Home > Long Way Down(9)

Long Way Down(9)
Author: Jason Reynolds

my mother.

 

 

UNCLE MARK PULLED ME IN


for a hug,

but how you

hug what’s haunting you?

 

 

AND YOU KNOW


it’s weird to know

a person you don’t know

and at the same time

not know

a person you know,

you know?

 

 

09:08:25 a.m.

 

 

WHY YOU HERE?


I asked Uncle Mark,

taking my turn,

my time,

looking him up

and down.

Sadness

split his face

like cold breeze

on chapped lip

after attempting

to smile.

I guess he expected me

to be excited to see him.

And I was, sorta,

but still.

 

 

WITH HIS HAND


he brushed down the front

of his shirt,

smoothing out wrinkles,

straightening himself out.

Pants stopped

just at the top of his

dress shoes,

dress shoes tied

in perfect bows,

leather shiny,

uncreased

like he ain’t

been walking.

Brushed and brushed

down his chest

to stomach,

down his thighs,

then squatting,

dipped a finger in

his mouth and scrubbed

the toe of his shoe,

a smudge

not there.

 

 

A BETTER QUESTION,


he said,

eyes up at me

is, why are you here?

 

 

RANDOM THOUGHT NO. 2


Always

always

always

be skeptical of a person

who answers a question

by asking a question.

Usually

usually

usually

it’s a setup.

 

 

ANAGRAM NO. 3


COOL = LOCO

 

 

WHAT YOU MEAN?


I asked,

trying to avoid

having to talk about

the coldness

in my heart

and the heater

in my waist.

 

 

WHAT DO I MEAN?


He stood up.

What do I mean?

he repeated,

putting

hands together,

fingertips touching,

cracking what sounded

like all the knuckles

in the world.

Listen, kid,

don’t play me and

don’t play with me.

It’s best you

turn it loose before

I tighten you up.

 

 

OKAY, OKAY,


I begged,

trying to hold him off,

trying to avoid being

knotted up again.

Look,

they killed Shawn

last night, Uncle Mark.

And . . .

And today

you woke up ready

to make things

right, right?

I nodded.

And the reason why

is because for the

first time in your life,

you realize, or at least

you think you could

kill someone,

right?

I nodded.

RIGHT?

he said,

louder.

Right.

 

 

BUT TO EXPLAIN MYSELF


I said,

The Rules are

the rules.

 

 

UNCLE MARK HUFFED


closed his eyes.

I wondered if he

was thinking

about The Rules.

He knew them

like I knew them.

Passed to him.

Passed them to his little brother.

Passed to my older brother.

Passed to me.

The Rules

have always ruled.

Past present future forever.

 

 

UNCLE MARK SQUEEZED HIS LIPS


like he was trying

to rip them off.

Then opened

his eyes.

Okay, Will,

he said,

all serious.

Let’s set the scene.

What you mean,

set the scene?

I mean, let’s play it out,

how this whole thing is gon’

go down. Play it out

like a movie,

Uncle Mark explained.

We’ll go back and forth.

I’ll start, from the top.

 

 

THE SCENE


Will stands over dead brother, Shawn.

Two holes in his chest. Blood all over the

ground.

Will takes his mother inside.

She cries. He looks for his brother’s

gun.

Will finds the gun. Lies down and thinks

about The Rules. No crying. No snitching.

And always get revenge.

The next day, he decides to find

who he knows killed his brother.

A guy named Riggs.

Will gets in the elevator. Goes down to the

lobby. Walks outside, past his brother’s

blood on the concrete.

He continues for nine blocks,

gets to Riggs’s house, sees Riggs,

pulls the gun out, and . . .

 

 

I GOT STUCK


Couldn’t say

nothing else. Couldn’t say

it. Hoped Uncle Mark would say,

cut.

 

 

BUT HE DIDN’T (the scene, continued)


Go ’head. Finish it.

Up until that point

things were running

smoothly, but this

stupid last part

got me caught up.

Finish it!

Uncle Mark demanded.

Dani whimpered.

Buck razzed.

Okay, okay,

I said,

trying to calm

Uncle Mark down.

Will pulls the gun out,

and . . .

I stalled.

And . . . and . . .

 

 

MY MOUTH


dried out,

words phlegm

trapped in my throat,

like an allergic reaction

to the thought

of it all.

 

 

THE SCENE (completed)


And . . .

And shoots.

Uncle Buck

finished it for me,

said it slowly,

dragging out the

shhhhhhhhhhhh.

Then I could

finally

painfully

hack it up.

And shoots.

 

 

FOR THE RECORD,


this movie

would’ve been better

than that stupid one

he was trying to make

when he was alive

that’s for sure.

Maybe not as happy.

But definitely better.

 

 

STORY NO. 2 ABOUT UNCLE MARK


Uncle Mark lost the camera

his mother got him,

the one he recorded

dance battles,

and gang fights,

and block parties,

and the beginning of his

corny-ass movie on.

Couldn’t afford another one.

OPTIONS:

Could’ve asked Grandma again,

but that would’ve been pointless.

Could’ve stolen one,

but he wasn’t ’bout to be sweating,

so he wasn’t ’bout to be running.

Could’ve gotten a job,

but working was another one of those things

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