Home > Long Way Down(10)

Long Way Down(10)
Author: Jason Reynolds

Uncle Mark just wasn’t ’bout to be doing.

So he did

what a lot of people do

around here.

 

 

HIS PLAN


To sell for one day.

One day.

Uncle Mark

took a corner,

pockets full

of rocks to

become rolls,

future finance,

and in an hour

had enough

money to buy

a new camera.

But decided

to stick at it

just through

the end of the day.

That’s all.

Just through

the end

of

the

day.

 

 

I’M SURE


you

know

where

this

is

going.

 

 

HE HELD THAT CORNER


for a day,

for a week,

for a month,

full-out

pusher,

money-making

pretty boy,

target

for a ruthless

young hustler

whose name

Mom can never

remember.

 

 

THAT GUY TOOK THE CORNER


from Uncle Mark.

Snatched it right from

under him.

And it wasn’t peaceful.

Everybody

ran ducked hid tucked

themselves tight

blew their own eardrums

gouged their own eyes.

Did what they’d all

been trained to.

Pretended like yellow tape

was some kind of

neighborhood flag

that don’t nobody wave

but always be flapping

in the wind.

 

 

UNCLE MARK SHOULD’VE


just bought his camera

and shot his stupid movie

after the first day.

Unfortunately,

he never shot nothing

ever again.

But my father did.

 

 

ANAGRAM NO. 4


CINEMA = ICEMAN

 

 

RANDOM THOUGHT NO. 3


Not sure

what an iceman is,

but it makes me think

of bad dudes.

Cold-blooded.

 

 

09:08:31 a.m.

 

 

SO ANYWAY, AFTER I SAID IT,


and shoots,

it was like the words

came out and at the same

time went in.

Went down

into me and

chewed on everything

inside as if

I had somehow

swallowed

my own teeth

and they were

sharper than

I’d ever known.

 

 

MEANWHILE,


Uncle Mark

reached into his

shirt pocket,

pulled out two

cigarettes.

Great.

More smoke.

I hoped

the second one

wasn’t for me.

I don’t smoke.

Shit is gross.

Plus, people

who living,

who real,

like me

ain’t allowed

to smoke

in elevators.

 

 

AND WHAT HAPPENS NEXT IN THIS MOVIE?


Uncle Mark asked,

tucking one cig

behind his ear,

booger-rolling the other

between his fingers.

Nothing.

That’s it. The end.

I shrugged.

He positioned the cig

in the corner of his mouth,

patted his pockets

for fire.

The end?

he murmured,

looking at Buck,

motioning for a light.

It’s never the end,

Uncle Mark said,

all chuckle, chuckle.

He leaned toward Buck.

Never.

Buck struck a match.

And the elevator came to a stop,

again.

 

 

THIS TIME


there was no smoke

blocking the door,

even though there were

three people—

I guess, people—

in the elevator,

smoking.

I know

it don’t make sense,

but stay with me.

 

 

AND THERE HE WAS,


clear as day

as the door

slid open.

Recognized

him instantly.

Been waiting

for him since

I was three.

Mikey Holloman.

My father.

 

 

09:08:32 a.m.

 

 

MY POP


stepped in the elevator,

stood right in front of me,

stared

as if looking

at his own reflection,

as if he’d stepped into

a time machine.

Moments

later spread his arms,

welcomed me into

a lifetime’s worth

of squeeze.

 

 

IS IT POSSIBLE


for a hug

to peel back skin

of time,

the toughened

and raw bits,

the irritated

and irritating

dry spots,

the parts that bleed?

 

 

POP PULLED AWAY,


noticed his brother,

gave Uncle Mark

a firm handshake,

yanked him in

for a half hug

just like on

all the pictures.

No sound in the

elevator except

hands popping

together and

the muted thud

of pats on backs.

 

 

I HAVE NO MEMORIES


of my father.

Shawn always tried to get me to

remember things like

Pop dressing up as Michael Jackson

for Halloween and, after trick-or-treating,

riding us up and down on this elevator,

doing his best moonwalk but

not enough space to go nowhere,

slamming into walls.

Shawn swore I laughed

so hard I farted,

stunk up the whole elevator,

even peed myself.

I was only three.

And I don’t remember that.

I’ve always wanted to,

but I don’t.

I so don’t.

 

 

A BROKEN HEART


killed my dad.

That’s what my mother

always said.

And as a kid

I always figured

his heart

was forreal broken

like an arm

or a toy

or the middle drawer.

 

 

BUT THAT’S NOT WHAT SHAWN SAID.


Shawn always said

our dad was killed

for killing the man

who killed our uncle.

Said he was at a pay

phone, probably talking

to Mom, when a guy

walked up on him,

put pistol to head,

asked him if he knew a

guy who went by Gee.

Don’t know what Pop said.

But that was the end

of that story.

 

 

I ALWAYS USED TO ASK


Shawn how he knew that.

Especially the whole

Gee thing.

He said

Buck told him.

Said that was

Buck’s corner.

It was then that Buck

started looking out

for Shawn, who at

the time

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