he shouted across the space.
And he did. Quan knew him too.
Well, knew of him.
Quan wasn’t completely sure of his name—either Dre or Trey—but he’d definitely seen him around the neighborhood.
One particular instance came to mind: one of the last times Quan was permitted to take Dasia and Gabe to the playground, he’d seen one guy—definitely older—duck out of the rocket ship with a black book bag slung over his shoulder. Quan could see inside then, and there was another guy counting money.
A boy.
He’d looked up, and Quan froze.
Money-counting boy had just smirked. Like he was the new captain of Quan’s spaceship.
Same way he was now smirking at Quan in the precinct.
“See you on the outside, homie,” he said.
Then he quit resisting the cops and disappeared.
March 12
Dear Justyce,
Bruh.
I think I might be in love.
Her name is Liberty Ayers. Gorgeous, long dreadlocks. Eyes so dark they’re almost black. Skin the color of a roasted hazelnut. (But don’t tell her I said that shit cuz when I mentioned it to her—and you know your boy mentioned it to her—she looked me dead in my eye and said, “You’re childish. Women don’t like being compared to food.”)
I’m not gonna talk about her body cuz she caught me checkin’ her out and “read me the riot act,” as Doc said later when I told him how homegirl lit into me. But I will say, if I WAS gonna talk about it, I’d be saying some excellent things.
I can’t ask her to marry me yet because she’s my case manager’s intern, so it would create a “conflict of interests.” (Again: Doc’s words.) But talking to her makes me wonder how different my life coulda been if I’d met somebody like HER instead of Trey at thirteen.
She’s his same age—nineteen going on twenty—and a sophomore at Emory University. Now. When she was younger, though? Homegirl was a menace.
And her story…Looking at her, you would never expect it. She was raised by her granddaddy cuz both parents were locked up, but he had real bad diabetes and was wheelchair-bound, so she did more taking care of him than the other way around.
Actually messed me up a little bit hearing her talk about her younger self because she sounded a lot like my baby sister.
Anyway, Libz (you ain’t allowed to call her that, though) started getting into fights and shit in third or fourth grade. First time locked up, she was twelve…fight went too far and she broke some girl’s arm (BRUH!).
Second time was for second-degree criminal damage to property.
Third time? Grand theft auto.
At fourteen.
(BRUUUUUUH!!!)
But she said something that got me: the twelve months she had to serve for that final offense were some of the hardest but BEST months of her life. She lost her granddad and everything, but she said even THAT made her wanna make some changes. And all because she met someone who wouldn’t let her “continue to bury my bright spots,” as she put it. (She got a way with words too, dawg. Total package.)
Now while I’m not buying all the happy-happy-joy, *meet-one-person-and-turn-your-life-around!* bullshit, it got me thinking about my own situation. I do think me winding up in here was inevitable, but now I can’t stop pondering, if you will, all these what-ifs.
Did you know the first time Trey and I ever spoke, we were at the police station? He was being booked, and I was being released. STILL mad about the dumb shit they arrested me for, but he was there because of a breaking and entering charge.
After he was let go—because in that case, he hadn’t actually done it—he sought me out. And even though I knew his ass was trouble, I started kicking it with him. Going wherever he asked me to.
Listening to Liberty talk, I feel like I started to get why. She was telling me how HER case manager—the one who helped her make a turnaround—taught her that people have this drive to do stuff so other people know we exist.
(Bet you forgot a dude was smart, didn’t you? #GotEem!)
It really made me think about the years between being a KID kid—like that age when you and me met—and a for-real grown-ass man (even though when you black, SOME folks wanna act like you’re a grown-ass man before you actually are). How when you’re in that like middle to high school range, the people you’re connected to REALLY influence what you wind up doing.
After my dad got locked up, I ain’t really have no positive connections—nobody who was a good influence or who called out some good they saw inside me. Honestly, except for ONE teacher—who just had to go and have a baby—wasn’t nobody paying me no mind AT ALL, let alone saying anything positive or uplifting or encouraging or pick your feel-good term.
Which I think is where Trey came in for me. Nah, he wasn’t no good influence, but he did…see me. If that makes any sense. Libz’s life shifted to its current direction because somebody saw HER and like noticed the GOOD shit in her. Started pointing it out.
A positive connection, she called it.
Which makes me wonder: Would MY life have gone in a different direction if I’d made more positive connections? Cuz Trey was really just the first in a string of NOT-positive connections that led to some not-great decisions.
Don’t make no difference now because here I am. But “food for thought” (#ShitDocSays) nonetheless.
Yo, speaking of Doc, homie has really grown on me.
It’s too bad I didn’t meet him sooner.
—Q
Trey was waiting for Quan inside the rocket ship.
How he’d known Quan would eventually come there is still a mystery to Quan, but three days after their brief encounter at the precinct—if you could even call it that—Quan stepped onto the playground intending to vanish into his personal outer space
and
found
Montrey David Filly.
Sitting.
Back pressed up against the curved inner wall. Long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. Hands clasped over his midsection.
Chillin’.
Quan stopped dead the moment he saw Trey in there. He was still a good few yards from the rocket.
Which didn’t matter at all.