by SF Benson
Grandpa wasn’t immune to the tension moving through the metro area. He blamed the Hybrids, fast becoming the majority in America, for the state of unrest. Bobby criticized the Establishment—too much political grandstanding and not enough political backing for those in need. Shiloh kept his opinions somewhere in the middle, our family’s version of Switzerland.
Ruby was pregnant again. This time they expected a girl. Shiloh considered enlisting in the Army. He said the pay would be better and the benefits surpassed the National Guard’s. Every time I visited them, Ruby begged me to talk some sense into Shiloh.
Shiloh’s contemplation increased the discord between our father and grandfather.
“There’s nothing wrong with serving your country, Robert. A stint in the military would have made you stronger.” Grandpa drained his bottle of beer. Another one appeared in front of him thanks to Grandma.
“You don’t get it, Dad. Things have gotten worse in this country. The military is the last place Shiloh belongs.”
Shiloh grimaced. He was twenty-two, and they treated him like he was still in high school. “Bobby, most of the fighting has been centered in Detroit. We’re fine as long as we stay out of the city.”
Grandpa clapped him on the back. “Spoken like a wise man. I’ve always said to keep the hell out of that forsaken place.”
My father shook his head and walked away from the picnic table. Seemed like a good plan. Listening to their incessant squabbling irritated me.
Grandma and Becky ran into the backyard before I got too far.
“Edward,” my grandmother screamed. “Come quick.”
Grandpa pushed past me. Bobby ran after him. Shiloh caught my eye, jerked his head toward the house, and we took off.
Inside, the television blared. Tanks rolling down the streets of Detroit flashed across the screen. The scene switched to soldiers gathered outside of the Michigan Guard’s Lansing headquarters.
“What the hell?” Grandpa asked.
Becky waved her hand at him. “Shhh.”
An empty podium stood in the center of a room. The Michigan flag and the American flag were to its right. A woman dressed in a bright-pink suit came to the microphone. It was the governor.
“Today at 12:01, I signed a decree requiring martial law on all streets in metro Detroit. Riots broke out shortly after nine this morning when a scuffle got out of hand in a downtown office building. Reports of—”
Grandpa picked up the remote and silenced the audio. “That’s just fu—”
“Edward,” warned Grandma. She tolerated a great deal of foul language from Grandpa, but she didn’t allow F-bombs.
Bobby turned to Shiloh. “What happens now?”
My brother rubbed the back of his neck. “My unit’s been on alert since this morning. Now that we’re under martial law, we have to report to duty. Civilians need to stay put. Unfortunately, the party’s over.”
Ruby took Shiloh Junior from Cindy’s arms and left the room in tears.
I turned to my brother. “Shy, can you, like, take us home?”
“Sure. Let me grab my keys.”
Bobby intervened, “Take them straight home, Shiloh. Cindy should be with her folks.”
“Sure, Bobby.”
I hoped for some alone time with Cindy. Thoughts of my birthday celebration stayed on my mind.
Driving through the streets of Taylor, I noticed the groups of people milling about. At first, it seemed innocent. Just people gathered on a hot night. And then, my eye caught the holstered guns on men itching for a reason to pull the trigger. I squeezed Cindy’s hand as a guy with shoulder-length, greasy dark hair peered through the window.
Shiloh pulled his black Charger up to the curb, and I glanced out the rear window. Mr. Miller, nostrils flaring and his eyes protruding, charged across the lawn. Ever since Ruby’s first pregnancy, the man hadn’t a pleasant thing to say to anyone in my family. Cindy spending time with me didn’t sit well with her father. The man was so full of hatred—toward my parents, my brother—and it was spilling over on me.
“I probably should go,” Cindy said.
“Come by later?” I really wanted my present.
She leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I’ll try. Leave the back door unlocked. If I can get away, I’ll come over.”
“Sounds like a plan.” The man approached the door as I planted a kiss on her lips.
Mr. Miller’s face turned as red as his ginger hair. Cindy smiled and slipped out of the car.
I didn’t get my present.
“We all lose when there’s a war.
Listen, my brother, my sister,
You want to be free from the aristocracy?
Drop the guns,
Don’t listen to those in DC.
They don’t feel the pulse of humanity.”
—from “Spoken Words on War” by Civic Minded, 2018
September 2019
Tanks rolled through the city streets. The haunted eyes of soldiers searched the landscape for any disturbance, big or small. Police officers, on foot, stopped teens brandishing weapons. It didn’t matter their ethnicity. They were all questioned.
Martial law did nothing to staunch the public disturbances. Fear became a regular companion for my neighbors. Mr. Miller was vivid, scary proof. I watched him leave the house. Seeing him outside was rare since he lost his job—Mr. Miller claimed Hybrids replaced everyone in his office. The car edged out of the driveway. He had one hand on the steering wheel, and the other gripped a pistol.
“It’s not polite to stare,” Becky reminded me from the hallway. I dropped the living room curtain and followed her back to the kitchen where the radio blared.
“In other news today,” the reporter started, “another Detroit neighborhood is on fire. Eyewitnesses claim that firefighters continued to drive down Oakman Boulevard, not bothering to turn toward the burning houses.”
Bobby reached across the counter and lowered the volume. “Asher, I’ll drive you to school today. It’s too dangerous for you to walk.”
“Maybe I should, like, stay home?” I asked, hoping that he’d agree.
“Not necessary,” Becky said. “Things aren’t that bad.”
A nice sentiment, but far from the truth. I heard the news, the rumors. Citizens blamed Hybrids for starting the chaos erupting around us. Panic spread throughout the metro area as people searched for answers. In time, no neighborhood would be immune to the insanity.
We pulled up to the curb of John F. Kennedy High. Cindy waved to me from a distance, and I grabbed my backpack. Before exiting the vehicle, I remembered Bobby hadn’t signed the papers for JROTC, the Army Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps. Ever since Shiloh enlisted, I wanted to join the program.
I removed the forms from my pack and waved them in front of Bobby’s face. “I need you to, like, sign these for JROTC.”
My father drew in a deep breath, released it, and said, “We had no say in Shiloh enlisting. He did it on his own, behind our backs.”
I knew what he would say without hearing the words, so I returned the papers to my pack. “It’s okay.”
“Asher, your mother and I simply can’t support violence. JROTC is training young men and women to prepare for war.”
“Is that really such a bad thing?”
“To us.” He forced a smile on his face. “Asher, it’s too dangerous. Violence creates violence. It doesn’t solve anything, and sometimes it follows you home.”
His words registered, but I didn’t believe them. I frowned and faced him. “What are you talking about? We’re safe. Shiloh said so himself.”
Bobby opened his mouth and closed it. Finally, he sighed and said, “Your brother is doing what he feels is right.”
“Protecting everyone?”
“Yes, Shiloh is trying to protect everyone.” A smile tinged with sadness crossed his face. “Have a nice day, Ash.”
I shook my head. Bobby was being paranoid. Fortunate for me, I had an ex-military grandfat
her. I took him the paperwork after school, and he signed them with enthusiasm.
JROTC was as close as I could get to being a part of Shiloh’s world at my age. Besides, Cindy said she liked a guy in uniform. She only got to see it at school, though. If I’d worn the thing home, Bobby and Becky might have disowned me.
The first week of school was uneventful academically. I was a normal freshman with a girlfriend and a heavy schedule full of advanced courses thanks to high placement scores. It surprised no one, however, when the rioting grew worse and spilled onto the streets of Taylor.
The chatter of repeated gunfire interrupted sixth period calculus. Students dove underneath desks along with Mr. Roosevelt, our teacher.
Principal Tate’s voice crackled over the PA system. “Students and faculty, please remain calm and stay in your classrooms. Once we have received an all clear, we will proceed to vacate the building in an orderly fashion.”
My heart skipped a beat with thoughts of Cindy. The last time we saw each other was at lunch. She had sixth-period P.E. Was she safe?
Minutes crawled by before we received permission to leave school. Shiloh waited for me at the curb. I still hadn’t seen Cindy. Something told me I needed to find her. “Shy, give me a minute. I need to find—”
“No, Asher. Get in. She’ll be fine.”
I climbed into the car and shut the door. “What’s up, Shy?”
Shiloh wore his camo gear. He steered the car into traffic and stared straightforward.
“Shy?”
He cleared his throat and gritted out, “I’ve got to report for duty, Ash. Governor declared a mandatory curfew.”
I leaned back in the seat. We all knew this day would come, but I don’t think any of us had prepared for it. I swallowed past the huge lump forming in my throat and asked, “When?”
“I have to report by six o’clock tonight.” He glanced over at me. A flicker of fear danced in his eyes. Not good. “You know the drill?”
“Look out for Ruby and Junior.” I knew the routine—check in on them three times a day, take care of any needed chores, and watch the baby for at least an hour so Ruby could rest.
His fingers tapped an anxious rhythm on the steering wheel along with an old Bon Jovi tune. “They’ll be at the Millers. I don’t want her left alone. Baby’s due soon.”
Shiloh scraped a hand over his face. He continued staring forward and biting at his lip. Something was wrong.
“What’s bothering you, bro?”
He ignored my question and continued delivering instructions. “If she delivers while I’m in the field, we chose a name already. Rebecca Marie. It’s for Becky. She’ll love it.”
“Shy?” I muttered as my insides began to quake.
My brother removed his military cap and tossed it to me. “Hang on to this for me. I know you’ve had your eye on it.”
I looked at the item resting in my lap. An empty feeling settled in the pit of my stomach as I cleared my throat. “Talk to me, Shiloh. Like what’s going on?”
“Don’t tell Mom and Dad,” he replied, his voice growing shaky.
Right then, listening to the sound of Shiloh’s voice and not the words told me things were serious. Aww shit. “What’s wrong?”
“Just talk. Some of the patrol is calling this a suicide mission. You know… It’s the wrong frame of mind for going into the field. But still, just in case.”
Worry snaked through me. I never thought for a minute that Shiloh—my brother, my idol—might lose his life serving in the Guard. It wasn’t supposed to happen. It couldn’t happen. “You’re scaring me, dude.”
His eyes, filled with a sudden sadness, held mine for a minute. “Join the club.” Shiloh’s voice cracked.
The worry morphed into fear and hurt my chest. I looked out the window and prayed he’d stop talking.
“Ash, I want to see my daughter be born,” his voice shook with emotion. “I’d love to see the kids grow up together. You know, when Ruby told me she was pregnant with Junior, I was scared..too young to be a father and all. But I love being a dad, being married. I want to be there for them.”
I bounced my foot against the floorboard. Shiloh would be fine. He had to come back home to us. “It’s just talk, dude. Put it out of your head.”
“Yeah, yeah. But…make sure little Becky and Junior remember me. You got to do that for me.”
I forced a smile on my face and turned to him. “I got ya six.”
“Thanks, Squirt.”
Shiloh pulled up in front of the house. I got out and leaned over the open window. “You coming in?”
“I’ll be back. Ruby and Junior are waiting for me.”
I dragged my feet walking toward the front door.
“Asher?”
I whirled around. Shiloh rested an arm on the passenger seat. “I love you, little brother.”
“Same here, Shy.”
It was the last conversation we ever had.
“This ain’t ‘bout skin color nor my face
It’s right, not wrong.
What more can I say?
Slavery died a long time ago.”
—from “I Can Dream” by Ice Pimp, 2018
Everyone went to the Millers to see Shiloh off. They acted like he was leaving for war instead of a night patrol. The dire atmosphere took its toll on my senses, and I went home. A couple of soldiers nodded in my direction when I stepped outside.
Minutes later, Cindy knocked on the door.
“Should you be here?” I asked.
“You gonna ask me in?” Her hand was on the screen door handle.
I noticed the Jeep of soldiers parked across the street. They were talking to a group of men.
Quickly, I unlocked the door and stepped aside.
“You okay?” Cindy asked.
“I don’t know. Shiloh is nervous. He’s never been nervous on patrol. Everyone’s acting…weird.”
Cindy followed me upstairs to my room. She closed the door behind us. “Weird?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I think so. But, Ash, this shit is serious.”
I flopped down on my bed and looked up at her. The girl never swore. Like I said, everyone acted weird. “Yeah, I know. My parents stopped going to the office. They thought it was safer to work from home.”
I shut my eyes. The last thing I wanted to do was think about the situation. I had grown tired of the nightly news reports and Hybrids versus Purebreds arguments.
My mattress dipped. Cindy’s warm body covered mine. She brushed her lips against mine. I rubbed her back.
“Cindy,” I whispered.
“Shhh. They’ll be next door for a while. You need to take your mind off things.”
She didn’t have to tell me twice. I pulled her tight against me, crushing my lips on her mouth. She tasted like fresh strawberries.
Cindy pulled at my T-shirt. I sat up, yanked it off, and dropped it to the floor. She unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall off her shoulders. My dick immediately stiffened.
Honestly, my first time was a blurry memory. I hastily rolled on a condom, heard it pop, and tried another one with the same result.
“Don’t worry about it.” She put her hand on my arm.
I was horny and not listening to the head above my shoulders. “You sure?”
She lay back on my bed. “Yes. I just had my period.”
Famous last words.
I’d love to brag and say it was the best night of my life. But let’s be honest. It was a first experience. Nothing grand, although I think I did see some fireworks when I finally came. I’d never listen to David Bowie’s “Absolute Beginners” in the same way ever again.
“You okay?” I asked afterward with my arms wrapped around her.
“Never felt better. I love you, Asher Nicholas Jones.”
Shit.
She said those three words. Did I love her? Of course, I did. I was a thirteen-year-old guy who got laid for the first time. Hell yeah, I loved her.
“I love you, too.”
“What benefits a soldier when there’s a war?
Mamas lose their sons in the guise of patriotism.”
—from “Spoken Words on War” by Civic Minded, 2018
Cindy and I were alone for at least an hour before the family returned. My grandparents’ voices drifted toward us. Fortunately, our clothes were back on and the bed made by that time.
“Asher,” my grandmother said as we walked down the stairs. “Can you and Cindy keep an eye on Junior? Ruby needs a break.”
“Sure thing, Grandma.” Cindy and I sat on the floor with the fussy little guy while the rest of my family went into the kitchen.
As soon as she entered the room, the arguing started. I squeezed Cindy’s hand and tuned everything else out.
“We need to get going,” Grandpa said, standing in the living room with Grandma at his side. “It’s getting close to curfew time.”
Bobby pulled back the curtain. His voice shook when he spoke. “Asher, walk Cindy and Junior home.”
“What?” I scrambled to my feet and joined him at the window. More men, talking loudly, gathered in the streets. Soldiers in Jeeps and on foot patrolled the neighborhood. “Come on, Cindy,” I offered. “I’ll carry Junior.”
As I returned home, I kept my eyes on the men flaunting weapons in the face of the soldiers. These weren’t our neighbors. Backpedaling up the walkway, I didn’t notice Bobby hovering at the window.
“I think we need to talk, Asher,” his voice boomed out of the darkening room.
I yelped, “Bobby, you, like, scared the shit out of me.”
“Language, Asher.” My parents were lenient, but he didn’t like me cussing.
I followed my father to the basement. He pointed to the old cloth sofa against a wall and I plopped down. I twisted the silver ring, a Christmas gift from Cindy, on my finger. Nothing special to the casual observer, it had my birth sign on the outside and her initials and the date we met inscribed inside. She wore a similar band, a declaration of our commitment.