be much
much much
much louder.
A NOISE FROM THE HALLWAY
My mother,
stumbling to the bathroom,
her sobs leading the way.
I quickly slapped
the switch on the wall, dropping
the room into darkness, dropping
myself into bed, pushing
the pistol under my pillow
like a lost tooth.
SLEEP
ran from me
for what seemed
like forever,
hid from me
like I used to hide
from Shawn
before finally
peeking out from
behind pain.
I WOKE UP
in the morning
and tried to remember
if I dreamed about
anything.
I don’t think I did,
so I pretended that
I dreamed about
Shawn.
It made me feel better
about going to sleep
the night he was
murdered.
BUT I ALSO FELT GUILTY
for waking up,
for breathing in,
for stretching,
yawning, and
reaching
under
the pillow.
I WRAPPED MY FINGERS
around the grip, placing
them over Shawn’s
prints like little
brother holding big
brother’s hand again,
walking me to the store,
teaching me how to
do a Penny Drop.
If you let go too early
you’ll land on your face.
If you let go too late
you’ll land on your back.
To land on your feet,
you gotta time it just right.
IN THE BATHROOM
in the mirror
my face sagged,
like sadness
was trying to pull
the skin off.
Zombie.
I had slept
in my clothes,
the stench of
death and sweat
trapped in the
cotton like
fish grease.
I looked and
felt like
shit.
And so what.
I STUCK THE CANNON
in the waistband in the
back of my jeans, the
handle sticking out like a
steel tail.
I covered it with
my too-big T-shirt,
the name-brand
hand-me-down
from Shawn.
THE PLAN
was to wait for Riggs
in front of his building.
Me and Shawn were
always over his house
before Riggs joined the gang,
and since then, Shawn had been
up that way a bunch of times
to get Mom’s special soap.
I figured it would be safest
if I went in the morning. If I
timed it right, none of his crew
would be out yet. No one
would ever suspect me. I’d hit
his buzzer, get him to come down
and open the door. Then I’d pull my
shirt over my mouth and nose
and do it.
IN THE KITCHEN
the sun burst through the
window, bathing my mother,
who slept slumped at the
table, her head resting in the
nest of her red, swollen arms.
She’d probably been scratching
all night, maybe trying to scratch
the guilt away. I wanted to
wake her and tell her that it
wasn’t her fault, but I didn’t.
Instead, with the pistol heavy
on my back, I stepped lightly
over the creaky parts of the
floor, trying not to wake her
and lie about where I was going.
And break her heart even more.
THE YELLOW LIGHT
that lined the hallway
buzzed like the lightning
bugs me and Shawn
used to catch when
we were kids.
We scooped them
into washed-out mayo
jars four or five
at a time.
Shawn would twist
the lid tight, and the
two of us would sit
on a bench and watch
them fly around,
bumping into each other,
trapped, until
one by one
their lights went out.
AT THE ELEVATOR
Back already sore.
Uncomfortable.
Gun strapped
like a brick
rubbing my skin
raw with each step.
Seemed like time
stood still as I
reached out and
pushed the button.
White light
surrounded the
black arrow.
DOWN
DOWN
DOWN DOWN DOWN
DOWN DOWN
DOWN
.
THERE’S A STRANGE THING
that happens
in the elevator.
In any elevator.
Every time
somebody gets
in, they check
to see if the button
for the floor they’re
going to is lit,
and if it isn’t,
they push it,
then face
the door.
That’s it.
They don’t
speak to the
people already
in the elevator,
and the
people already
in the elevator
don’t speak to
the newcomer.
Those are
elevator rules,
I guess.
No talking.
No looking.
Stand still,
stare at the door,
and wait.
09:08:02 a.m.
A GUY GOT ON,
definitely older than me,
but not old.
Medium-brown skin.
Slim. Low haircut,
part on the side.
No hair on his face, none at all.
Not even a mustache.
Gold links dangling
around his neck
like magic rope.
Checked to
make sure
the L button was lit.
Going down too.
L STOOD FOR “LOSER”
when we were kids,
so Shawn and I would
stand in an empty elevator
and wait for someone to get on
and push L. And when they did, we
would giggle because they were the
loser and me and Shawn were winners
on a funny and victorious ride down to the
lobby. I thought about this when the man with
the gold chains got on and checked to see if the
L button was already glowing. I wondered if he knew
that in me and Shawn’s world, I’d already chosen to be
a loser.
IT’S UNCOMFORTABLE
when you
feel like
someone
is looking
at you but
only when
you not
looking.
I’VE SEEN GIRLS
waiting at the bus stop
make men pitiful pieces
of putty, curling backward,
stretching and straining
every muscle just to get
a glimpse of what Shawn
and a lot of men
around here call
the world.
But there were no women