at a hotel in town. “Jeoffrey,” she says to me. “You watch your brother. Damien, you behave.”
“Yes ma’am,” we both mumble.
“I’ll be home later.” She picks up her purse. “Try to clean up the house a little when you get home. And don’t wake up Cody. Have a good day at school. I love you.”
“Love you, Mama,” we call after her.
Damien hurries into the living room and turns the television on BET. I hear music. I put our plates in the sink and go into the small room, where he is sitting on the only couch.
“Turn that off,” I say.
“I just want to watch the countdown.” Damien holds his hand up to shush me.
“You’re gonna wake up Cody.” I grab the remote and turn the television off.
“Shut up, big head.” Damien pushes me playfully.
“Come on.” I look at the clock. “We’ve still got fifteen minutes. Let’s go ball before we go to the bus stop.”
He grabs his basketball and we head outside. Our neighborhood is pretty big, but the houses in it aren’t. They all look the same: white, with a blue front porch, a screen door that never closes all the way, low ceilings, two bedrooms. These aren’t the projects, but they are the closest thing to them. An outsider would call West Division Street dangerous, ghetto, scary. We call it home.
A few other kids are already on the corner waiting for the bus. Some of the Ricans from Humboldt Park are on the other side of the street waiting. We have a basketball goal in our tiny driveway. I throw my bag down and start to dribble.
“Show me what you got, kid.” I smile at Damien as he approaches me and steals the ball. He dunks it in the goal.
We play for a few minutes. After I’m warmed up I start to school him, but I let him get a few shots in. My legs burning and my heart racing make me excited for basketball season in a few months.
“Okay, let’s go wait for the bus,” I say a few minutes later.
Damien puts his hands on his knees and tries to catch his breath. “Okay.” We pick up our bags and head over to the corner, where the 808s are all waiting.
The 808s are a gang. They are affiliated with Folk Nation, one of the biggest gangs in Chicago. Nobody knows why they are called the 808s. I think they just needed a name and that stuck. I am technically a member. Everyone on this side of the street is. But I don’t like to take part in what they do. They fight, they steal, they use drugs, and they run around the neighborhood looking for trouble with the Ricans on the other side. I wear my chain that was given to me when I was eight, but it is tucked under my shirt.
The people on the other side of West Division Street are members of Latin Kings. The Kings are a Puerto Rican gang, one of the oldest in Chicago. The two groups fight nonstop. I hate leaving my house because I know that a Rican will probably find me and try to start something just for living on this side of the median. I try to keep Damien inside as much as possible. He hates it and has started sneaking out at night to run off with the 808s.
I hate this place. I hate this street. I hate the barriers, the division. I hate the hate. I cannot wait to go to school somewhere and be as far away from here as possible.
“What’s up, Kente and Kente Junior?” My friend Jamal looks up when we approach.
“What’s up, man?” We shake hands. I would say it’s been a while, but I just saw him yesterday. These are the only people I’ve seen since June. You don’t get out much when you’re from around here.
“Hey, Kente,” they all say. They’ve always called me by my last name. They say my first name is “too white.”
“Nice shirt,” Dominique, my ex-girlfriend says. She looks me up and down.
“Thanks,” I mumble and turn away. We broke up last year when I found out she was dealing cocaine. She cried a lot. But it must’ve not hurt too badly. She’s still dealing.
“Look at them, man.” Jamal points across the street. “They’re looking at us like they wanna start something.”
We all look to the other side of the street, where the Ricans stand looking back at us.
“I’ll give them something to look at.” Delanté, my friend since kindergarten, reaches for his pocket.
I know what he’s reaching for. “Stop, man.” I put my hand on his arms. “They ain’t hurting nothing.”
All of my friends look at me. I’ve known them since we were young. Once you’re born on West Division, you usually don’t leave it. I grew up with these kids. But I always knew I was different from them; they knew it too. When they were running around stealing stuff and playing in the street, I was at home playing basketball or drumming.
I’ve been drumming since I was seven when my grandma got me my first pair of sticks. I fell in love with music. It’s the one thing that keeps me sane. It can’t go wrong, it can’t fail me, and it won’t ever leave me or hurt me. Drumming is my passion. But they’ve never understood that.
“Maybe he’s right.” Keyan shrugs. “We don’t need to get nothing started on the first day. Let’s all be like Kente and make good grades this year.”
They all laugh, including Damien.
“Not everybody can be the basketball star.” Jamal pats me on the back. They all keep laughing. I hate when they laugh at me, but at least I got their attention off of the Kings. I check my watch. It’s almost seven-thirty. The bus should be here any minute; but it’s always late on the first day.
“You could be if you stopped trippin’ and got your ass on the court.” I push him playfully. “I understand if you don’t want me to school you, though.”
Everyone laughs and high-fives me, including Jamal. I love them when they are like this; they aren’t hard or tough. We laugh and joke like we did when we were kids, before everything got so complicated. I miss those days.
I look across the street and see the Ricans messing with some skinny white kid. He looks scared shitless, but none of us say anything. If you aren’t with one of us, it’s every man for himself out here. If we were to cross the street and help him, we’d be risking our own lives. So we stand and watch as the Ricans push on him lightly and laugh. I turn away and try not to look.
A few minutes later, the bus pulls up. We get on first, then the Ricans. I see the skinny white kid standing on the sidewalk. His face is red. He turns around and walks back the way he came. I sit down in my seat, alone. I pull out my drum pad and sticks and start to make beats. The kid turns around and heads back the way he came. Poor kid.
The bus ride is bumpy and loud. The Ricans sit in the back, we sit in the front. The rest of the kids sit in the middle. They don’t talk much, I think because they are scared to. Most of them probably won’t be riding the bus for long; we tend to have that affect on people.
I see a girl I recognize from last summer. I remember that her name is Janey. I met her at the free health clinic a few blocks from my neighborhood. I was there because I hurt my arm doing yard work for a neighbor. She was there for an “operation.” She never said what it was, but I knew. She was there alone. I’d offered to go in with her, but she declined. I guess that makes sense, since we were strangers to each other. But she walked down that hall alone and when she came out, her eyes were empty. They are still empty today.
We pull into school and I pull my toboggan off of my head. I’m one of the few that follow the dress code.
“Have a great day,” says Maggie, the old bus driver. She says it like a robot, with no emotion, no presence. She’s not really here.
I follow my friends into the lobby, where we congregate in the back right corner. The Ricans file past us and sit on the opposite side. I sit down and keep drumming while everyone around me greets each other and talks about their summers.
“What’s up, Kente?”
I look up and see my friend Marcus. He holds out his hand and we do our shake, the one every black guy knows.
“Hey, Marcus.” I stand up to talk to him. “How was summer over at The Peaks?”
The Peaks are housing projects on the other side of town. Most of my friends are either from there or West Division. I don’t get to see my friends from The Peaks much over the summer because the only way to get there is on the bus, and Mama doesn’t like for me to take the bus unless I have to.
“Pretty good, man.” Marcus nods. “You heard about Drake, right?”
Drake is an old friend from elementary school. He was my neighbor until his mom lost her job and they had to move to The Peaks. I look around for him, but don’t see him anywhere.
“No.” I shake my head. “Did he move?”
“Nah, nigga.” Marcus sighs. “They got him.”
“What?”
“He stole some money from one of the Kings at Peaks.” Marcus shrugs. “He thought they didn’t know, but they did. He was walking back one day and they got him.”
“He’s dead?” My eyes get wide and watery.
“Yeah, man.” Marcus shakes his head. “I told him not to do it, but he did it anyway. And they got him.”
“Shit,” I whisper.
Drake is the third friend I’ve lost to gang violence. I lost Michael in middle school, when he got caught running through Little Puerto Rico. They shot him cold. I remember hearing the gunshots. He was only thirteen.
I lost my best friend, KD, three years ago. We were freshmen. He was my other neighbor. We grew up together; he was the only person I counted on. He was my best friend, my teammate, my brother.
We were walking home from school one day when a black Lincoln pulled up next to us.
“KD,” I heard a voice say from the car. The dark window on the passenger side rolled down slowly. “Where’s my money at?”
KD stopped on the sidewalk. I stopped too. I didn’t know what was going on. I recognized the voice as that of Tyrell. He’s known as T around here, and he’s one of the biggest drug dealers in the neighborhood. I couldn’t understand what he would want with KD. KD didn’t use drugs, I didn’t think.
“What’s he talking about, man?” I stood behind KD.
“Where’s my money at, nigga?” T’s voice got louder. I jumped a little.
“I- I’ll have it to you next week,” KD stammered. “I had to help my mom out with the bills this week. But I’ll have the money next week.”He started to back up.
“You said that last week,” T reached in his lap. “I don’t wait for nobody.”
His arm came out of the window. Everything happened so fast, yet it seemed like it was in slow motion.
The gun fired twice, right into KD’s chest. Then the car sped off before I could even blink. KD fell back into my arms. I screamed; he didn’t. I fell to my knees with him resting on top of me. I kept screaming. His blood soaked into my pants, my shirt, on my hands, the sidewalk. Everywhere.
I sat there with him in my arms, dead, until someone finally came. It took the police an hour to get there. They come later and later every time. When they pulled his body away from mine, every muscle in my body was stiff. I couldn’t move. I sat there while they sprayed the blood with a hose and wheeled KD away. His mom’s screams echoed shrill and painful in my ears. People stood around and watched. Nobody cried but her.
I didn’t cry until Mama had dragged me home and put me in the shower. Then I cried. I cried for a long time. I missed school the next day; it’s the only day I’ve ever missed. I cried all day. A few weeks later the athletic boosters built a memorial garden for KD outside of the school. I still cry sometimes.
I push the images of KD’s body out of my head. I can’t believe Drake is gone too. I wish my friends would learn from the mistakes of others, rather than continuing down the same paths.
“I’m sorry, man.” Marcus touches my arm. “I know he was like a brother to you. But that’s the way it goes in our world.”
I want to punch Marcus. I want to knock him down and strangle him. I want to scream at him, tell him that this is not the way it has to go in our world. I want to tell him that we are the ones who can change it. But I know he won’t listen to me, just like none of the others listen to me. So instead, I sit back down in my corner and drum.
When the bell rings, nobody in my group of friends hurries to homeroom. They are always the last people out of the lobby. I grab my stuff and head to my classroom. I sit in the back and pull out my drum stuff. I know it gets on people’s nerves, but I can’t help it. I have to drum, constantly.
Miss Black looks at me but doesn’t say anything. I drum softly until the announcements come on. Ruby, my drum major comes up on the television. She is smiling as usual. I love that girl. We’ve been in band together for four years and she is always positive. She makes things interesting, and she does a good job on the announcements.
Miss Black passes out our class schedules while the announcements are going on. She hands me mine. I have honors senior English, algebra two, physics, and band. It shouldn’t be too hard, and I’ll have time to focus on preparing for my music auditions at Chicago College of Performing Arts. It is my dream to study music there, so I have to practice nonstop. I drum my fingers lightly on the table.
“Thank you, Boomers, and have a great first day!” Ruby smiles at the camera before the channel cuts out. The bell rings a few minutes later and we all head out to our first class. My hands are cold and my muscles are stiff. This is what happens when I get anxious. I don’t know if it is because I’m nervous about the first day, excited about the first day, or because I’m still thinking about what happened to Drake.
English is a drag, as usual. My teacher lists off all of the books we’ll be reading. I am in honors, so like always, I am the only black kid in my class. Everyone used to stare at me for the first year or two, but now they are used to me. I sit next to James, whom I’ve known since middle school. He’s a jock and a prep, with red hair and big muscles. We don’t talk much outside of class, except on the basketball court. But he’s a good guy, and he knows I am too.
“You sure you don’t wanna come out for football this year, Jeoff?” He puts his hand on my shoulder as we leave class.
“I’ve got to focus on band this semester.” I shake my head. “My auditions are in a few months, you know.”
“You should just go out for a basketball scholarship.” James nudges me. “You know you could go to any school for free with your skills.”
The way he says that makes me a little uncomfortable, but I don’t say so. “Maybe.” I shrug.
He heads towards his friends and I head towards mine. They are all comparing schedules. I don’t even waste the time pulling my card out. I know none of them are in any of my classes.
The bell rings soon after and I head to algebra two. Math is my worst subject, so I’m not in honors. I’m still the only black kid in my class, though. The teacher jumps right into a review lecture and my eye lids start to get heavy. I know I need to pay attention, but when I stare at the board, all of the numbers turn into notes. Soon I am drumming on the desk with my fingertips, making up rhythms in my head.
I recognize a few people from my class. One of them is Brian Phillips. We’ve had a few classes together, and I know he used to date Ruby before he became the biggest druggie in school. He’s high on something right now, I can tell. His eyes are glazed over, he’s breathing slowly. His mind is in another place, like mine. I’m glad Ruby finally dumped him; she deserves better.
I head to Physics next, excited to learn. Science is my favorite subject besides music. The teacher talks about everything we are going to be learning throughout the semester and I get excited. I am surrounded by a bunch of science nerds, something I’m not used to, but I enjoy it nonetheless.
Lunch comes soon. I hurry to the cafeteria so I can get in line before all of the slow freshmen. I get free lunch, so I pile my tray with food. There is no telling when my mom will be home to make dinner, or what it will be. I hurry through the line and head to the back of the cafeteria where my friends always sit.
I see some of my teammates sitting in their usual spots. Anderson and James sit in the center prep table, their girlfriends under their arms. I’ve known Anderson’s girlfriend, Samantha for years. She’s the only nice one out of the group of girls.
The band kids sit at a round table in the center. I’ve tried sitting with them before, but my friends give me a hard time so I stopped. The theater geeks sit near them. I don’t know any of them except Gabe DeCarteret. He is James’s brother. We’ve worked on a few musical productions together before. He is weird.
I don’t recognize many other people. We all stick to our cliques for the most part. I see Audrey Oliver. I only know her because my mom works for one of her mom’s hotels. We’ve never talked, I just remember seeing her when my mom had to bring me and my brother to work with her and Audrey happened to be at the hotel.
“What’s up, man?” I hear a voice behind me. I turn around to see Crash, one of my longtime friends.
“Hey, Crash.” We shake hands. “How was your summer, man?”
“It was good.” Crash rocks back and forth on his heels. “I did a lot of working and took care of my little brother mostly.”
“Sounds fun.” I nod. “I worked some too.”
“You ready for senior year?”
“I don’t know, man.” I shrug. “We’ll see.”
“What you doing talking to that cracker?” I hear Jamal’s voice behind me. “What are you doing over here?” He looks at Crash.
“Just talking to my friend.” Crash holds his hands up and starts to back away. “I’ll see you around, Jeoff.”
“Bye, Crash.” I turn and follow Jamal to our tables.
“Make us a beat,” Dominique says to me when I sit down. She and a few other girls are dancing to a mix blasting from Keyan’s stereo.
I sit down with my food and eat it quickly, drumming beats for them in between bites. Everyone is happy in this moment. It feels good.
The Ricans sit opposite from us, eyeing us every now and then. But for the most part, peace is kept for now. It is the first day and we all know Mr. Hall is cracking down on the rules.
I see Evelyn Rhodes walking towards my table. My beats slow down as she approaches. She’s the girl of my dreams, even if she barely knows I exist. Everyone else talks about her; they say she’s a slut, the school whore. I know why she does what she does. She needs love. I know that feeling. I wish she would let me love her.
She stops and talks to Riley Sutton. Of course. The bad boy always gets the girls. He’s wearing a leather jacket and tight jeans. He’s the biggest player in school, yet all of the girls still drool over him. We were on the same hockey team together last year. I had to quit because my mom couldn’t afford the fees. He runs his hands through his hair. I don’t get what she sees in him. She pulls on his arm and they walk outside, right past my table. She barely even looks at me.
My last class of the day is band. It is my favorite class and I’m looking forward to seeing all of my band mates again. Our band is really small. I am the only percussionist. It feels good to strap on my snare drum and diddle on the new head.
“Hey, Jeoff,” everyone calls to me when I get out to the practice field.
“What’s up, guys?”
They all start to warm up. I join them, tapping on the drum and rolling to get my wrists warmed up.
“How was your summer?” Drew, one of the twin trumpet players, asks me.
“It was good,” I say. “I’m glad to be back though.”
He continues playing and so do I. I don’t talk to any of them much. I can’t really relate to them, except the fact that we are in band together. Ruby steps up onto her podium and holds her arms out.
“Guys, go ahead and arc it up. Let’s get started.” She looks at me, and I nod to let her know I’m ready. She starts to conduct and I tap off the warm up.
After several minutes of warm up, we get into our first set and Ruby starts off the show. I love our theme this year, Cirque du Soleil. We are cleaning the drill when Mr. East finally comes out.
“Jeoff,” he calls for me.
I hurry off the field, wondering what he needs.
“Yes, Mister East?”
“Coach Perez needs to see you in his office. I guess it’s something about basketball.”
He doesn’t look very happy.
“Now?”
“Yes.” He nods. “I don’t want this happening on a regular basis, Jeoff. We need you out here. Music is just as important as athletics, you know.”
“I know, Mister East.” I sigh. “I’m sorry. I’ll hurry.”
I take off across the field, cursing Coach in my head. I hate when he calls me out of practice or class. He should be teaching a class right now, so I don’t understand why he needs me.
I have to go through the boys’ locker room to get through his office. I hear a few voices.
“You’ll leave when we say you leave. You need to learn your place here, Frosh. Otherwise, it’s gonna be a long, hard year for you.” That sounds like James.
“I got it.” I don’t recognize this voice.
“I don’t think you do.” That is definitely Anderson. “No, ‘cause see, I still see a little bit of attitude in your eyes. And I don’t like it when freshmen get an attitude with me.”
I see Anderson and James by the athlete lockers talking to someone. It is the same kid that was getting into it with the Kings this morning.
“Guys, please.” The kid sighs. “Just let me go.”
“What’s going on boys?” I take a few steps closer.
Anderson and James both turn around. “Hey Jeoff,” they both say. We shake hands.
“Long time, no see, man.” Anderson looks me up and down. “How was your summer?”
“Can’t complain.” I shrug. “What’s going on here?”
“Just putting my little freshman friend in his place.” Anderson smacks the kid on the back. “What’s your name again, Frosh?”
“Alex.”
“Yeah, this is Alex.” James laughs. “He’s thinking about going out for the team.”
“So let him.” I step closer and shrug. “Might be good to have some fresh meat on the team.” I know their game, and I know how to beat them at it.
“Well, we told him we think he’d do a better job as a water boy.” Anderson squeezes the kid’s shoulder. “We’re just concerned about him getting hurt out there.”
“Jeoff plays basketball,” James explains. “He doesn’t know what it’s like to play football.”
“Yeah,” Anderson agrees. “’Cause he quit football to be a drummer.” He pushes me lightly.
“I am a drummer,” I assure them. “And I’ll show you boys how I do next semester during basketball season.” They laugh. I know I’ve got them. “Why don’t you guys let the freshman get back to class?”
“Yeah, he’s not worth it.” James agrees. “Let’s go lift some weights.”
Anderson looks at the kid. “Remember what I said, Frosh.” He pushes him hard against a locker.
They shake my hand again and head out. I wait until I know they are gone before I say anything to the kid, who looks terrified. “Don’t worry about them; they’re just jocks.”
“Yeah, whatever.” He stuffs some papers into his book bag, but doesn’t look at me. “I’m sick of this place already.”
“I wish I could tell you it gets better.” I reach out to pat his back. “But it probably won’t. Just take my advice...Don’t go out for the football team. You probably won’t make it, and it gives them a reason to mess with you.”
“Well thanks, but I don’t need some homeboy giving me advice.” He says it with disgust and pushes past me.
“What?” My eyes widen.
He turns around for a second, a little bit of fear in his eyes. “Just forget it, dude. I’ve had a shitty first day in this place, and I don’t want any more trouble.”
“Dude.” I can’t believe him. “I’m not gonna fight you. I just saved your ass from ending up in the trashcan.”
“I appreciate it,” he says distantly. “I’ll see you around.”
He walks out, leaving me standing there. I try to fathom what just happened. I saved the kid from being beaten up by two of my friends, just to have him call me a homeboy. I kick the locker behind me.
I hate being judged and labeled because I’m black. I struggle every day to defy the stereotypes I’ve been given because of my skin. I feel like it’s a struggle for a worthless cause.
I walk into the coach’s office. He’s sitting at his desk talking on the phone. He waves me in.
“Okay, sounds great. Bye.” He hangs up the phone and smiles.
“What’s up, Kente?” He motions for me to have a seat.
“Nothing.” I shrug. “Mister East said you wanted to see me.”
He nods. “I just wanted to check up on you and make sure your classes are okay and everything.”
“Everything is great,” I assure him. “I like my classes and I’m excited about my last marching season.”
“Have you thought about your last basketball season at all?” He leans forward over the desk.
“What about it?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “This is your year, Jeoff. This is your year to shine. Scouts are gonna be here to check you out. You could go to any school you want if you push yourself this season. I guarantee you could get a full-ride scholarship.”
“CCPA doesn’t offer basketball scholarships.” I say it with a little more bite than I’d intended. “They offer music scholarships.”
“What are you talking about?” He leans back in his seat.
“I’m already working on my auditions for a scholarship at the College of Performing Arts. I’ve always wanted to go there; you know that.” I drum lightly on my legs.
“You do realize what kinds of opportunities a basketball scholarship could provide you with, don’t you?” He taps his pen on the desk. “You can go anywhere.”
“But I want to go to CCPA,” I insist. “I don’t want to play basketball for the rest of my life. I want to play music.”
“Why are you doing this?” Coach sighs. “I thought this was just a phase?”
“It’s not.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Coach, but this is what I want to do. I still want to play ball, just not for a scholarship. I still love the sport. I just don’t love it as much as drumming.”
He sighs again. “Well, if that’s what you want, I guess there is nothing I can do about it.” He puts his hands together. “Have you talked to your mother about it?”
“She knows how much I love music.” I nod. “She will understand. She supports me.”
“Alright.” He stands up. “Get back to practice. Make sure you keep those grades up, and don’t do anything stupid.”
“Yes, sir.” I stand up and head out of the locker room. I know Coach Perez is upset, but I can’t do anything about it.
I hurry to the practice field and jump right back into the music. I forget about basketball and everything else and let the music take me away.
When the final bell rings, I have to hurry and put my drum away to make it to the bus. Everyone else stands around the band room and talks, but I don’t have time to. I grab my stuff and head to the bus. The ride is pretty short, but loud. Everyone is in my ear talking about their first day and what they are getting into later.
“You in, Kente?” Jamal asks me.
I haven’t been paying attention. “In for what?”
They all laugh. “We’re going to Dominique’s. Her parents aren’t home and she’s got some good stuff.”
“Man, you know I’m not in for that.” I shake my head. “I’ve got to watch Damien and do my homework.”
“You gotta live a little, man.” Keyan pushes my shoulder from the seat behind me.
“Come on,” Dominique insists. “It’ll be fun. You don’t have to take anything. You can do your homework there.”
“Nah.” I don’t look directly at her. “I’m good.”
“Whatever man.” Jamal sighs.
The bus stops at our corner and we get off. I stand on the sidewalk while the others head home. I have to wait for Damien’s bus to get here. The Ricans push past us when they get off.
“Watch where you’re walking, fool.” Keyan steps in front of Malachi, one of the Kings.
“Who you talking to like that, nigga?” Malachi steps closer to him. “You better watch your mouth.”
“Then you better watch where you put your feet.” Keyan points to the ground. “Somewhere besides my new kicks.”
“I’ll kick your ass if you don’t back the fuck down.” Malachi’s accent is thick, but we all know what he’s saying.
Everyone starts to gather around them. Keyan and Malachi’s faces are just inches apart. I step in between them.
“Whoa, calm down.” I put my arm between their bodies. “Why don’t ya’ll just go back to your side of the street?”
“Yeah, I think I hear your mami calling you.” Jamal tries to imitate a Spanish accent.
“You want some too?” Manny steps in front of Jamal. “I’ll kill you right now, esé,” he says through gritted teeth. He reaches for his pocket.
“No!” I push Jamal out of the way. “Everybody go home.” The middle school bus is approaching the corner. “We don’t need this shit today.”
“Your boy’s right.” Malachi points to me. “You should take his advice.”
“Get off my corner, bitch.” Keyan practically spits in Malachi’s face.
“You better watch your back, cabrón.”
“Come on, Chi.” One of the Latina girls pulls on his arm.
Malachi mumbles something in Spanish but they all start to cross the street. Manny bumps into me on purpose, but I ignore it.
“Damn it, Keyan.” I shove him. “Ya’ll always gotta be starting something.”
“He stepped on my new Jordans!” Keyan brushes off his shoes.
“Dude, you have like ten pairs,” says my friend Reggie.
“I don’t care, man.” Keyan starts walking down the street. The rest of them follow him. “Don’t nobody step on my Jordans. I’ll kill ‘em.”
I can’t believe Keyan. But at least he didn’t go any farther. The middle school bus stops at the corner and the gangsters-in-training pile off. The little Ricans run across the street without even looking. Damien hops off with his friends.
“You don’t have to wait for me, you know?” He barely looks at me.
“Oh yes, I do.” I shove him playfully. “Someone’s gotta look after your nappy head.” I run my fingers over his coarse hair.
“Shut up, big head.” He pushes me back.
When we get home, nobody is there. Cody is probably getting high at Randy’s place. He hasn’t had a job in months, and Mama isn’t making him find one.
“Get started on your homework.” I put my stuff down at the kitchen table.
“Give me a snack first.” He throws his book bag down and sits in a chair.
I open the cabinets and search for a snack for him. They are almost empty. Mama hasn’t been to the store in a while. I pull out a box of saltines and a jar of peanut butter. I smear a little bit of peanut butter on five crackers and put them on a plate in front of him.
“Now do your homework. I’m gonna check it when you’re done.”
“Okay Dad,” he grumbles.
I sit down next to him and pull out my physics book. My stomach is growling, but I don’t want to use anymore of the crackers. I reach for one of his and stuff it in my mouth while he’s not looking.
We sit in silence and finish our homework. Six o’ clock rolls around and my mom still isn’t home. She usually gets home from work pretty late. The hotel she works in is big and fancy, so it has to be spotless at all times.
“What’s for dinner?” Damien asks once I’m finished checking his math homework.
“I’m not sure.” I shrug. “Mama didn’t tell me anything to fix and there isn’t much here.”
I hear the front door open and a few bags rustling. “I’m home,” Mama says.
We both get up and go to the door. She’s carrying a few grocery bags and we take them from her.
“Sorry I’m so late.” She hugs us both. “It was a busy weekend at the hotel so we had a lot of cleaning to do.”
“It’s okay,” Damien and I both say.
We all go into the kitchen and unload the groceries. She got the basic staple foods: rice, pasta, potatoes, hotdogs, beans, bread, and a few other things.
“Sorry I couldn’t get much.” She sits down at the table. I can see that she is exhausted. “Money is pretty tight this month.”
“It’s okay,” we both say again.
“Jeoffrey, could you fix some hotdogs and rice for you and your brother?” She runs her hands over her face. “I need to take a shower.”
“Sure.” I nod.
“Where is Cody?” She stands up goes into the living room.
“He’s not here,” Damien says. “He wasn’t here when we got here.”
“He’s probably off getting into trouble somewhere.” Mama rolls her eyes and sighs. “How was the first day of school?”
“Fine,” we say.
Nobody says anything else. Mama goes to take a shower. Damien sits in front of the television and flips through the channels. I stand at the stove and boil hotdogs and rice.
Damien and I eat in the living room. When we are done, I wash the dishes and put them away. Mama goes into her room and lays down. I clean up the living room and tell Damien to clean up the bathroom. I don’t vacuum because I don’t want to wake Mama up. Once the house is clean, Damien and I sit on the couch in the living room. He watches TV. I drum. Mama is still asleep.
At ten o’ clock, we go to bed. At one o’ clock, Cody comes home. He slams the door loud. He stumbles down the hall. He’s drunk. Probably high too. He yells at my mom. I see lights come on down the hall.
I get up and stand at the door. “When I get home I want my fucking dinner waiting for me!”
“I’m sorry, I was tired.” Mama is crying.
I hear the slap. “I don’t care if you’re tired. I’m your man. You cook my dinner.”
“I thought you had already eaten since you didn’t tell me where you were.”
Something falls on the floor. He probably pushed her into the counter.
“Don’t get an attitude with me, bitch.” Cody spits the words out. I hear Mama cry out.
He must have pushed her again.“Remember who I am!”
“I’m sorry,” Mama screams.
“You better be sorry.” I hear another slap. Footsteps down the hall. I jump back in bed. The bathroom door slams.
I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe heavy. I try to quiet my crying so I don’t wake Damien. Then I hear his crying too. Mama is crying in the kitchen. I pull the cover up over my head and clench my fists around the sheets. One day I’m going to stop him. One day Mama is going to get the courage to kick him out. One day he won’t hit her anymore. One day we will have enough food in the cabinets. One day I will get a new pair of shoes. One day I’m going to get out of here. One day the music will take me away. One day everything will be alright.
One day.